‘We ought to discuss your various events,’ said Laura, struggling to breathe properly and working very hard on being businesslike. ‘Tomorrow you’re supposed to be reading extracts of your books with Celtic music accompanying.’

His look of disgust made Anne and Veronica chuckle.

‘Of course, you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,’ said Fenella quickly. ‘Laura’s chosen some extracts and Rupert’s going to read them in an Irish accent. We have a CD for the music.’

At this his look of disgust was even more extreme.

‘Or whatever you prefer,’ said Fenella. ‘Really—’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ said Laura. ‘I’m sure now he’s here, Dermot will do whatever he’s scheduled to do.’ She smiled sweetly at him.

‘For a leprechaun you’re very bad-tempered,’ he said.

‘Not at all. Leprechauns are notoriously bad-tempered. Think of Rumpelstiltskin,’ she said, trying to sound sniffy. She was enjoying herself. She could banter with him without fearing for her safety.

‘I always thought he was very hard done by,’ said Anne to Veronica.

‘So did I!’ said Dermot, joining in with glee. ‘He helps that materialistic woman—’

‘It wasn’t her fault,’ said Anne. ‘She was sold into that marriage by her father.’

‘And the king wasn’t much better,’ agreed Veronica. ‘He only wanted her for her ability to spin straw into gold.’

‘Oh, I think he wanted the girl for her beauty too,’ said Dermot. ‘He just used the straw-into-gold thing as an excuse.’

Laura channelled her tumultuous feelings into a snappish efficiency. ‘Lovely though it is to hear all your thoughts on the subtext of traditional fairy stories, firstly I don’t think Rumplestiltskin was actually a leprechaun and secondly, could I just bring us all back to the present day? Dermot has to do an event for which every ticket has been sold. Could we agree what it is?’

‘Does that mean we won’t be doing the panel?’ said Adam, sounding disappointed. ‘I was really hoping—’

‘For some publicity?’ said Anne. ‘Surely not!’ Her amused expression took the sting out of her words.

Adam glanced at her sideways, as if a full-on look might turn him to stone, and muttered out of the corner of his mouth, ‘So how many paperbacks would you reckon to sell?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Anne. ‘If I’m lucky, about a hundred thousand.’

‘A hundred thousand? Bloody hell!’

‘She’s being modest,’ said Veronica. ‘She sells far more than that.’

‘Only because they’re in the supermarkets.’ Now that she’d demolished him, Anne now wanted Adam to feel better.

Laura was trying to catch Dermot’s attention but he was too busy enjoying the interchange between the popular-fiction writer and the literary novelist.

She opened her mouth to try again but Monica pipped her to the post. ‘Dermot, do you remember me?’