Dermot closed the book and Seamus rested his fingers on his guitar strings to silence them. It was over. For a moment there was silence, as if no one wanted to break the spell Dermot had woven around them. And then the theatre erupted.

There was, inevitably, a standing ovation. Laura slipped outside, too overwhelmed to be able to join in. Damn the man for putting her in this turmoil, she thought. But wasn’t he wonderful? Walking up and down in the road on her own, her heart began to sing. He was a star; he wouldn’t regret coming to the festival. And however painful it was to admit it, she loved him with all her heart.

‘Are you OK?’ A friendly male voice addressed her. ‘It’s me, Hugo. I’m Sarah’s other half and a friend of Rupert and Fenella’s.’

‘Oh yes, of course. Hello again. I’m fine,’ she insisted.

Hugo studied her thoughtfully. ‘Do you want me to run you home? Escape all the crowds? You’re interviewing the great man tomorrow, aren’t you? You might need some time away from the furore.’

‘That would be brilliant! Can you do that?’ Laura felt relief course through her and she almost stumbled.

‘What, drive you home? Yup, and be back before anyone notices I haven’t been here all the time. Come with me. The car’s here.’

Having asked Hugo to tell Monica and Grant she’d gone home, she left a note for Monica and then fled up to the mezzanine and went to bed. She couldn’t think of any questions tonight: she was too wrung out. After ten minutes she came back downstairs and made some hot chocolate. She took it back up to bed with her and hoped she’d get to sleep this time. Surprisingly, she did.

On Sunday she had very little time either to think about the interview later that day or dwell on the emotions Dermot’s reading had stirred up in her the night before. She’d joked to Fenella and Sarah at breakfast about needing time to lie on her bed with slices of cucumber on her eyes, but really she was worried that if she didn’t have time to prepare, Dermot would make her look a complete fool. And while it was how Dermot performed that mattered, his reputation wouldn’t be enhanced if he was asked obvious questions by a slip of a thing with wild curly hair who was totally unprepared. She owed it to herself, too.

Sunday’s schedule was genteelly packed. As soon as they’d had one of Rupert’s famous breakfasts, Veronica and Anne plus Maria Cavendish, a crime author, squashed themselves into the car and Laura set off towards the first of their destinations. The ‘Festival in the Community’ had been a very popular idea – one Laura now wished she hadn’t had, although perhaps it was the distraction she needed.