‘Rubbish.’

‘It’s true. You’ve slipped into the role of housewife and ego masseuse without even realising it. You’re besotted with him! It’s months since you got back from Italy, but you haven’t even started writing the new book yet.’

Startled by the vehemence of the statement Kate was astonished to find that she felt guilty. ‘I’m still researching.’

‘What? Love?’ Anne smiled. ‘And does Jon still think you’re mad to write about Byron at all?’

Kate nodded fondly. ‘Yes, he still thinks I’m mad. He thinks Byron is too well known. He thinks I should have plumped for someone obscure – and not so attractive,’ she added as an afterthought. ‘But I’m glad to say my editor doesn’t agree with him. She can’t wait for the book.’ She shook her head wearily, giving Carl Gustav the last, carefully-saved prawn. She had been secretly pleased and not a little flattered to find that Jon was jealous.

‘Is that why you chose Byron? Because he’s attractive?’ Anne probed further.

‘That and because I love his poetry, I adore Italy and he’s given me a chance to spend wonderful months travelling round Europe to all the places he lived.’ Kate gathered up the empty cartons from their meal. ‘And he was a genuinely fascinating man. Charismatic.’ She was watching Carl Gustav who, having crunched his prawn with great delicacy, was now meticulously washing his face and paws. ‘Actually, I am ready to start writing now. My notes are complete – at least for the first section.’

Anne shook her head. ‘I suppose I can think of worse ways of earning a living!’ She stood up and went to rummage in the fridge for a jar of coffee beans. ‘Tell me, are you and Jon still happy?’ she asked over her shoulder. ‘Really happy.’