‘Well, I’ll do something, if only to spare us that. And Seamus can play, as long as it’s not the fiddle.’

‘Oh Dermot, thank you!’ said Monica, reaching across three plates of chicken to kiss him, and narrowly missing some curry-and-mango-flavoured mayonnaise as she did so.

‘So who’s going to do the big interview on Sunday night?’ asked Adam. ‘Everyone’s going to be really interested to hear that.’ Something in his tone suggested schadenfreude.

‘I’m sure they are,’ said Dermot lazily. ‘Did I agree to do a big interview? Or did you slip that one by me too?’ His gaze wandered over Laura in a speculative way that made her feel weak and angry with herself and consequently cross with him for having this effect on her. He obviously thought they could pick up where they’d left off. That he only had to look at her and she’d willingly leap into bed with him.

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, stop being such a prima donna. Of course there’ll be a big interview! This is a literary festival! It’s what happens!’

‘So who’s doing it?’ Adam pressed on, possibly hoping for the hardest-hitting, most incisive, unkindest interviewer around – the Jeremy Paxman of the literary world, if not the Jeremy Paxman.

‘I am,’ said Laura, more sharply than she had intended.

‘Oh,’ said Adam. ‘Bit of a pushover that will be for you, Dermot! Can’t you face a proper interviewer, then?’

‘I’ll have you know that the leprechaun here is very proper, or she was until I got to her, and I’m sure she’ll ask some very searching questions,’ said Dermot.

‘I will indeed,’ said Laura, hoping to goodness she’d be able to think of more than the three she’d scribbled down in her notebook late one evening. ‘We couldn’t book anyone famous without knowing if Dermot was able to attend,’ she said to Adam.

‘You see? It’s all my fault,’ Dermot said. ‘Laura dear, is there any chance of getting you on your own?’ He raised an eyebrow and Laura flushed. Did he really expect to claim his ‘shag’? While the mouse was safely back in Ireland, the cat could claim his prey. Humph!

‘Oh, you can’t nobble her,’ said Adam. ‘That would be entirely unsporting.’

‘I’m not entirely sure what you mean by “nobble”,’ said Dermot, ‘but that was the very last thing I had in mind.’

‘Here’s the pudding,’ said Veronica quickly, sensing trouble. ‘Banoffee pie. I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.’

Laura caught her eye and smiled her gratitude. She knew Dermot had been going to say something outrageous and realised Veronica had too.