‘I have a huge database of our customers,’ she said to her companion, ‘and I hand-pick them. If I think they’ll like the book I invite them personally. They almost always come. I also run a book club from here. Did run a book club from here.’ She sighed as she corrected herself. ‘I expect it’ll go on when the bookshop is closed. I really hope so.’

‘You sound like a treasure. I’m sure another bookshop will snap you up. It’s so sad that this one’s going. I suppose it’s threatened by the supermarkets?’

Laura nodded. ‘And Henry wants to retire.’

Eleanora Huckleby took a bottle of wine from the table and tipped some into both her and Laura’s glasses. ‘Even the wine is drinkable.’

‘I’d love to find another bookshop, but it would have to be a quirky independent shop like this one,’ said Laura. ‘I’m not sure I could cope without all the autonomy Henry allows me. He’s been great. Lets me order extra copies of books I think will do especially well, read all the proof copies, all the fun stuff.’

Eleanora snorted, possibly at the thought of reading proof copies being described as fun. ‘I should think he’s grateful someone wants to read them.’ She paused, pressing her lips together in thought. ‘So who do you think is the rising literary star?’

Laura raised an eyebrow. ‘Apart from Damien Stubbs?’ She indicated her companion’s client, who was still signing and being charming.

‘Yes. What do you think of Anita Dubrovnik?’

The fact that Laura rarely expressed her true opinions out loud didn’t mean she didn’t have them. Now, when she was about to lose her job and had a glass of wine in her hand, she decided to say what she thought. ‘A great writer but lacks narrative thrust.’

The older woman’s eyes narrowed in agreement. ‘Who else have you read recently?’

‘Bertram Westlake?’

The women exchanged speculative looks. ‘Worthy but dull,’ said Laura firmly.

‘Oh God! Such a relief to find someone who agrees with me. I mean, there’s some great writing in there but whatever happened to plot! OK, what about Janice Hardacre?’

‘Well, I loved The Soul-Mate, but haven’t liked any of her others.’

‘Me neither. And that last one went on for ever.’

‘It was shortlisted for a prize,’ Laura pointed out.

‘God knows why!’

They talked about books, tearing apart the current literary masterpieces and raving over the unsung heroes that sold under a thousand copies, until the more senior of the publicists came over and addressed Eleanora.

‘Fifty books sold!’ She turned to Laura. ‘This has been such a good event. Henry told me you organised most of it. Brilliant! Thank you so much!’ Then she turned back to Eleanora. ‘We thought we’d push off to the restaurant now, if you’re ready.’

‘Mm. May I bring a guest?’