His charm was like an interrogation light: no one, let alone a woman like Monica, could fail to melt a little under its influence, in spite of how she’d been with him when they were in Ireland. ‘How could I forget the woman who asked such searching questions from the floor?’

‘Oh? What were they?’ asked Adam. ‘I always like to plant a few good questions.’

‘I don’t think you’d want that kind of question,’ said Laura, blushing hard, hoping everyone would just think she’d had too much to drink.

‘No, but something that allows one—’

‘She asked me when I last used a condom,’ said Dermot brutally.

‘Oh!’

Anne and Veronica both snorted into their wine, unable to hide their amusement.

‘But Dermot’s not going to hold that against me,’ said Monica. ‘Are you? I want to ask you about Seamus.’

‘And I don’t think—’ said Laura.

‘What about Seamus?’ asked Dermot. ‘Who is Seamus?’

‘He’s a musician,’ said Monica, fighting for her man. ‘I just don’t think – I mean, possibly—’ She stopped. ‘You might know him?’

‘Just because they’re both Irish, doesn’t mean they know each other,’ said Adam. ‘Hi, Dermot, may I introduce myself? Adam Saint.’ He leant over and stuck his hand out towards Dermot.

‘What’s his surname?’ said Dermot, having smiled briefly at Adam, ignoring the proffered hand.

‘O’Hennessy. He lives—’

‘Oh God, that Seamus! Of course I bloody know him! Don’t tell me he’s made you pregnant? I’ll knock him down for you.’

Becoming hysterical, Monica began to laugh. ‘No! He hasn’t! Anyway, if he had it would be my responsibility. He just wants to play—’

‘Monica,’ Laura implored. ‘His band was dreadful! You said so yourself.’

‘What does he want to play, and why?’ demanded Dermot.

‘His bodhrán. Behind you as you read out pieces from your great work.’

It was Adam Saint’s turn to laugh. Dermot made a face at Laura. ‘Did I agree to this?’

‘I probably didn’t get round to asking you,’ she admitted. ‘I got distracted!’

Dermot smiled. ‘So you did. So what precisely would you have been asking me to do if you hadn’t . . . got distracted?’

‘To read from your work to the accompaniment of Irish music,’ Laura muttered. ‘It’s to link the music and the literary bit of the festival together. I know you hate the idea, but don’t worry, we can do Rupert’s thing.’

‘With the fake accent and the Celtic Twilight bollocks?’

Anne and Veronica were loving it. Even Adam Saint seemed content.

‘Yes,’ muttered Laura, concentrating on getting a bit of sweetcorn back into the rice it had escaped from with her fork. It was wonderful to be so close to Dermot but also agony. It was making it so much harder to keep her feelings in check. Unrequited love was so painful.