‘Yes it is! What’s the downside?’ Then Laura suddenly wished she hadn’t asked. Fenella was looking at her with a sympathy that could only mean one thing. ‘Oh don’t tell me. It’s to do with Dermot, isn’t it? They’ll come if they can meet the “greatest living Irish writer” da de da de da.’

‘I want to thank you for not doing those wiggly things in the air with your fingers for inverted commas,’ said Sarah gravely.

This broke the tension somewhat, but didn’t stop Laura clenching her fists. ‘I’m just so fed up with this! Bloody Dermot! Why is he being so – bloody difficult.’ Her pent-up frustration at herself for minding so much was making her crosser than she wanted to be.

‘I thought you were going to use a four-letter word for a moment there, Laura,’ said Fenella.

‘I did in my head. I’ve just trained myself not to say it out loud, because of working in the shop – or at least not often. But you must see my point! He’s been such a – nuisance! I mean, how long does it take to answer an email, even if only to say no! The literary festival starts tomorrow, for God’s sake!’ She’d even rung Marion, her bed and breakfast hostess, to see if she knew anything, but all she could say was that he was holed up again and no one had seen hair nor hide of him. She didn’t tell the others this because they’d ask, perfectly reasonably, if she’d phoned him. She didn’t want to have to explain why she hadn’t. And anyway, Eleanora had and she was much better at getting mountains to move.

‘He did get us a very good sponsor, who hasn’t withdrawn his sponsorship in spite of Dermot being such a loose cannon,’ Sarah pointed out reasonably.

‘He could have lost us it,’ said Laura.

‘And think of all the authors who confirmed when there was all that fuss in the press!’ said Fenella. ‘They were queuing up to come!’

‘And if he doesn’t turn up no one will ever agree to appear at this festival again!’ said Laura. ‘They’ll say we got people here under false pretences. The press will have a field day . . .’

‘He might still come,’ said Fenella softly, obviously not really believing that he would. ‘Try not to take it to heart, Laura.’

Laura sighed. It was much too late for that.

‘And I’m not going to Ireland to try and bring him. Not again. It wouldn’t work. It didn’t work on either of the other two times I tried it.’ Laura took refuge in another biscuit.

‘So what shall I tell the man from Ironstone?’ said Fenella after a suitable pause out of respect for Laura’s previous efforts.

‘The truth!’ said Laura, still crunching.