But of course, he wasn’t crap. Laura was mildly surprised as she thought his writer’s block implied he could barely write a shopping list, but then the workings of his literary mind were still a mystery to her. And reading out loud was still agony for most.

By lunchtime, everyone was settling down nicely and went off to the cafeteria talking away as if they really knew each other.

‘God Almighty, what I have let myself in for?’ declared Dermot the moment they were alone.

Laura laughed delightedly. ‘You’re brilliant at this! They love you! Although,’ she added, less happily, ‘I do think it was mean of you to make me do the exercises too.’

‘Don’t be silly – yours were just as good as anyone else’s, but I do think there’s some talent there, don’t you?’

‘Definitely. I just hope we can keep them entertained and happy for the entire time.’

‘I’ve got a plan if things look like dragging,’ said Dermot. ‘I’ll tell you later.’

The afternoon was taken up by students writing longer pieces. They were going to be read and discussed in the bar after supper. After lunch, Dermot said he’d see everyone later in the bar for a quick drink before supper. Trying not to feel disappointed, Laura went to her own room to work. She had quite a lot to do for the festival – inviting all the writers appearing to Rupert’s pre-festival dinner for one – and she had promised to read one of Tracy’s category romances. They had agreed between them that Dermot would be shown it only if Laura thought it was fantastic. Her afternoon flew by and she found she only had time for a mug of tea at her desk, although when she looked out of her window, she could see everyone else gathering on the lawn, lying around sunbathing, talking, no doubt, about writing.

She grabbed a quick shower and arrived at the bar late and a little damp.

‘Hey, Laura! You’re at least three drinks behind us,’ said Samantha. ‘What can I get you?’

‘Oh, a white wine spritzer, please.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake! Have a proper drink!’ Samantha made her opinion of Laura’s choice very clear. ‘Have the wine on its own, at least.’

Laura laughed. ‘If I can have the water separately. I don’t drink much as a rule.’

‘That’s not what I heard,’ said Dermot, his eyes dangerously teasing.

‘Isn’t it?’ she said blithely. ‘Well, I can’t imagine where you got your information.’ Then she wondered if she’d been wrong to trust him not to tell everyone about her exploits in Ireland.

Someone touched her elbow. It was Tracy, the woman whose novel Laura had spent a lot of her afternoon reading. ‘Oh, let’s go and talk privately,’ she said. ‘I’ll just get my drink.’ She was relieved to have an excuse to change the subject.