‘Oh, you got me a coffee,’ said the ghost. ‘You’re a superstar. I need this. I don’t suppose you ordered any food, did you?’

‘No, I did not,’ said Beverley. ‘I’m not your personal assistant.’

‘No, of course not. I just wondered, that’s all.’ She reached forward and, to Beverley’s horror, took her hand in her own. ‘How are you?’ she asked, pulling a sympathetic face.

‘I’m absolutely fine,’ Beverley replied, rearing back and wiping her hand on her skirt. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘Only I saw the article in this morning’s newspaper. About George.’

‘You mean Mr Cleverley.’

‘If you like.’

Beverley looked away and did her best to maintain a calm demeanour. ‘If you think the hacks can upset me, then you’re wrong,’ she said. ‘I know my husband, and I’m sure the entire thing is a massive exaggeration. Also, the woman in question is obviously a tart.’

‘Oh,’ said the ghost, shocked. ‘That’s really not the way that women should talk about each other, is it? Sisterly solidarity and all that.’

‘Spare me,’ said Beverley, waving this away. ‘She’s not my “sister”. She’s a person of low morals who thought nothing of sleeping with another woman’s husband, pretending to get pregnant by him and then, when scorned, selling her story to the Daily Mail. She’s no more my sister than you are.’

‘Well, we do share a sort of bond, don’t we?’ asked the ghost. ‘Given that we’re both writers.’

‘Only one of us is a writer, dear,’ said Beverley, with a patronizing smile.

‘True. But your name is on the covers of your books so people think of you as one.’

Beverley gritted her teeth, feeling an urge to throw the coffee in the ghost’s face, an urge she resisted for now.

‘It hasn’t been the best week for George, has it?’ asked the ghost.

‘Mr Cleverley has been going through a difficult time,’ said Beverley. ‘Which is not uncommon among men of a certain age. I’d prefer not to discuss it, if you don’t mind. It’s a private family matter.’

‘Of course. But if you want to talk—’

‘I don’t.’

‘But if you do—’

‘I don’t.’

‘Then I hope you know that I’m—’

‘But I don’t.’

‘All right.’

‘So,’ said Beverley, not wishing to continue this part of the conversation any further and placing her hands on the manuscript before her. ‘I’ve read the chapters you submitted.’

‘Oh good!’

‘And I have to say that I’m very disappointed.’

The ghost raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?’ she said. ‘I thought they were some of your best work.’