‘No really, I insist,’ went on Adam. ‘It would be unethical for you and Laura to talk before the interview.’ He paused. ‘Because it seems to me that Dermot can twist any woman round his finger and he’d just talk her out of asking anything remotely tricky.’

‘I assure you what I want to say to Laura is of an entirely private nature,’ said Dermot. He was serious now; no more suggestive looks.

Sweat prickled along her hairline as she realised what Dermot might be going to say. He was probably going to ‘explain’ about Bridget, make it clear that what had happened between them had been delightful, but it was a one-off and she mustn’t think of it or him any more, but how about a shag for old times’ sake, Bridget need never know. She could almost hear his lovely sexy voice saying the words. She couldn’t bear it. ‘I think you’re quite right!’ She said this so vehemently, people looked a little startled. ‘I mean,’ she went on, trying to sound more rational, ‘I think it should be like the bride not seeing the bridegroom the night before the wedding.’

Dermot was frowning and apparently somewhat confused. ‘Well, if that’s how you feel, Laura.’

‘I do! I think I’d feel better about interviewing you if we hadn’t talked beforehand. I could approach it in a more professional way.’

‘And a writer of your experience, Dermot,’ said Veronica, ‘shouldn’t have any problems with Laura here. Oh, I do realise she’ll be a lot tougher than she looks in that tiny dress and those heavenly boots, but she’s not going to hang you out to dry!’

‘No,’ Laura agreed meekly, ‘definitely not.’ The ache in her heart had returned with a vengeance.

Dermot sighed. ‘For feck’s sake! But if you insist!’ He looked around the table and then got up. ‘If I can’t talk to the person I want to talk to, I’d better go and see my agent. Is there any chance of any brandy, do you think?’

The happiness that Laura had felt on seeing Dermot again had turned to the depths of despair. She managed to stay chatting to Veronica, Anne and Adam for a few moments longer and then she excused herself on the pretext of seeing when the coffee might turn up.

Fenella was in the kitchen on the same errand, much to the irritation of the Catering Ladies who had it all in hand.

‘Are you all right, honey?’ said Fenella.

‘I’m fine, or rather I will be. I’ve just suddenly realised what Dermot turning up means. I’ll have to interview him, unless there’s anyone else.’ Frantically she mentally scanned the authors who were around. She couldn’t do it, she just couldn’t. ‘Maybe—’