‘He was a bastard. And a cliché. He had an affair with his secretary, if you can believe it. It’s like something out of a Beverley Cleverley novel.’

‘Oh,’ said Nelson, brightening up. ‘Do you enjoy her work?’

‘It’s fine. I mean, I might read one when I’m on the bus or if I’m waiting for a smear test. They’re easy and you don’t have to think. She’s not exactly Maude Avery, is she?’

‘Well, she’s very popular, I know that much,’ said Nelson, feeling on safer ground. ‘I thought The Surgeon’s Broken Heart was particularly good. Although, no, perhaps not quite at the level of Like to the Lark.’

‘I read that when I was at university,’ said the woman, folding her arms tightly around her own body as if she was trying to wrap herself up in a cocoon. ‘It changed my life.’

‘In what way?’

‘Mind your own business,’ said the woman, looking infuriated by the question. ‘I did read the latest Sarah Waters, though, and that was very good. Have you read her?’

‘I haven’t, I’m afraid,’ admitted Nelson.

‘Oh, let me guess,’ said the woman, sneering at him. ‘You’re one of those men who say they don’t read women.’

‘Not at all,’ said Nelson. ‘Like I said, I read Beverley Cleverley’s most recent one. And I’ve read books by …’ He racked his brain for names. ‘Anne Brontë. Anne Enright. Anne Griffin. Anne Tyler.’

‘All you’re doing is naming writers called Anne. Have you really read them or are you making this up?’

‘I’ve really read them,’ he said.

‘And is it a fetish, all these Annes? Might you move on to a Rose, perhaps? Or a Claire? Or a Zadie?’

‘I expect I will,’ he said. ‘Do you read a lot of novels, then?’

‘Not really,’ she said, turning away. ‘I always say, if a book’s any good, then they’ll make it into a film. Like Captain Corelli’s Mandolin. Or The Bonfire of the Vanities.’

‘Three of Beverley Cleverley’s novels have been made into films, you know. One won an Oscar.’

‘For what?’

‘Best Make-up and Hairstyling.’

The woman snorted. ‘Anyone would think you’re her publicist, the way you’re carrying on. Christ, is that bell going to ring anytime soon? BONG!’ she roared at the top of her voice, making everyone else in the room turn to stare at her. ‘BONG!’

And then the bell did go off and on they moved.

Nelson now found himself seated opposite a young man of around his own age. His sticker said Number 18 – the famed Number 18! – and he had to admit, the two women had been right earlier, for he was very good-looking, with a boyish face, thick brown hair, kind eyes and excellent stubble. He was wearing scrubs, the same type that Nelson himself had been wearing on the day that Dr Oristo told him that she was retiring, but he knew better than to trust that this meant anything. It was entirely possible that he worked in H&M, or was the Foreign Secretary.