NOVELTINA LITERARY AND CRITICAL AGENCY

Mudlark Cottage, The Harbour, Shrimphaven

Dear Mr Snaith,

Thank you for your interesting letter, and the enclosed copy of the book acceptance by Ripplit Press.

I also note your refusal to pay me for the work I have done, but despite this I certainly wish you all the success you deserve, and indeed, under the auspices of Ripplit Press I am confident that you will receive everything due to your particular genius.

Might I suggest that you join the Affiliated Authors Group? They are always looking out for new novelists of your calibre, and at their regional meetings you will find many, many kindred spirits.

Sincerely yours,

Tina Devino

Sergei was in an unusually tender and affectionate mood on the Monday, full of schemes for promoting my next book, all of them highly imaginative but all, unfortunately, equally impractical.

Much of our conversation was carried out with him lying on the wooden floor for the sake of his back, which had been giving warning twinges. He once badly strained it lifting a too-heavy ballerina, which led to him having to leave the Royal Ballet – but I knew to avoid getting him started on that grievance! In any case, the pursuit of health and fitness led him to develop his own exercise routine, which had been lucrative.

After a while I arranged a couple of sofa cushions alongside so we were at least at the same level while we talked and could hold hands and, occasionally, kiss …

I remembered what I’d been going to ask him and casually mentioned that I’d passed the end of his street after my meeting with Miracle while he was seeing a friend off, but had been too upset after what had just happened to come and say hello. Luckily he didn’t question why I should be in his part of town at all if I wasn’t coming to his flat, but instead immediately said he wished I had called in, because his guest had only been Grigor.

‘You remember Grigor, don’t you, Tsarina? I took you to one of his first performances.’

‘Oh, yes,’ I said, relieved because Grigor had been rather Sergei’s protégé since he’d arrived on the British ballet scene. He is a tall, dark young man, albeit weak in the chin (but clearly not the knees or he wouldn’t be able to lift all those ballerinas about like so much thistledown).

After a while Sergei said he thought his back was fine, the twinges had been a false alarm, and got up again, but he still seemed more interested in consoling and encouraging me than our usual pursuits (pursuits being the operative word on an energetic day), and so we walked round to Lemonia for lunch.