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Charlie's newsletter
Jan. 19th, 2018 08:26 pmEvening all. Glad to say that Cochrane Central is still standing despite gales and rain and whatever the British weather has thrown at us. We’re not in a snow zone, though, thank goodness. By the way, if anyone has a method of keeping blooming grey squirrels from digging up the garden, can they let me know?
News
There was a smashing review for Count the Shells over at V’s Reads. “I really loved the setting and characters in this one.”
“Two Feet Under” is now out from all the usual outlets, as is Lessons in Seduction, the latest of the Endeavour re-releases.
I’m delighted to share the cover art for the next in the series, Lessons in Trust, which will be out very soon.
And to continue with matters Cambridge Fellows, Lessons in Chasing the Wild Goose is available for pre-order .
Excerpt:
Orlando settled himself into his chair before replying. “There isn’t much to tell. The consultation request came from Dr. Beattie. What he wishes to discuss I do not know, but he says that it’s both urgent and important.”
“Dr. Beattie? Dr. Beattie. Hm.” Jonty, settled in a chair which would usually have a dunderhead’s bottom on it, theatrically put his fingers to his brow. “Can you remind me who he is?”
“You know exactly who I mean.” Orlando frowned; he knew what game was going on. “There’s only one Beattie of our acquaintance, I believe.”
“History chap? Ascension College?” Jonty’s air of innocence could not have fooled a blind man in a dense fog. It wouldn’t fool one of his own students when they were discussing Hamlet. “I vaguely remember him.”
Orlando ignored the protestation of poor memory. He knew his partner too well—the man was as sharp as a pin. “I said you knew him. And if he wants to consult us, then it would be unsporting not to oblige a university colleague.”
“I wonder what sort of a case it is. Maybe he’s lost his wool. The stuff he pulls over his students’ eyes.” Jonty grinned. “You know what these historian chaps are like. All theories. No proof.”
“Beattie’s not like that. He’s—” Orlando stopped, aware of the trap a moment too late to avoid falling in it.
“He’s what? Handsome, I seem to remember, from the rare occasions I’ve been allowed to meet him. Sympathetic. Intelligent—for an historian—and with a certain air to him.” Jonty waved his hand, as though searching for the right words. “A man of culture and good taste.”
Orlando cut in, before the play acting went too far. “He’s supposed to be rigorous in his approach to his subject. Or so one of the maths men from Ascension tells me.”
“I’ve heard the same, actually.” Jonty’s forced look of innocence got discarded. “He’s highly regarded in the college and the university. I’d be pleased to help him. Not the slightest clue to what it’s about?”
“Not the faintest.”
That wasn’t an unusual situation, given people’s propensity for calling them in to solve mysteries, usually without giving any hint as to what these mysteries involved.
“Shall I nip down to the lodge to use the telephone and put the cold collation on permanent hold? Or at least until tea-time?” Jonty suggested. “Then I could go and sweet talk somebody in the college kitchen into organising some lunch for us.”
“Excellent idea. That would eliminate the risk of my stomach rumbling should the interview be prolonged.”
“And what about asking the porters to redirect him to my room here?” Jonty said, airily. “Then he won’t have to contend with all that redecorating the stairs malarkey.”
Orlando nodded. “Your room’s a sufficiently secluded venue, so any secrets can be aired in confidence of not being overheard.”
Jonty’s room would feel a more neutral venue than this one, as well.
Jonty fished in his pocket. “Here’s my key. Why don’t you go and make sure the place is tidy enough for a consultation? I don’t think I left a slipper with tobacco on the mantelpiece, but who knows?”
“So long as you haven’t been firing bullets into the wall to engrave Ariadne Sheridan’s initials there, all will be well.”
“Daft beggar.” Jonty set off about his errands, which gave Orlando an opportunity to be alone with his thoughts as he locked his own study and made his way to his lover’s. This separation of duties would also mean a minimum of further conversation concerning Dr. Beattie. As far as Jonty was concerned, the handsome historian from Ascension was simply someone Orlando had got to know in the course of a case, and long might that be the extent of his understanding.
How and when had Jonty worked out that the mere mention of Beattie could get him all unsettled? The three men had only been in the same room once or twice and not a word had passed between any of them that had been out of place. But then there wasn’t anything out of place nor had there ever been; for a brief time, Orlando had found the historian attractive, a fact he’d also found extremely unsettling. And, given that at the time he’d first met Beattie, he’d believed Jonty to be dead, as Jonty had believed Orlando to be dead, it hadn’t been either unreasonable or disloyal to have felt the attraction.
