Charlie's latest newsletter

Autumnal greetings from the house of Cochrane. Hoping that you’re all keeping well. Life is, as ever, busy – why does the diary get so full when you’re semi-retired?
 
News
 
Am lining up some panels for 2022. Two appearances at Portsmouth Bookfest: one event where we’re discussing ‘lost’ female detectives and the other to help new and fledgling authors with some of the things they may worry about (or may not even be aware of!) These will both be over Zoom so available to 'attend' from anywhere in the world. 
 
Don’t forget that the Children in Read auction cuts off at the end of November – 29 days from now. I’m offering a personalised, signed print copy of Old Sins as the Lindenshaw book I offered last year went well. And it’s all for an excellent cause, helping children with all sorts of practical help. If you want to bid, make sure you get in before the end date.
 
December’s a busy month: I’ll be popping up in an advent calendar on some-day-I’m-not-allowed-to-say. I’ll be offering a bag of British goodies to be sent anywhere in the known universe. And, of course, the big headline that month will be the next Cambridge Fellows – Lessons in Keeping a Dangerous Promise – releasing on 6^th December. It’s up for pre-order now. 
 
Jonty Stewart and Orlando Coppersmith like nothing better than being asked to solve mysteries, but when they get commissioned to help someone fulfil a vow he made to a late comrade in arms, matters start to cut too close to home for both of them.
 

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Excerpt: Today I’ve got a snippet from Promises Made Under Fire which, in a touch of meta, I make reference to in the upcoming Cambridge Fellows story.
 
It’s available in e-book and audio version .
 
France, 1915
Lieutenant Tom Donald envies everything about fellow officer Frank Foden--his confidence, his easy manner with the men in the trenches, the affectionate letters from his wife. Frank shares these letters happily, drawing Tom into a vicarious friendship with a woman he's never met. Although the bonds of friendship forged under fire are strong, Tom can't be so open with Frank--he's attracted to men and could never confess that to anyone.
When Frank is killed in no-man's-land, he leaves behind a mysterious request for Tom: to deliver a sealed letter to a man named Palmer. Tom undertakes the commission while on leave--and discovers that almost everything he thought he knew about Frank is a lie...

Excerpt:
When I eventually returned to the battalion, I’d been assigned a different platoon, although by some miracle—or underhandedness—Bentham was there as my servant again. I hadn’t realised how much I’d appreciate a constant point, even if he brought echoes of times I didn’t want to think too closely about. I hadn’t realised how much affection I’d felt for Foden until those tears flowed in my parents’ orchard.
When Bentham first came to my billet, he seemed hesitant, not like the man I’d known before.
“What is it, Corporal? Cat got your tongue?”
He studied his boots. “He left something for you, sir.”
“Who?” I asked, feeling I’d missed the point somewhere.
“Lieutenant Foden, of course,” he said, ignoring any obvious stupidity in my question. “It was on the bed in your old quarters, laid out ready, alongside one for his wife and one for his mother. As if he’d known what was going to happen to him.”
I couldn’t find an answer at first. Maybe he had known—he’d never done anything as calculated as that before, when we’d gone into action. I remembered how strangely he’d acted before we went into battle. “He always was well prepared,” I said at last. How inane that must have sounded—was there nothing to be said but platitudes?
“He was that.” Bentham sounded as though he was choking back the emotion, too. Bloody brilliant show for a pair of battle-hardened—and scarred—veterans, but neither of us probably realised how much Foden had meant to us until he’d gone. “Here’s the letter, sir. I didn’t want to post it home in case it missed you somewhere. Didn’t want it following you back and forth over the Channel.”
“Quite right,” I replied, taking the slightly dog-eared envelope from him and looking at the handwriting. At least Frank Foden’s was more legible than his wife’s had ever been.
It took me two days to summon up the courage to open Foden’s letter. We’d been relieved, moved slightly back from the main lines, and were waiting to go and replace another battalion, so it wasn’t as though I had the excuse of more pressing things on my mind anymore.
I’d never dreaded going over the top the way I dreaded slitting the seal on that envelope. I was worried that his words would stir up feelings which had just begun to settle; there would be no room for grief back in the line. Worse than that, had he somehow realised what I was and wanted to tell me that he knew? If that were the case, even if he “approved” somehow, then it spelled potential disaster. Was I so easy to see through? If he’d noticed, had everyone else?
When I eventually opened the bloody thing, my sense of relief was only matched by bewilderment.
 
Tom
I won’t embarrass you by offering my thanks for your being such an excellent colleague these last few weeks or months or years or however long it is before you read this.
If you survive me, and I daresay you wouldn’t be reading this if you don’t so that’s the statement of an ass, then I have a request to make of you. I have more than one, to be honest. Please visit my mother and tell her I’m sorry I wasn’t more of a correspondent. Letters aren’t my thing, really. Don’t say anything mawkish, because she wouldn’t endure it. Never suffered fools gladly or enjoyed being driven to public tears. Tell her some of the most idiotic things I did out here and she’ll be grateful. Then everyone can remember me with a smile.
The other thing’s a bit more delicate.
Could you possibly find time to go and visit a chap called Ronnie Palmer? If he’s moved when you get there then maybe you’d be kind enough to try and track him down. You can tell him what you like about me, it won’t be anything he doesn’t know.
If you could also give him the letter that’s inside this, I’d be grateful. Can’t stick that one in the post and risk someone getting a butcher’s at it.
Maybe I’ll see you on the other side if there is one.
Frank
 
Charlie