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Newsletter number fifteen
Sep. 3rd, 2010 12:01 pmThe Cochranes are home again safe and sound, so the daftness can resume.
News:
Next Tuesday Lessons in Power goes into print – and I’ve just signed the contract for an eighth book in the series, set in 1919. More details as I have them. Here’s a little (unedited) peek at the start.
Cambridge, April 1919
Matthew Ainslie put the finishing touches to his black tie—immaculately fastened as always—and slid his dinner jacket on. Tuxedo, he could imagine the voice of his American business partner Rex Prefontaine saying, it’s a tux. For Matthew it would always be a dinner jacket; despite the inroads that his publishing business was making, under Rex’s shrewd eye, into the markets on the other side of the Atlantic. Matthew wouldn’t be adopting Americanisms just yet, thank you. Especially with dinner at High Table of a Cambridge college in prospect.
He checked again in the mirror to ensure that he passed muster and was pleased with what he saw. You’ve aged well, Matty. He was now in his mid forties but retained an almost entirely black mop of curls, smoothed down with brilliantine to a slick elegance. And there was a twinkle in his eye that belied middle age; there was life in the old dog yet. Leaving his room, descending the stairs, striding out through the doors of the University Arms Hotel—it was a routine he’d gone through often before. The first time he’d visited St. Bride’s had been in 1907, the guest of two of the liveliest fellows ever to have graced the University. Well, to be exact, one extremely lively one and another who was being dragged from his shell like an intractable winkle being attacked by an extremely sharp pin.
He thought fondly of Jonty Stewart—the pin—and Orlando Coppersmith—the stubborn gastropod—as he made his way up King’s Parade. How many times over the years had he been their guest, or the guest of the Stewart family? Nothing had prepared him for those experiences; nothing could prepare anybody for close acquaintance with the chatelaine of the Stewart estate.
Happy days. He could say that of almost all the occasions he’d been with Jonty and Orlando, with the exception of the first few days of their acquaintance when Matthew had blotted his copy book. And the time spent clearing an ex-lover of murder. Happy and adventurous days, when the world was more innocent and the great grey and black cloud of war hadn’t enveloped them. The war they said would end all conflicts.
Only time would tell if that were true, that never again would Europe march into conflict, but plenty of lives had been invested in trying to test the supposition, young men lain to rest among the poppies and mud. A generation blighted as surely as if the horsemen of the apocalypse had passed through. Maybe they had, some of the stories the stories which had emerged from the front telling of something little less than the opening of hell’s maw itself.
Inspiration:
Massachusetts is certainly a beautiful place and I came home with batteries recharged and a zest for writing renewed. Will share some of the inspiration over the next few newsletters, but here's a few stunning things we saw.
Whales everywhere and the Kalmar Nyckel in the background.
Other nice wildlife:
News:
Next Tuesday Lessons in Power goes into print – and I’ve just signed the contract for an eighth book in the series, set in 1919. More details as I have them. Here’s a little (unedited) peek at the start.
Cambridge, April 1919
Matthew Ainslie put the finishing touches to his black tie—immaculately fastened as always—and slid his dinner jacket on. Tuxedo, he could imagine the voice of his American business partner Rex Prefontaine saying, it’s a tux. For Matthew it would always be a dinner jacket; despite the inroads that his publishing business was making, under Rex’s shrewd eye, into the markets on the other side of the Atlantic. Matthew wouldn’t be adopting Americanisms just yet, thank you. Especially with dinner at High Table of a Cambridge college in prospect.
He checked again in the mirror to ensure that he passed muster and was pleased with what he saw. You’ve aged well, Matty. He was now in his mid forties but retained an almost entirely black mop of curls, smoothed down with brilliantine to a slick elegance. And there was a twinkle in his eye that belied middle age; there was life in the old dog yet. Leaving his room, descending the stairs, striding out through the doors of the University Arms Hotel—it was a routine he’d gone through often before. The first time he’d visited St. Bride’s had been in 1907, the guest of two of the liveliest fellows ever to have graced the University. Well, to be exact, one extremely lively one and another who was being dragged from his shell like an intractable winkle being attacked by an extremely sharp pin.
He thought fondly of Jonty Stewart—the pin—and Orlando Coppersmith—the stubborn gastropod—as he made his way up King’s Parade. How many times over the years had he been their guest, or the guest of the Stewart family? Nothing had prepared him for those experiences; nothing could prepare anybody for close acquaintance with the chatelaine of the Stewart estate.
Happy days. He could say that of almost all the occasions he’d been with Jonty and Orlando, with the exception of the first few days of their acquaintance when Matthew had blotted his copy book. And the time spent clearing an ex-lover of murder. Happy and adventurous days, when the world was more innocent and the great grey and black cloud of war hadn’t enveloped them. The war they said would end all conflicts.
Only time would tell if that were true, that never again would Europe march into conflict, but plenty of lives had been invested in trying to test the supposition, young men lain to rest among the poppies and mud. A generation blighted as surely as if the horsemen of the apocalypse had passed through. Maybe they had, some of the stories the stories which had emerged from the front telling of something little less than the opening of hell’s maw itself.
Inspiration:
Massachusetts is certainly a beautiful place and I came home with batteries recharged and a zest for writing renewed. Will share some of the inspiration over the next few newsletters, but here's a few stunning things we saw.
Whales everywhere and the Kalmar Nyckel in the background.
Other nice wildlife:
