‘Oh, I – um – well, I’ve just finished helping to run a literary festival,’ she said. She still didn’t know if Eleanora had set them up for a date, in which case she should think of something to say about herself that would make her sound interesting (but unavailable), or a job, in which case she’d definitely want to appear interested and efficient (and possibly available).

‘That sounds interesting.’ Gerald’s polite but genuine response gave her no clue. ‘My wife worked as a volunteer at the Cheltenham Festival once, when she was a student.’

He had a wife, so he wasn’t a potential date. This was a relief. She relaxed a bit more.

‘It was interesting, and quite challenging too, actually. It is amazing how many things you need to be able to do. I had to talk to groups of schoolchildren which, I have to say, is one of the most frightening things I’ve ever done in my life.’

‘I can imagine! In fact, I can’t imagine anything more terrifying!’

His horror made Laura laugh and she felt herself relax even further. ‘Well, they were supervised and I didn’t have to talk for long. Der— a friend had given some hints on how to tackle it and it went quite well. I almost enjoyed doing it at the last school.’

‘I still don’t want to do it. You must be a natural teacher.’

Laura shook her head. ‘Oh no, I’ve never done any teaching.’ She paused. ‘Although come to think of it, I sort of did, when I helped someone run a writing course.’

‘You are a woman of many parts,’ said Gerald gravely, but with enough of a twinkle to tell Laura that he had a sense of humour.

Eleanora swooped back. ‘Nipped that in the bud. But honestly! What is the point in having an agent if you don’t do what they say?’

There was a moment’s pause and then Gerald spoke. ‘I can promise you, Eleanora, if you were my agent, I’d do exactly what you say.’

‘Oh, are you a writer?’ asked Laura.

Gerald was horrified. ‘God no! The boot’s on the other foot! I’m a publisher.’

‘Oh.’ Laura was spared having to wonder why the thought of being a writer was so ghastly, or to think of a proper reaction by the arrival of the starters.

‘Yes and he needs you, Laura dear.’ Not even the arrival of a miniature sculpture made from shellfish, seaweed and something bright red put Eleanora off her stride.

Gerald and Laura exchanged appalled glances. ‘I don’t think—’ they began, more or less in unison.

‘Yes you do, you just don’t know it yet.’ Having checked that Gerald’s soup and Laura’s tian of baby vegetables had arrived, she picked up a mussel. ‘Laura has always wanted to be an editor.’

‘How do—’