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Authors: L. C. Tyler
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answered straight away.
‘Tom, I’m going to see Catarina tonight.’
‘Is that wise?’
‘No, but she won’t stop phoning me until I do.’
‘I’d be careful.’
‘That thought had occurred to me too. Just one question, though – something that I’ve been wondering about. Do you by any chance know for certain who inherited Robin’s estate? Sophie thought it was Catarina. Can that be right?’
‘Yes. That’s right.’
‘All of it?’
‘Robin changed his will shortly before he died. She got the lot. Cui bono , eh?’
CHAPTER TEN
Elsie
Dear Ms Brown
Thank you so much for submitting the summary and first three chapters of your novel. The covering letter was a model of what it should be. It sets out clearly your background and previous writing history (well done with the Bridport Prize long-listing). It is also helpful to know that I am the only agent that you are approaching. Sadly – it’s so easily done with cut and paste, isn’t it? – you address the letter to Bill Hamilton at A. M. Heath …
‘May I interrupt?’
‘Yes, Tuesday, you may. I think I’ve already said all I need to. As I tell my writers, you don’t need to explain every little detail. I’ll email it to you to pp and send.’
‘You don’t want to sign it personally?’
‘You think the author might prefer that?’
‘Yes, I do. Absolutely. They’d know they had been taken seriously. It might lessen the pain of rejection that they’re bound to feel. They will have worked on their book for years. They will be sitting there waiting for some tiny bit of praise that will make their day. And it’s such a small effort on our part.’
‘True, but I can’t be arsed. Was that all?’
‘No. I wanted to tell you I’ve checked hotels in West Wittering. There are in fact one or two places doing B and B—’
‘Don’t worry. I’m going to stay with Ethelred. He insisted.’
‘Ethelred …?’
‘Ethelred Tressider. He used to be one of our authors. Do keep up, Tuesday.’
‘Yes, of course. I just thought—’
‘Just thought what? That I would cold-shoulder some author just because, having had his career carefully developed by me over many years and having had his nose wiped and his various gripes and whinges put up with, he leaves us on a whim to join some clearly inferior agency?’
‘No. Absolutely not. We wouldn’t be so petty – would we?’
‘Do you think I would bear a grudge against Janet Francis because she stole, perhaps not my best or most respected, but certainly one of my oldest authors?’
‘You did steal three of hers.’
‘They had minds of their own.’
‘Unlike Ethelred?’
‘Your words, not mine.’
‘So are you planning to sign him up again? That would be great. I’ve always enjoyed his books.’
‘Have you? You actually liked some of them? Which ones?’
‘I love the Master Thomas series.’
‘Really? The Master Thomas series? Even though they’re full of Middle English poetry?’
‘Yes. I did Chaucer at uni.’
‘And that didn’t put you off for ever?’
‘Gosh, no! Love Chaucer to bits.’
I looked at her. Either she was serious or she was getting very, very good at irony.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I had driven into Chichester by car and so stopping at Greylands House on my way back was easy enough. I swung off the main road shortly before it entered the village and drove along the muddy track towards the estuary. After a while the track split into two, the left-hand fork being marked ‘ PRIVATE ’, the right unsignposted. Somebody had not planned to be helpful to the merely curious. But I had been here before and needed no additional directions. The last few hundred yards to the house were on good, clean gravel, edged with overgrown grass and weeds.
Greylands was a half-timbered farmhouse, which had grown in fits and starts, a room or so on average every generation, sometimes extending laterally, sometimes making an experimental stab in some other direction. It had
‘Tom, I’m going to see Catarina tonight.’
‘Is that wise?’
‘No, but she won’t stop phoning me until I do.’
‘I’d be careful.’
‘That thought had occurred to me too. Just one question, though – something that I’ve been wondering about. Do you by any chance know for certain who inherited Robin’s estate? Sophie thought it was Catarina. Can that be right?’
‘Yes. That’s right.’
‘All of it?’
‘Robin changed his will shortly before he died. She got the lot. Cui bono , eh?’
CHAPTER TEN
Elsie
Dear Ms Brown
Thank you so much for submitting the summary and first three chapters of your novel. The covering letter was a model of what it should be. It sets out clearly your background and previous writing history (well done with the Bridport Prize long-listing). It is also helpful to know that I am the only agent that you are approaching. Sadly – it’s so easily done with cut and paste, isn’t it? – you address the letter to Bill Hamilton at A. M. Heath …
‘May I interrupt?’
‘Yes, Tuesday, you may. I think I’ve already said all I need to. As I tell my writers, you don’t need to explain every little detail. I’ll email it to you to pp and send.’
‘You don’t want to sign it personally?’
‘You think the author might prefer that?’
‘Yes, I do. Absolutely. They’d know they had been taken seriously. It might lessen the pain of rejection that they’re bound to feel. They will have worked on their book for years. They will be sitting there waiting for some tiny bit of praise that will make their day. And it’s such a small effort on our part.’
‘True, but I can’t be arsed. Was that all?’
‘No. I wanted to tell you I’ve checked hotels in West Wittering. There are in fact one or two places doing B and B—’
‘Don’t worry. I’m going to stay with Ethelred. He insisted.’
‘Ethelred …?’
‘Ethelred Tressider. He used to be one of our authors. Do keep up, Tuesday.’
‘Yes, of course. I just thought—’
‘Just thought what? That I would cold-shoulder some author just because, having had his career carefully developed by me over many years and having had his nose wiped and his various gripes and whinges put up with, he leaves us on a whim to join some clearly inferior agency?’
‘No. Absolutely not. We wouldn’t be so petty – would we?’
‘Do you think I would bear a grudge against Janet Francis because she stole, perhaps not my best or most respected, but certainly one of my oldest authors?’
‘You did steal three of hers.’
‘They had minds of their own.’
‘Unlike Ethelred?’
‘Your words, not mine.’
‘So are you planning to sign him up again? That would be great. I’ve always enjoyed his books.’
‘Have you? You actually liked some of them? Which ones?’
‘I love the Master Thomas series.’
‘Really? The Master Thomas series? Even though they’re full of Middle English poetry?’
‘Yes. I did Chaucer at uni.’
‘And that didn’t put you off for ever?’
‘Gosh, no! Love Chaucer to bits.’
I looked at her. Either she was serious or she was getting very, very good at irony.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I had driven into Chichester by car and so stopping at Greylands House on my way back was easy enough. I swung off the main road shortly before it entered the village and drove along the muddy track towards the estuary. After a while the track split into two, the left-hand fork being marked ‘ PRIVATE ’, the right unsignposted. Somebody had not planned to be helpful to the merely curious. But I had been here before and needed no additional directions. The last few hundred yards to the house were on good, clean gravel, edged with overgrown grass and weeds.
Greylands was a half-timbered farmhouse, which had grown in fits and starts, a room or so on average every generation, sometimes extending laterally, sometimes making an experimental stab in some other direction. It had
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