Charlie Cochrane - Mysteries with a dash of slash, romances with just a pinch of spice

Where did summer go? Is this now winter? (It must be - I’ve seen my first Christmas advert on TV!) *grumble grumble*

News:

Two more new Charlie Cochrane stories on the horizon, but I’ve kept quiet up to now because I hate to talk about these things until I’ve signed and sent off the contract. Both of them are gay fiction, short, will probably just be out in e-book and are a touch on the unusual side.

“Greatest Heart” (working title, it’ll change) will be out from Carina in the New Year.

Miles Storrie, a prosaic accountant, feels he’s been dragged away from the temperate England he loves to roam around sweltering Greece just so that his partner Roger Searle, a writer, can indulge his fascination with all things to do with Greek history –Alexander the Great in particular. He’s hoping that a proper holiday in Massachusetts, later in the year, will be recompense enough.
But not even the Oracle at Delphi could have predicted how that holiday will reveal such an unexpected side to Miles’s character.

“Music in the Midst of Desolation” is coming out from MLR, date to be advised, but likely later this year.

Old soldiers never die – they get whisked straight back to earth. Patrick Evans has no idea why he’s been chosen to take part in some sort of angelic “manoeuvres”…

Unedited excerpt:

“You won’t be bored, you know.” The person assigned to settle Patrick in on his return to earth, a tweed clad lady of indeterminate age, had met him at Waterloo station. She looked more Agatha Christie—Patrick had seen the author’s picture on the cover of a book in WH Smith’s store while he waited to be scooped up—than Archangel Gabriel. She’d extended a brown, wrinkled hand to be shaken. “Should have introduced myself properly. Call me Marjorie. It’s not my name now although it was my name once, and it’ll do. Let’s get you to your lodgings.” She’d set off at a great pace, Patrick barely able to keep up with her.
“I’ve forgotten what boredom’s like.” Funny how tedium hadn’t featured back there but now a vague memory of what it felt like returned, along with recollections of other feelings he’d left behind. Hurt. Jealousy. Cold. Patrick pulled his jacket tighter around him and wished he’d worn a thicker sweater.
“There’s work to be done and they’ve decided you’re suitable to be entrusted with it.” The woman stopped in her march, turning to face him and rolling her eyes, as if to insinuate that Raphael or one of his lesser lights was lacking in judgement this time around. “I suppose they know what they’re doing.”
“What exactly is it that you want me to do?” When he’d first been given his notice to prepare for “embarkation”, Patrick had wondered whether he’d be assigned to being Christopher’s guardian angel. Any previous occupant of the post would have had to take an extended sabbatical due to extreme mental fatigue. But now he was back on earth, it was obvious the timescale wouldn’t work out. According to the newspaper he’d seen at the newsagent’s this was 2011, so Christopher—if alive—would be one hundred and twenty one and incapable of getting into any mischief that a guardian angel would need to get him out of.
“Do? Be patient in the short term.” Marjorie snorted, turning a corner and leading him out of the concourse.
It was odd walking real streets again, even if they barely resembled the ones Patrick remembered. The snow—there’d clearly been a fresh fall during the night—was white or slushy grey, for one thing. Not brown with horse droppings, like it used to be anywhere that cabs and drays plied their trade. It had been speckled brown out in France. Brown and red.

Inspiration:
Off on holidays soon. Sun, boats, family and sea creatures - what could be more inspiring?