He gazed at me angrily, but I knew he still believed in himself – the fact that we were even having this conversation proved that.

'It doesn't have to be marital conflicts,' I told him. 'We could get a few sub-plots from the Well and sew them in – I agree the action can't always stay with you, but if we— Hello, I think we've got company.'

A pink Triumph Herald had pulled up with a middle-aged woman in it. She got out, walked straight up to Jack and slapped him hard in the face.

'How dare you!' she screamed. 'I waited three hours for you at the Sad & Single wine bar – what happened?'

'I told you, Agatha. I was with my wife.'

'Sure you were,' she spat, her voice rising. 'Don't patronise me with your pathetic little lies – who are you screwing this time? One of those little tarts down at the station?'

'It's true,' he replied in an even voice, more shocked than outraged. 'I told you last night – it's all over, Agatha.'

'Oh yes? I suppose you put him up to this?' she said, looking at me, scorn and anger in her eyes. 'You come down here on a character exchange with your Outlander airs and self-determination bullshit and think you can improve the storyline? The supreme arrogance of you people!'

She stopped for a moment and looked at the pair of us.

'You're sleeping together, aren't you?'

'No,' I told her firmly, 'and if there aren't some improvements round here soon, there won't be a book. If you want a transfer out of here, I'm sure I can arrange something—'

'It's all so easy for you, isn't it?' she said, her face convulsing with anger and then fear as her voice rose. 'Think you can just make a few footnoterphone calls and everything will be just dandy?'

She pointed a long bony finger at me. 'Well, I'll tell you, Miss Outlander, I will not take this lying down!'

She glared at us both, marched back to her car and drove off with a squeal of tyres.

'How about that for a conflictual sub-plot?' I asked, but Jack wasn't amused.

'Let's see what else you can dream up – I'm not sure I like that one. Did you find out when the Book Inspectorate are due to read us?'

'Not yet,' I told him.

Jack looked at his watch. 'Come on, we've got the fight-rigging scene to do. You'll like this one. Mary was sometimes a little late with the "If you don't know we can't help you" line when we did the old good cop/bad cop routine, but just stay on your toes and you'll be fine.'

He seemed a lot happier having stood up to Agatha, and we walked across the road to where some rusty iron stairs led up to the gym.