‘I’m afraid I don’t know much about him,’ admitted the ghost. ‘Although I’ve read The Da Vinci Code.’

‘I saw the film,’ said Beverley. ‘Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not comparing what I do with what Leonardo da Vinci did. His work is probably a lot better than mine. But, as fellow creatives, I imagine we would share a certain sympathy.’

A noise came from the corner of the room and both women turned to look towards its source.

‘There’s a box over there,’ said the ghost. ‘And it appears to be moving.’

‘It’s not my box,’ replied Beverley.

‘It’s in your drawing room.’

‘I know. And I wish it wasn’t. It contains a tortoise named Ustym Karmaliuk. I’m taking care of him for a friend.’

‘Ustym Karmaliuk, the great Ukrainian folk hero?’ asked the ghost, opening her mouth in surprise. ‘The Robin Hood of post-Napoleonic Europe?’

‘I’m surprised you’ve heard of him,’ said Beverley.

‘Hasn’t everyone?’

‘I wouldn’t have thought so, no.’

‘Well, the truth is, I have a great interest in the region,’ explained the ghost. ‘My grandparents emigrated from Kiev in the fifties and, when I was growing up, they told me many stories of their history.’

‘Really,’ replied Beverley. ‘How interesting. And have you been there yourself?’

‘Not yet,’ said the ghost. ‘The flights are quite—’

‘Expensive, yes. You’ve mentioned your financial difficulties. You see, there is something less interesting about you than your looks, after all.’

The ghost smiled and blinked a few times. A curious silence ensued and Beverley began to feel that they were two unprepared actors on a stage, each one convinced it was the other’s line.

‘May I take a look at your tortoise?’ asked the ghost eventually.

‘As I explained, he’s not my tortoise, but feel free. Just don’t expect too much back from him. He’s not like a puppy or a child, always demanding attention and, you know, love.’

The ghost stood up and walked across the room, lifted the lid from the box and looked inside. Beverley could hear her whispering something, and then she appeared to be singing slightly out of tune. Finally, she replaced the lid and left Ustym Karmaliuk to reflect upon their conversation as she returned to her seat.

‘Beautiful,’ she said. ‘Simply beautiful. Did you know that tortoises can live for up to two hundred years?’

‘I didn’t,’ replied Beverley. ‘They’re not really my area of expertise. Although I’m reliably informed that this one is a hundred and fifteen. Now, tell me, since you’re currently unemployed, you’d be able to devote all your time to my new book?’

‘Oh yes. Of course. Philippa said that a timetable is usually put in place?’

‘Ten weeks,’ said Beverley. ‘That’s usually enough time. If you spend any more time on a book, it just feels overworked. We need a finished manuscript by the end of the summer if it’s to be ready for publication in March, as I always publish my novels in the week leading up to Mother’s Day.’