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rest of the email a dozen times. Maggie said that although, there was no way they could now do an unauthorised biography, she had every confidence that Luke would find another subject. He must, however make sure it was an exclusive, with a strong angle. She signed off saying she looked forward to hearing from him. At least she hadn’t let him go. She had taken him on after the second Stonewall Award, and he had yet to show her a single page of a book. Her patience would not last for ever.
    Jem came through the door at seven and found Luke on the balcony, a beer in hand. He knew straight away that something was wrong.
    ‘Darling, what’s happened?’ he said, dropping his bag and coming to kneel at Luke’s feet. It was the old Jem again, not jealous or controlling, just concerned.
    ‘Fucking Earnshaw got a book deal without me,’ said Luke. ‘Reneged on the whole agreement. All that work, all those phone calls, all those hours, it’s all come to nothing.’ He had worried that Jem would think badly of him for fucking up, for wasting his gifted time and money. Jem offered no admonishment but did exactly the right thing, just held him and said nothing for a while, his fingers tracing the corkscrews of Luke’s curls.
    ‘Wait there,’ he said when Luke was eventually ready to let him go. ‘I’ll be two minutes. We’re getting changed and then I’m taking you out to dinner.’
    They stood before their shared wardrobe, Jem’s grey work suits forming a patient queue behind his other clothes in linen and cashmere and silk. Luke’s part of the rail sagged with expensive denim and leather but Jem steered him towards the suit, made-to-measure, that he’d not yet worn.
    The minicab took them out of Leeds, riding across the darkening purple moors to a Michelin-starred restaurant in Ilkley. Jem paid the driver to wait at the kerb. The maitre d’ recognised him and asked after Serena, and Jem’s face darkened as he explained that they were no longer together. Luke waited for further explanation, for Jem’s hand in his to make his new situation clear, but it didn’t come. Luke was not so consumed with his own problems that he didn’t notice the slight, but he also noted with a little flare of concern that it didn’t bother him more.
    Once they were seated, Jem encouraged Luke to order the most expensive things on the menu. It was true, thought Luke, slicing solid serrated silver through a ten-day aged steak, that money could make things better. He couldn’t bear to think how much worse the blow would have been if this had happened while he was skint, and working at the gallery. Jem kept the wine flowing while Luke went over and over the contents of the email, analysed his own behaviour and speculated on what this might mean for his relationship with Maggie and his career. Jem listened with perfect patience then astonished him by saying, ‘Well, it’s probably for the best.’
    Luke stopped chewing, unsure that he had heard correctly.
    ‘What do you mean, for the best? I’ve been pursuing this for the better part of a year.’ He had a sense of something inside him rapidly and repeatedly folding in on itself, becoming denser each time.
    ‘Maybe this isn’t the story you were meant to write.’ Jem was trying to sound casual but they knew each other too well now for guile and Luke could tell from the way he picked up his wine glass and gulped from it that this was something he’d been wanting to say for a long time. ‘Perhaps you should turn your sights on something a bit more . . . a bit less . . .’ his eyes left Luke’s and made a nervous tour of the room.
    ‘What?’ said Luke, setting down his knife. Blood trimmed the blade.
    ‘All right, then, something a bit less low-rent,’ said Jem, finally locking his gaze on Luke’s. ‘I mean, all this organised crime. It’s a bit tabloid , isn’t it? Why don’t you turn your talents to something worthy? There must be dozens of interesting men – or women