It was the last day of the course and everyone was anxious about Eleanora’s impending visit. Although they had never met her, the students instinctively felt their work was going to be torn to shreds, even though Dermot had already taken it apart and put it together again. Dermot may well have been wondering if his agent would press him on his work-in-progress, although he didn’t tell Laura this, there had to be some reason for his twitchiness. And Laura was convinced Eleanora would feel she should have got Dermot to announce his presence at the festival to the world. Although, when she thought more deeply, she realised this probably wasn’t the case at all, and she was just picking up nerves from everyone else.

Eleanora arrived in style, driving herself in an old Ferrari that roared up to the building leaving an expensive trail of blue smoke behind it.

Dermot was there to greet her. He had put on his suit, which was now so creased it looked as if it had been run over several times by a steamroller. Laura had longed to tell him to brush his hair but had refrained, realising that Eleanora, who knew him quite well, wouldn’t expect him to be smart. The rest of them had all got used to his scruffy, writerly appearance.

He kissed Eleanora warmly and said, ‘I’m not sure you can leave your car there, Nellie, dear heart.’

Eleanora bridled and said, ‘Don’t call me Nellie, and I’m sure this nice young man will park it for me.’

The ‘nice young man’ in question was Gareth, whom Laura privately referred to as the Young Turk. He was only too delighted to catch the keys that Eleanora tossed to him. Grateful that she hadn’t been asked to park it herself, Laura followed Dermot and Eleanora into the building and along the corridor to the lecture room.

Eleanora was ferocious! Laura thought that Dermot had been quite tough, but Eleanora was tougher. She’d suspected she’d tell it how it was but Eleanora went to town and what’s more seemed to enjoy imparting every negative aspect of the writer’s lot she could think of – and more. She told the students the chances of them getting published were hardly better than winning the lottery. She then went on to say that getting published wasn’t half as hard as staying that way. If your first book didn’t do well, your second wouldn’t see the light of day, and if you weren’t well published, you might as well burn your books in a corner of your garden because they might attract more attention that way.

No one actually burst into tears, but Laura felt it was only a matter of time.