‘Oh he is!’ agreed Tricia. ‘But he’s an enfant terrible. As I said, can’t be managed and we think he’s setting a record for lateness on his latest book. It’s years past its deadline.’

‘As I said, I want him here,’ said Jacob Stone, his tone brooking no argument. ‘And without being mean, if he’s not, you’ll have to find another sponsor.’ Then he turned and walked away.

Everyone inhaled at once and then they all started talking at Laura who wanted to put her hands up to her face and hide. She managed to keep from doing so by sheer effort of will.

‘If you could get him, it would be such a coup,’ said Tricia. ‘Every opinion-former in the literary world will come. I know there will be lots of other writers but no one’s seen him for years. It would be amazing.’

‘Oh please, Laura! I beg you! Do try and get him! We need the money. God knows who we’ll get to be a sponsor if Jacob Stone doesn’t cough up!’ said Fenella. ‘We wouldn’t have approached him if we’d had a choice, he’s so eccentric.’ She turned to Laura, slightly accusing. ‘You said you know him!’

Had no one been listening to her? she thought with frustration. ‘I know his work! Like Shakespeare!’ she squeaked.

‘Now that really would be a coup,’ said Rupert, winking at Laura, ‘getting Shakespeare along.’ He put a fairy cake into her hand.

‘Isn’t he supposed to be rather gorgeous?’ said Monica.

‘Who, Shakespeare?’ asked Fenella.

‘No! Dermot Flynn!’ said Monica.

They all regarded Laura, as the official Dermot Flynn expert. ‘He was when he was young, going by the pictures,’ Laura admitted, wondering if people would stop expecting things from her if she stuffed the cake into her mouth whole.

‘And Eleanora told me he’s doing a little festival in Ireland at a place called Ballyfitzpatrick,’ said Tricia, taking a fairy cake from Rupert and unpeeling the paper.

‘Oh,’ said Monica, sounding surprised.

‘I think he lives there,’ Tricia explained. ‘And I don’t think it’s really literary, just some people who are friends who’ve got together to put something on,’ she went on and then bit into her cake.

Laura saw her way out. ‘Oh well then, you just need to get Eleanora to ask him to come to this one. It’ll be small and friendly, he’s bound to say yes.’ She passed the buck with both hands.

Tricia gave a hollow laugh. ‘But how to get in touch with the man? He doesn’t open letters, or email, or answer his phone, or ring back. I told you, he’s an absolute nightmare!’

‘So how did you find out he was doing this festival?’ asked Monica. ‘If he doesn’t communicate?’