‘And do you have an idea for the new one?’ asked the ghost.

‘I do,’ said Beverley, smiling widely. ‘It’s about a young man from Eastern Europe who becomes a ski instructor in Verbier and falls head over heels in love with an English woman.’

The ghost nodded and waited for more information, but none seemed to be forthcoming.

‘And what happens then?’ she asked finally.

‘Oh, there are any number of misunderstandings and chance encounters. Some witty dialogue and obstacles to their love. You can figure out all those minor details, I imagine. But they get past them and, in the end, marry.’

‘I see,’ said the ghost. ‘But I expect you provide a more detailed synopsis at the commissioning stage?’

‘Not really, no,’ replied Beverley cheerfully. ‘I think there’s more than enough there for you to be getting on with, don’t you? What do you think, does it fire up your imagination?’

‘Well, it gives me a lot to play with, certainly.’

‘Good. And remember, my readers don’t like an awful lot of description. No need to spend pages and pages describing clouds and wallpaper and fields filled with flowers. Sometimes the sky is just blue, all right?’

‘And what is your philosophy of writing, if you don’t mind my asking?’

‘My what?’ asked Beverley, frowning.

‘Your philosophy of writing. As in, what do you think a novel should be?’

‘Ah,’ replied Beverley, considering this. ‘Well, a novel must have interesting sentences that gather together to make fascinating paragraphs. I believe very strongly in the idea of the chapter – that’s crucial. And good spelling. I mean, if a writer can’t spell, then what use is she? And the characters are very important to me. It might sound simplistic to say that they should be clearly divided into what one might call “the good guys” and “the bad guys”, but art must imitate life and, in life, I find these are the categories into which most people fall. You’re not taking notes, I see?’

From the hallway, there came the sound of the front door being opened and, a moment later, George stepped into the room.

‘Hello,’ he said, surprised to see a stranger sitting there. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m a ghost,’ said the ghost.

‘Splendid. Hello, darling,’ he added, leaning over and kissing Beverley on the cheek. ‘Pleasant day?’

‘No. Terrible.’

‘Trust me, it couldn’t have been as bad as mine.’

‘Anyway, we’re just finishing up here. I’ll see you out, dear,’ she added, standing up and leading the ghost towards the hallway to retrieve her jacket, which looked as if it had been sourced from a skip behind a homeless shelter. ‘It’s been a pleasure meeting you,’ she said.

‘So should I wait to hear from you?’

‘Philippa will send a contract through, but I’m happy to go ahead if you are. I get a good sense from you. I think we can work well together. Just stay away from London Zoo, all right? If something ridiculous was to happen to you, too, it would simply be more than I could cope with. I’ll text you later tonight, as I’ll need to meet you at Selfridges tomorrow morning.’