The Glass Room (Vera Stanhope 5)

was an expensive-looking rug by the fire. On the walls original paintings: a couple of large oils. ‘They didn’t stop working of course. They’re still writing. And as my business has grown, they’re more involved in that.’
    ‘You’re a publisher?’ Finally Vera managed to get in a question. Obvious, but at least it stopped the flow of words.
    ‘Yeah! Crazy, isn’t it? When you think of publishers, you think of London. Huge offices. Men and women in sharp suits. But I do very well.’
    ‘And you publish Nina Backworth?’
    ‘She was one of the reasons why I set up the company. I did English as an undergraduate at Oxford and then came home to do an MA at Newcastle. Nina was one of the tutors. Her writing is brilliant! I mean, really outstanding. But she couldn’t find a publisher. So I thought: How many more people like you are there out there? Wonderful writers overlooked by the big presses. ’ Mummy put the money in to set up the business, but I’ve nearly paid her back. I’ve already had an author on the Man Booker longlist. Imagine! And Nina’s reviews have been astonishing. But really, choosing the right books is just the beginning. In the end it’s all about marketing. If readers don’t know about the books, how can they read them? We need publicity. To get the word out. I’m working on it, but it’s a tough market.’
    There was a silence, startling after the flow of words.
    ‘I’m investigating two murders,’ Vera said. ‘I don’t understand this world. That’s why I wanted to see you.’ At least that’s part of it. ‘You’re not a suspect or a witness. I thought you might help.’
    ‘I will if I can.’
    Vera believed her. This cheerful, unflappable young woman would be a dream to work with. She thought of Holly, competitive and tense, and she sighed.
    ‘The first victim was Tony Ferdinand. You’ll have heard of him. Met him, of course, because you gave a lecture at the Writers’ House the morning he was killed. The second was Miranda Barton, the author who set up the place.’
    ‘I know,’ Chrissie said. ‘It’s been all over the papers and one can’t help reading. Like a dreadful soap opera involving people one knows. And one of your officers came here to take a statement after Ferdinand was killed.’
    ‘How well did you know Professor Ferdinand?’
    ‘Not at all. I only met him that once. My knowledge of him came from what I read in the papers and saw on the television,’ Chrissie said. ‘And from what Nina told me. But she was hardly an impartial observer.’
    ‘Why would anyone kill him?’
    ‘You don’t know how influential that man was,’ Chrissie said. ‘He wasn’t a publisher or an agent, but boy, did he have power! I sent a number of my titles to him, but never got a response, more’s the pity, and all the big London literary people will have been doing the same. If he liked an author’s work he could persuade an editor to take it, and his reviews made a real difference to sales.’ She saw that Vera looked bewildered. ‘Think the Simon Cowell of the publishing world.’
    Vera thought about that. Lenny Thomas had seemed laid-back about his writing. He’d dreamed about being an author, but had never believed it would happen. Mark Winterton had clearly become aware of his own limitations. Neither would have been provoked to murder if Tony Ferdinand refused to help them. But what about Joanna? She’d been passionate about her writing. She’d wanted her story – her abuse at the hands of her respectable ex-husband – to be made public. Vera shook her head. ‘Nah, I can’t see it. Nobody wants to see their name on a book that badly.’
    ‘Don’t you believe it!’ Chrissie grinned. ‘That’s why the Writers’ House did such great business. All those wannabes convinced they’d become the next bestsellers.’
    ‘Did it do great business?’
    ‘Yeah,’ Chrissie said. ‘It had a terrific reputation. A couple of young writers found publishers during their time there. I picked up one myself.’
    ‘You were a tutor there?’
    ‘Yes, last spring. And of course this year I was a visiting lecturer. I was speaking the morning Tony Ferdinand died.’
    ‘What did you make of Miranda Barton?’ Vera found herself holding her breath as she waited for the woman to answer. She valued Chrissie’s opinion and decided the woman might have thoughts to move the investigation on.
    ‘I thought Miranda was rather overrated as a writer. She must have