Such Shakespearean type plotting was too much for a mere Professor of Applied Mathematics to cope with, however.
And finally, snapped from my settee – amazing winter sunshine!
Charlie
News
There was a smashing review for Count the Shells over at V’s Reads. “I really loved the setting and characters in this one.”
“Two Feet Under” is now out from all the usual outlets, as is Lessons in Seduction, the latest of the Endeavour re-releases.
I’m delighted to share the cover art for the next in the series, Lessons in Trust, which will be out very soon.
And to continue with matters Cambridge Fellows, Lessons in Chasing the Wild Goose is available for pre-order .
Excerpt:
Orlando settled himself into his chair before replying. “There isn’t much to tell. The consultation request came from Dr. Beattie. What he wishes to discuss I do not know, but he says that it’s both urgent and important.”
“Dr. Beattie? Dr. Beattie. Hm.” Jonty, settled in a chair which would usually have a dunderhead’s bottom on it, theatrically put his fingers to his brow. “Can you remind me who he is?”
“You know exactly who I mean.” Orlando frowned; he knew what game was going on. “There’s only one Beattie of our acquaintance, I believe.”
“History chap? Ascension College?” Jonty’s air of innocence could not have fooled a blind man in a dense fog. It wouldn’t fool one of his own students when they were discussing Hamlet. “I vaguely remember him.”
Orlando ignored the protestation of poor memory. He knew his partner too well—the man was as sharp as a pin. “I said you knew him. And if he wants to consult us, then it would be unsporting not to oblige a university colleague.”
“I wonder what sort of a case it is. Maybe he’s lost his wool. The stuff he pulls over his students’ eyes.” Jonty grinned. “You know what these historian chaps are like. All theories. No proof.”
“Beattie’s not like that. He’s—” Orlando stopped, aware of the trap a moment too late to avoid falling in it.
“He’s what? Handsome, I seem to remember, from the rare occasions I’ve been allowed to meet him. Sympathetic. Intelligent—for an historian—and with a certain air to him.” Jonty waved his hand, as though searching for the right words. “A man of culture and good taste.”
Orlando cut in, before the play acting went too far. “He’s supposed to be rigorous in his approach to his subject. Or so one of the maths men from Ascension tells me.”
“I’ve heard the same, actually.” Jonty’s forced look of innocence got discarded. “He’s highly regarded in the college and the university. I’d be pleased to help him. Not the slightest clue to what it’s about?”
“Not the faintest.”
That wasn’t an unusual situation, given people’s propensity for calling them in to solve mysteries, usually without giving any hint as to what these mysteries involved.
“Shall I nip down to the lodge to use the telephone and put the cold collation on permanent hold? Or at least until tea-time?” Jonty suggested. “Then I could go and sweet talk somebody in the college kitchen into organising some lunch for us.”
“Excellent idea. That would eliminate the risk of my stomach rumbling should the interview be prolonged.”
“And what about asking the porters to redirect him to my room here?” Jonty said, airily. “Then he won’t have to contend with all that redecorating the stairs malarkey.”
Orlando nodded. “Your room’s a sufficiently secluded venue, so any secrets can be aired in confidence of not being overheard.”
Jonty’s room would feel a more neutral venue than this one, as well.
Jonty fished in his pocket. “Here’s my key. Why don’t you go and make sure the place is tidy enough for a consultation? I don’t think I left a slipper with tobacco on the mantelpiece, but who knows?”
“So long as you haven’t been firing bullets into the wall to engrave Ariadne Sheridan’s initials there, all will be well.”
“Daft beggar.” Jonty set off about his errands, which gave Orlando an opportunity to be alone with his thoughts as he locked his own study and made his way to his lover’s. This separation of duties would also mean a minimum of further conversation concerning Dr. Beattie. As far as Jonty was concerned, the handsome historian from Ascension was simply someone Orlando had got to know in the course of a case, and long might that be the extent of his understanding.
How and when had Jonty worked out that the mere mention of Beattie could get him all unsettled? The three men had only been in the same room once or twice and not a word had passed between any of them that had been out of place. But then there wasn’t anything out of place nor had there ever been; for a brief time, Orlando had found the historian attractive, a fact he’d also found extremely unsettling. And, given that at the time he’d first met Beattie, he’d believed Jonty to be dead, as Jonty had believed Orlando to be dead, it hadn’t been either unreasonable or disloyal to have felt the attraction.
Such Shakespearean type plotting was too much for a mere Professor of Applied Mathematics to cope with, however.
And finally, snapped from my settee – amazing winter sunshine!
Charlie
