‘To be honest,’ said Eleanora, filling two wine glasses to the brim. ‘I’m not bothered about the festival. Do start. This won’t be delicious hot, but it’ll be uneatable cold.’ She paused while she contemplated her plate for a moment before picking up her knife and fork and plunging in. She went on, a piece of chicken balanced on the end of her fork. ‘Obviously it would be fantastic if Dermot appeared but right now it’s him I’m worried about.’

Laura paused, her own fork halfway to her mouth. ‘What do you mean?’

Eleanora put down her knife and fork. ‘He’s a very tempestuous sort of person. If he took all this the wrong way he could . . .’

‘What? What are you talking about?’

‘Well, I don’t suppose he’d actually do away with himself or anything,’ Eleanora said slowly, ‘but it could easily mean he gives up writing all together, which would be a loss. A great loss.’

Despite her breezy air at times, Laura knew that Eleanora still hoped that Dermot would produce another masterpiece, even after all this time, and not just for her ten per cent. She believed in him, just as Laura did. She felt a rush of affection for the older woman.

A gloomy silence settled over them. Laura sipped her wine, thinking about a world with no more books from Dermot Flynn. ‘That would be dreadful,’ she said aloud.

‘Which is why you have to go there and sort him out.’

Laura replaced her glass, aware that Eleanora was a clever, manipulative person. ‘Why me? Why not you? Who better than his agent? You’ve known him all his writing life. You could be a mother figure to him.’

‘I can’t be a mother to him. He currently hates me. You’re the only one. You did it before, after all. You got him to agree to come to the festival in the first place.’

‘Yes, but he hates the festival now! He probably hates me too!’

‘Darling child, he does not hate you! Trust me on that. He’ll be only too pleased to see an uncritical face.’

‘I’m not that uncritical!’ said Laura wishing her indignation was genuine.

‘I know it must seem a bit too much like déjà vu, or Groundhog Day, or whatever the expression is, but you are the one for this task.’ She paused. ‘Even if he’s not that pleased to see anyone, he’d rather see you than anyone else I can think of.’ She looked at Laura, her eyes bright with anticipation.

Knowing when she was cornered, Laura said, ‘OK,’ and picked up her wine glass again. She felt tired and anxious, but there was a tiny spark of excitement at the prospect of seeing Dermot again.