Anne Marsh enveloped Laura in a Chanel-scented, silken hug. ‘Bless your heart.’ She wore a lot of scarves and jewellery and was like a softer version of Eleanora. ‘How many writers have you got coming to the dinner?’

Laura considered. ‘Well, there’s you two, Kathryn Elisabeth couldn’t be here tonight but is doing an event in the library tomorrow. There are a couple of literary writers, including Damien Stubbs and a science-fiction writer. We didn’t have room for everyone. So that’s six.’ She didn’t mention that there should have been seven, in case there wasn’t.

‘Well, we’re very happy to be part of it all,’ said Veronica.

‘Hello!’ Fenella appeared. ‘I’m Fenella.’ She shook hands with both women. ‘Now, would you like some tea first, or to be shown to your rooms?’

The women exchanged glances. ‘Let’s find our rooms,’ said Veronica. ‘But then a cup of tea would be wonderful.’

‘I’ll organise the tea,’ said Laura. ‘Would you like it in the sitting room or the kitchen?’

‘Kitchen,’ they said in unison.

‘In which case, you stay here,’ said Fenella to Laura, ‘and I’ll make tea when Anne and Veronica are settled.’

Eleanora appeared and, hard on her heels, a young writer of literary fiction who’d got lost and was not at all happy. Fortunately for Laura, Eleanora gave him a sharp lecture about being grateful for the exposure, and that books like his hardly sold diddly-squat, and that this was a great opportunity.

A couple of men in country clothes arrived. They turned out to be literary editors. They’d travelled together and were extremely pleasant. ‘So will Dermot actually appear?’ one of them asked Laura.

She shrugged, and then smiled, remembering that they were supposed to be pretending he was coming, at least to everyone else.

‘Shall we open a book on it?’ said the other one.

Laughing, they followed Fenella to their accommodation.

At last everyone they were expecting had arrived, except Dermot.

‘It really is an amazing room,’ said Laura, looking around her.

The huge table took up most of the middle, but the room was so large there was ample space for sideboards and serving tables at the edges.

The vast mahogany table shone, set off by the sparkling glasses and crisp white napery. Laura’s eye was caught by something and she looked closer.

‘It’s a darn! In the napkin!’

Sarah laughed. ‘It’s all antique, from Rupert’s family, or from car-boot sales, depending. The glasses are a bit mixed if you look carefully. Fenella’s been hunting for nice ones on eBay.’

‘But so many of them – the polishing must have been a nightmare.’

‘The Catering Ladies really enjoy making everything look perfect.’ Sarah chuckled. ‘They were a bit horrified when they saw the number of bottles of wine Rupert’s put out.’