She dismissed this idea as ridiculous as she walked to the taxi queue, trailing her case on wheels. She felt as if she’d been living out of a suitcase for weeks. She was more worried about Dermot than she was about the festival. And she knew Eleanora would be too.

‘Darling, have a drink. God knows I need one,’ said Eleanora before Laura had even negotiated the case into the flat. ‘This is such a disaster.’

Laura abandoned the case and took off her coat, following Eleanora into what turned out to be an enchanting sitting room.

Eleanora went over to what seemed to be a Louis Quinze side table but probably wasn’t, quite, even knowing Eleanora.

‘Gin and tonic? Whisky? Anything you can think of?’

‘Whisky please,’ said Laura.

‘Good plan. We need to be fortified.’

She handed Laura a glass filled to a level that would have fitted right in with the measures she’d had in Ireland. ‘Sit!’

Laura sank on to the sofa. Eleanora took a chair opposite.

‘Sorry to drag you up here,’ Eleanora said, having taken a hearty sip, without any preliminary toast, ‘but you’re the only one who can get us out of this mess.’

‘What do you mean? You’re his agent.’

‘Yes, and his opinion of me, currently, is not fit to print, not even in the grittiest East End crime novel.’ Eleanora put down her glass. ‘He told you about his block, he asked you to help him with the course – that means he likes you. You have to be the sacrificial virgin delivered to the dragon.’

Laura jumped.

‘I was talking figuratively, darling.’ One of Eleanora’s pencilled eyebrows raised in surprise at her reaction.

Laura tried to gloss over the matter. ‘Well, I suppose he does quite like—’

‘No, darling. A lot. He likes you a lot. You certainly don’t irritate him.’

Laura smiled, hiding her pain. She didn’t want him to ‘like’ her, or for her not to irritate him. She wanted him to – well, want her. ‘I think that counts as damning with faint praise.’

‘You must go and talk to him. Tell him that we’re depending on him and that we didn’t leak the story.’

‘So who did? I’m just trying to think who knew.’

‘All the literary blogs have got hold of it,’ said Eleanora gloomily. ‘Why people have to spout on about their doings to the world I can’t imagine.’

‘Let’s have a look at one of the blogs, see if it gives us a hint,’ suggested Laura.

‘My computer’s in my office,’ said Eleanora. ‘You have a look while I deal with supper. It’s a ready meal, I’m afraid.’

‘I don’t care what I eat, really,’ said Laura. ‘Where’s your office?’

‘Room at the end, down the hall. The computer’s on.’