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I looked at the objects on the table. I nodded.

‘Is that a yes?’

‘It’s an I’ll do my best.’

Sophie Almonds sighed a long, deep sigh. She picked up the note.

‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised if these are the most words he’s written since Cupid,’ she said. ‘I suppose you know that this text belongs to his publishers technically, under the terms of his contract?’

‘I do.’

‘You do.’ She held up the single sheet of notepaper, as if testing its weight. ‘What do you think? The long-awaited second Andrew Black novel?’

I stared at the small piece of paper dangling between her finger and thumb with its nine neat little words.

‘You’d be looking at some very generous typesetting,’ I said.

‘I’m not entirely sure that they wouldn’t try.’ She folded the letter and put it back into the envelope. ‘But let’s save them the trouble.’

‘I think that’s probably for the best.’

She slipped the Polaroid into the envelope as well, and slid it across the table to me. ‘You should save yourself the trouble too,’ she said. ‘I mean it.’