Laura had thought about this when she very first had the idea of combining music and readings. ‘OK, I’ve marked some places. If you go into my house, on the bookshelf are copies of both Dermot’s books. The passages I think are best have paperclips on the pages.’

‘You’re amazing! I bet you’re glad I never got round to borrowing them after all, or we’d never find the books, let alone some good bits.’

She wanted to retort that Dermot’s books were all ‘good bits’ but just said, ‘Glad to be of help.’

Laura went back to the tea shop and decided Jap cakes were no longer optional, but essential. She was frantically thinking about when she was going to have time to plan what to ask Dermot the following night. Tomorrow she was touring the countryside for the ‘Festival in the Community’ with authors in the back of her car, taking them to visit old people’s homes. Still, there should be time between getting the authors back to Somerby and being on hand again in case she was needed to get them to Dermot’s musical event. With luck, she shouldn’t have to do that at all, and then she’d have plenty of time. Well, an hour or so, anyway.

When she and Fenella had been planning the festival they had welcomed each new suggestion and set it up gleefully. The programme was full of events at venues all over the area. Everyone had taken up the ideas with enthusiasm. It was only now, when the festival was actually happening, that they realised quite how much running around was involved.

It was quite late by the time they got back to Somerby as Veronica had insisted on visiting a local garden centre and Laura felt she could hardly say ‘there’s no time’. Grant and Monica were waiting for her on the doorstep of the main house. She had forgotten they were all going to have a drink together before Dermot’s event. She’d have no time to write down her questions this evening. She sighed.

‘Laura, I can’t believe you’ve been taking these lovely authors round the country in my old banger,’ said Grant as he and Monica helped Veronica and Anne out of his old car.

‘It’s been fine,’ said Anne, taking his arm and heaving herself out of the back of the car. ‘It’s just we’re women of a certain age.’

Veronica, in the front, who had got out unaided, humphed. ‘Women of a certain arse, more like!’

Grant regarded them both. ‘I don’t know if I should laugh at that joke or not!