I fell in love with the feet on the cover of The Cloths of Heaven before I’d ever seen them. It was a rainy afternoon and I was on the train, making my way back from a follow-up appointment at the London teaching hospital where I was being treated for a rare giant cell tumour in my foot when my phone rang. It was my publisher saying that she’d found an image that just might be right for the cover. It was a pair of rather lovely feet, she said. Nothing at all to do with the novel but, she thought, they somehow caught the spirit of it. Three recent major operations on my left foot, including the insertion of bits of my hip, fibula and a lot of hardware, had left it very definitely not lovely (though my surgeon looked rather hurt the one time I suggested it didn’t look that great), so even the thought of lovely feet filled me with joy. And when I received my pre-publication copies of the novel, one of the first people to whom I gave a copy was my delightful surgeon, with thanks for doing as much as he could, in very difficult circumstances, to make my foot approximate the one on the cover.