‘But he hasn’t treated me badly, really.’ Laura kept feeling an impulse to confide in Monica about Bridget, then realising she didn’t want to drag it all up again. She was coping as well as she could, she thought. Don’t rock the boat. Monica knew she was upset; she didn’t need all the sorry details.

Monica wasn’t having this. ‘Oh, for Jaysus’ sake! From where I’m standing, he may be lovely and charming and a God’s gift to the literary world, but he had his evil way with you and never phoned! In my book that’s not gentlemanly behaviour. How much more badly could he treat you?’ She obviously still felt loyal towards her friend and for that Laura was grateful.

‘I should think a lot worse. He could have made me pregnant and then left me.’ Then, wanting to change the subject, she said, ‘Now, what about breakfast? Cooked or toast?’

‘Cooked, I think. I want to see Dermot, even if you don’t.’

‘Monica, don’t start interrogating him . . .’ But Monica was already out of the door.

The Somerby kitchen was full of chatter, clattering and the smell of bacon. Rupert was wearing a huge apron and had three frying pans on the go and a separate pan full of scrambled eggs. Dermot wasn’t there.

‘He, Rupert and Eleanora stayed up into the early hours,’ Fenella reported to Laura, obviously annoyed. ‘They’ll be fit for nothing later, and Dermot’s got to do his thing with Seamus.’

‘Have you eaten anything yet?’ Laura asked.

‘No she hasn’t,’ snapped Sarah, equally tetchily. Everyone was obviously a little anxious now the literary festival was officially open and the first proper day of events was before them. She took Fenella by the shoulders and guided her to an empty seat. Then she put a big plate of food down in front of her. ‘Get that down you. I’ll fetch you some tea.’

They all chatted for a while about nothing in particular, and Laura had just begun her own breakfast when Dermot and Eleanora appeared. Eleanora demanded a full English and Dermot just some toast and black coffee. Anne and Veronica, who were tucking their chairs neatly under the table, exchanged glances. ‘I love it when people act out of character!’ one of them whispered as they left. ‘You’d expect Eleanora to gnaw on dry toast and Dermot to have a huge fry-up!’

As soon as she decently could, Laura returned to her little house to sort herself out. She had come back to see if Anne and Veronica were ready when she met Sarah in the hall.

‘This could be a bit awkward,’ said Sarah. ‘There are several journalists here. Would you be a love and run back down and see if Dermot wants to speak to them? Otherwise, I’ll get rid.’