Page 102 of The Honeymoon Affair

‘OK.’ I don’t really want to, but at the same time I have to support Charles. Besides, I don’t want him there with Ariel by his side.

‘I’m glad you can make it,’ she says.

#Friends #Enemies #Frenemies

Chapter 28

Ariel

A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.

Virginia Woolf

The following week, I have lunch with Janice Jermyn. Many readers seem to think that writers of cosy crime are somehow cosy themselves. Not Janice. She’s tall, blonde and statuesque, with a shrewd business brain and a quiet confidence about her success. She delivers her manuscripts on time and with a minimal need for editing, and she doesn’t give a damn about reviews. She gets on with writing her next bestseller without any fuss whatsoever. Yet while all my male novelists (who seem to take up far more of my time) have had in-depth newspaper pieces written about them and their work, Janice’s main feature was all about how lucky she was to be able to chuck in her job as a dental technician after her first novel (where the murderer was a dentist) was a solid bestseller in five countries.

She’s brilliant, of course. She’s also great fun.

‘What’s this I hear about Charles Miller muscling in on my territory by turning to crime?’ she demands when we get to the dessert stage of our lunch. ‘It’s a big change for the Undisputed King of Tearjerkers.’

I laugh. That was a headline used on a book blogger piece about Charles last year. He was furious when I told him. He said it made him sound like some kind of romance novelist. When I joked that he sort of was, I thought his head would explode. I tell Janice that he has indeed written a crime novel, though it’s nothing like hers.

‘It better not be.’ She smiles at the waiter, who’s placing a huge slice of lemon meringue pie in front of her, but her expression when she looks at me is fierce.

‘It’s an enjoyable book,’ I say. ‘Would you like to read a proof? Maybe give a quote if you enjoy it.’

‘Me? Quote on a Charles Miller novel?’ Janice splutters. ‘You’re having a laugh.’

‘I have it on good authority that it was reading one of your books that inspired him to switch to crime.’

‘Feck’s sake.’ She stabs her pie. ‘Tell you what, Ariel. You get some of your literary reviewers to give me the kind of fawning reviews they give Charles, and I’ll say something wonderful about his crime novel.’

‘Yes, well.’ I smile. ‘You know how it is, Janice.’

‘I bloody do.’ She takes a moment to demolish the dessert. ‘Delicious. Anyhow, leaving reviews and quotes and all that sort of thing aside, they’re not going to bump me for him at Harrogate, are they?’

Harrogate is a prestigious literary crime festival and Janice is scheduled to be on a panel. It’s the first time she’s been asked, and she’s very excited.

‘Of course not,’ I tell her. ‘They specifically want you. Anyhow, he’s very nervous about his foray into crime, so I’m not sure he’s ready for Harrogate yet.’

She snorts and say he’s got nothing to be nervous about. It’s about respect, she continues. Men are always respected more than women, no matter what area of life it is. Business, arts, entertainment – you have to be exceptional to be noticed as a woman. A man expects it.

She’s not entirely wrong. In fact, in my experience she’s entirely right.

‘We’ll be talking to your publisher about a contract soon,’ I say.

‘Yes.’ She nods. ‘I have some ideas for a new series.’

‘Oh? Not Crispin Devereux?’ This is both good and bad news. It’s fun that Janice is considering a new series, but her readers love Crispin. He’s a throwback to the gentlemen detectives of the 1930s and 40s. The son of an earl who’s fallen on hard times and is selling off the country estate, he is now a detective inspector on the police force. Janice and I often joke that the beautiful countryside in which he lives is an absolute hotbed of murder, blackmail and dark deeds.

We chat for a while about her idea for a female detective and I like what she’s outlining. The character’s warm, empathetic exterior masks her brilliant deductive reasoning, and I think she sounds like a very modern Miss Marple.

‘That’s the idea,’ says Janice. ‘Although she’s living in an apartment in a new town, not a gorgeous cottage in the Home Counties.’

‘I like her already,’ I say.

‘In my head, she’s a bit like you,’ she tells me.

‘How?’ I frown.

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