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‘Wow,’ I said, refolding the clipping and handing it back.

‘Absolutely.’

‘She liked the book, I think.’

‘Absolutely,’ Sophie said again. ‘At the time, I cut that review out and kept it, just because I’d never seen anything like it. And because I was so pleased to be a part of something so special, you know? Now, I keep it with me as a reminder.’

‘Of what?’

‘To run,’ she said simply. ‘If a novel like Cupid’s Engine ever lands on my desk again, I will run. Nobody can do this,’ she held up the review, ‘nobody can produce a book like this one and be anywhere approaching sane or normal. The work, the focus involved, do you have any idea?’

‘I do.’

‘Then you know that anyone capable of achieving what Black achieved is, potentially, a very dangerous person.’

‘What? I don’t think—’

‘Oh, come on, Thomas,’ she said. ‘You’ve read that book. What is it – a thousand pages? – and not a single unnecessary word in the whole thing. The things he’s able to achieve, the level of manipulation. He has you believing that up is down and black is white.’ She pushed the picture of the sphere across the table towards me. ‘You’re right that this is a hook, but it’s not a pretty decent one. It’s a brilliant, and – I promise you – an extremely well-calculated one. What in God’s name makes you think it’s a good idea to bite?’