Yes, it’s that time again – we’re off to the seaside for a week’s lounging about and eating whatever we fancy so long as it’s chips or ice cream. My hubby loves fish, I detest it–I hate the smell, I hate the taste, I hate the feel, I just hate it…the thought of eating fish makes me feel really poorly.
Which is odd, because my stepfather had a fish and chip shop. Or maybe that’s the reason. On the other hand, before my mum met my stepdad, we lived near Hastings on the East Sussex coast of Britain. (Yes, the same Hastings as the Battle. Though the Battle of Hastings took place not at Hastings itself, but just inland from there. Now there is an abbey to commemorate the battle and the town has grown up around it, famed for–what else–gunpowder production… and the town is called, not very surprisingly, Battle… Ahem, what was I saying?)
Oh yes, and at Hastings I spent time on the beach and often saw the fishermen bringing in their catch, huge fish in massive buckets, flipping up and down as they gasped for air–this made a huge impression on me and I so much wanted to grab them all and release them back into the sea. So maybe that’s why a) I love the sea, and b) I hate eating fish.
But we are not going South, we are travelling East, and going to Cromer for the first time. I have been told it’s great, so I’m very excited. As an asthma sufferer, I also enjoy going to the coast for my health, so I’m hoping to be able to breathe freely in the good sea air.
I’m taking books to read. I’m hoping to have a lazy time, just sitting about and reading. I have Agatha Christie’s Destination Unknown, for some reason she didn’t write a mystery novel called Destination Cromer. I’m also taking Jeanne M Dams’ Smile And Be A Villain (love a Shakespeare quote…), and Merryn Allingham’s The Bookshop Murder. I really don’t think I’ll have time to read all three–there is a country house to visit, and a preserved railway, (sadly not in steam at the moment) and of course I am taking work with me.
What, you cry!!! Yes, it’s true, I am taking with me the manuscript of A Meeting With Murder: Miss Gascoigne mysteries book 1 to do last minute checks and faffing. It’s due out in a little over four weeks, (taking slow, calming breaths…) and I just want to have one last look through to make sure all the characters have the right names, and that there aren’t any missing chapters, or you know, stuff like that, the sort of thing that can get easily overlooked in the excitement of the moment.
And while I’m away, the wonderful Stef is making a start on the translation into German of book 5 of the Dottie books. The English title is The Thief of St Martins, and in German it will likely be called Der Diebstahl von St Martins. We are hoping/planning for a December release of that book.
Also in December, book 7 of the Dottie Manderson mysteries: Rose Petals and White Lace will be released. The eBook versions of both Rose Petals and White Lace and A Meeting With Murder
Readers of the Dottie Manderson mysteries have been incredibly patient, as it’s been almost two years since book 6, The Spy Within, was released.
So I’m off, and I’m leaving you with another tiny extract from Rose Petals and White Lace:
He halted the car at the side of the road. Ahead of them were two huge wrought iron gates, the only opening in the high stone wall that ran parallel to the road.
‘Where are we?’ Dottie looked at William, but he just smiled and got out of the car. As always, he came around the front of the car to open her door for her, putting out his hand to help her.
‘Watch your step as you get out, the bank is a little muddy here.’
He slammed the car door shut. She took his arm and he led her towards the gates. She was consumed with curiosity but determined to make him speak first. At the gates, there was no plaque or other sign, no family name carved in the stone, nothing to say where they were. Beyond the gates was a long, winding drive through overgrown fields of grass. At one side of the gates, part of the wall had crumbled away and it was possible to clamber over it and into the grounds.
Stopping to brush the dust from her skirt conferred by the stones, Dottie grumbled, ‘Just remember you’re a policeman, and can get into trouble just as easily as anyone else by breaking and entering.’
His only response was another enigmatic – and irritating – smile. He took her hand again and tucked it into the crook of his arm. They set off along the drive. After a couple of minutes’ walking, Dottie noticed the drive was sloping downwards, and around the next bend, there was suddenly The View: it was as if the whole valley lay spread out at their feet. Trees, farms, fields dotted with cows, sheep and horses. And to their left, halfway down to the valley, a large old house of greyish stone was sprawled beneath trees, as if taking an afternoon rest.
And now she knew where they were. It had to be…
‘Oh, William, it’s so beautiful!’ she told him in a hushed voice. ‘Great Meads. Your old family home.’
He smiled at her now, and she could see he was feeling emotional. His eyes glistened suddenly and he had to clear his throat a couple of times, in that way that men have. He indicated about them with his hand.
‘Of course, we would never have let the grass get so overgrown as this, and the wall would have been mended immediately.’
She squeezed his arm. ‘Of course.’ She spared a thought to wonder if it had been him who broke the wall down to gain access. She could absolutely picture him doing exactly that late one evening when no one was around.
‘Is anyone living here at the moment?’
He shook his head. ‘It’s been closed up for almost a year.’ He looked about him as if feeling rather lost. ‘Look, darling, I hope you don’t mind coming here like this. I—I just wanted you to see it, just once, don’t know why. It just seemed—important. I like to come and take a look at the place anytime I’m up here. I think there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to forget it.’
‘Of course,’ she said again. ‘Your father was born here, your grandfather, probably several generations before that were all born here. You were born here. You love this place. It’s part of you. And it always will be. Next time we come, we shall bring a camera and take some photos. They would look wonderful on the walls of your new house.’
He nodded vaguely, only half-listening. They walked on. After a moment he said softly, ‘Our new house.’