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Dec. 8th, 2018 07:35 pmIt’s Advent! For gals like me, who get into a right froth of excitement about Christmas, this is one of the best times of the year. The tree is up, as are most of the decorations round the house, the meat is ordered, the booze is chilling in the garage and I’m contemplating opening the yuletide sherry. If this newsletter descends into incoherence by the end, you’ll know I have.
News
I’ve been blogging like a mad thing, hither and yon. There’s a little ficlet about a seasonal dilemma for Jonty, an interview with Jonty and my thoughts about book adaptations.
Lessons in Chasing the Wild Goose is on special offer for the kindle edition until 13th December. That’s the last of the special price offers for this year!
The biggest news is that at last all of the Cambridge Fellows are available again, with Lessons for Sleeping Dogs having been relaunched by Endeavour.
Today’s excerpt has to come from that.
A screech of brakes outside Orlando’s study window, accompanied by cheerful whistling, suggested that Jonty had returned, and was in a pretty chipper mood with it.
Soon his smiling face appeared round the door. “I’ve brought you a lovely present, but you have to guess what it is.”
“I’m too old for games.” Orlando looked up slowly, trying to make sure his expression didn’t belie his words. The papers neatly piled on his desk caught his eye; he’d been hard at work for too long and needed a rest. He started tidying them out of sight.
“Nobody is too old for games. Come on.” Jonty came round the desk, grabbed Orlando’s arm, and yanked him out of the chair. “You have three guesses.”
“A new set of mathematical tables?” Orlando’s slightly dog-eared copy—too well used and too well loved—also lay on the desk, looking forlorn.
“No, although it seems like that should be your anniversary present. Try again.”
“Another story by Bret Harte?” Orlando sighed, wistfully. “The Stolen Cigar Case” had been one of the best Christmas presents Orlando had ever received.
Jonty shook his head. “Alas, no.”
“Then I give up.”
“You can’t, until you’ve used up all your guesses. I’ll give you a clue. Something which would make you deliriously happy. Happier even than—” Jonty glanced over his shoulder, probably to check he’d closed the door behind him “—than a romp in bed with me.”
“A case? A case!” Orlando rubbed his hands together. “I was beginning to think we’d never get another.”
“Well, you’re wrong on that score. Dr. Sheridan has a cousin, who has a wife, who had a brother who might or might not have been murdered.”
“I think you need to explain that to me all over again, only much more slowly and with more detail. And preferably accompanied by a glass of sherry. I’ll move the chairs into best position for sharing notes.”
“You and chairs.” Jonty grinned and went off to fetch the decanter.
Orlando smiled fondly, his own words of 1905 ringing in his ears. “The particular chair a man inhabits after high table is regarded as sacrosanct.” What a miracle that Jonty had seen behind the pomposity.
And finally – a Christmas scene from Casa Cochrane
News
I’ve been blogging like a mad thing, hither and yon. There’s a little ficlet about a seasonal dilemma for Jonty, an interview with Jonty and my thoughts about book adaptations.
Lessons in Chasing the Wild Goose is on special offer for the kindle edition until 13th December. That’s the last of the special price offers for this year!
The biggest news is that at last all of the Cambridge Fellows are available again, with Lessons for Sleeping Dogs having been relaunched by Endeavour.
Today’s excerpt has to come from that.
A screech of brakes outside Orlando’s study window, accompanied by cheerful whistling, suggested that Jonty had returned, and was in a pretty chipper mood with it.
Soon his smiling face appeared round the door. “I’ve brought you a lovely present, but you have to guess what it is.”
“I’m too old for games.” Orlando looked up slowly, trying to make sure his expression didn’t belie his words. The papers neatly piled on his desk caught his eye; he’d been hard at work for too long and needed a rest. He started tidying them out of sight.
“Nobody is too old for games. Come on.” Jonty came round the desk, grabbed Orlando’s arm, and yanked him out of the chair. “You have three guesses.”
“A new set of mathematical tables?” Orlando’s slightly dog-eared copy—too well used and too well loved—also lay on the desk, looking forlorn.
“No, although it seems like that should be your anniversary present. Try again.”
“Another story by Bret Harte?” Orlando sighed, wistfully. “The Stolen Cigar Case” had been one of the best Christmas presents Orlando had ever received.
Jonty shook his head. “Alas, no.”
“Then I give up.”
“You can’t, until you’ve used up all your guesses. I’ll give you a clue. Something which would make you deliriously happy. Happier even than—” Jonty glanced over his shoulder, probably to check he’d closed the door behind him “—than a romp in bed with me.”
“A case? A case!” Orlando rubbed his hands together. “I was beginning to think we’d never get another.”
“Well, you’re wrong on that score. Dr. Sheridan has a cousin, who has a wife, who had a brother who might or might not have been murdered.”
“I think you need to explain that to me all over again, only much more slowly and with more detail. And preferably accompanied by a glass of sherry. I’ll move the chairs into best position for sharing notes.”
“You and chairs.” Jonty grinned and went off to fetch the decanter.
Orlando smiled fondly, his own words of 1905 ringing in his ears. “The particular chair a man inhabits after high table is regarded as sacrosanct.” What a miracle that Jonty had seen behind the pomposity.
And finally – a Christmas scene from Casa Cochrane
