Newsletter one hundred and forty one

I have to start by wishing you and yours a wonderful Christmas and a prosperous new year. May you be truly blessed in all you do.


Some unexpected news to finish the year with; I wasn’t expecting the anthology “Capital Crimes” to be out until January but it’s up on Amazon already. An early Christmas pressie for me. The stories all come from International Thriller writers members based on this side of the Atlantic and I’m delighted that both myself and the lovely JL Merrow have stories included.

The brief was to set the story in London and feature one of our main sleuths, so my story – Game of Chance – features Jonty Stewart getting into a spot of bother before he embarks for France.


London 1916

Jonty Stewart had faced death before.
The first time it had come in the form of a demented Cambridge undergraduate wielding a cutthroat razor. He’d also been at the wrong end of a firearm, when a less crazed but equally determined killer was trying to make his escape from justice. Not exactly the sort of thing that every Cambridge don was used to dealing with, but not every Cambridge don investigated crimes when he wasn’t investigating Shakespeare’s sonnets. He’d supposed these experiences would work to his advantage, making him better prepared for the dangers of France and Belgium than many of his fellow officers.
He’d never anticipated that the first time his life would be under threat in a time of war would be from another British soldier. A soldier who at present had a revolver levelled at him from the other end of a large kitchen table. A large kitchen table, in a small house. A small house on English soil.
“Don’t move.”
“I wasn’t intending to.” Jonty sat stock still, weighing up options that were trickling away like sand.
“I told you not to move.” The soldier’s solid northern tones seemed unused to giving orders.
Jonty could barely see the man’s face by the guttering light of a candle, but he was certain it wasn’t smiling. “I wasn’t aware I had moved.”
“Don’t get clever.”
Jonty drew his lip between his teeth, biting back the smart response that came automatically. The key in this situation was to survive, not win points; this wasn’t a Cambridge debate.

And finally:
Our Christmas cake, made and iced by the lovely Lou at the Romsey station cafe but decorated by us.


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