it.'
Anton said, 'Mixed metaphor.'
'I beg your pardon?'
'Another question,' Maurice said.
'How much do you pay?' This from Tudor, still unhappy that his script hadn't been discussed.
Maurice said at once, 'I don't think that's appropriate.'
'Why?'
You don't ask that sort of question.'
'He's in business. We're the people offering the goods. We're entitled to know what he pays.'
Dagmar said, 'Tudor, we're not selling tins of beans.'
'That's debatable.'
'Tudor, how could you!'
'The whole thing about writers is that if they knew anything about business they wouldn't be writers anyway.'
Maurice said, 'Equally you could say that a genuine writer doesn't do it for the money. You know very well, Tudor, that a publisher and his author come to a private agreement.'
'You mean you don't want to tell us how much you're getting?'
Blacker tried to take some heat out of the exchange. 'What a publisher pays is an advance on the royalties of the book. If it sells well, more is paid to the author. Of course a new writer is an unknown quantity, so the publisher can't be expected to risk a large amount up front, so to speak. We publishers are notoriously bad payers, and it isn't just the writers who suffer. We pay peanuts to our employees. There's a story of Billy Collins, the famous publisher, kneeling to receive his knighthood from the Queen. When she tapped him on the shoulder with the sword and said, 'Rise, Sir William,' he didn't get up. She tried again. Still no response. Then someone said, 'Ma'am, why don't you try, 'Stand up.'
The audience enjoyed that. Maurice waited for the laughter to end and said, 'That seems a good note on which to stop. Thank you, Edgar. I think we'll leave it there, but before we do, I believe someone would like to say a few words?' He looked towards Miss Snow. She looked to her left.
Tudor, of all people, had been asked to give the vote of thanks.
He was on his feet. 'This has been very instructive. Let's face it, we're just a bunch of wannabes — with one exception — so the chance to meet a living, breathing publisher doesn't often come our way, and you'll have to forgive some of our dumb questions — if that isn't an oxymoron. You've given us the kid-glove treatment, sir, praised our modest efforts — for the most part — and handed down enough encouragement to keep us dreaming our dreams of rising up the bestseller lists. We wish your publishing venture every success, especially as some of us might have a stake in it. And now someone has a token of appreciation tucked away somewhere.' He glanced towards Miss Snow, who produced a glittery bag containing a bottle. 'Ah. This, then, comes with our thanks, and I invite you all to show your appreciation in the traditional way.'
Bob continued to watch until the image vanished after a few seconds. He switched off. He would run it again some time. Enough had emerged to give him new angles on several of the circle, and the murder victim, Edgar Blacker. The talk wasn't quite the buttering up he'd been led to expect. Tudor's ego had taken some knocks and so had Jessie's. Naomi had seen through the waffle about the witchcraft book. But was there enough to trigger a murder?
The expectations had been high. They'd handed in their best work wanting to hear good things. It wasn't like getting back an essay they'd written at school when they knew their place in the pecking order. These were grown-ups. No one with clout in the publishing world had judged their work in years — except Dagmar's. All those rejection letters must have been tough, but even she hadn't seen her critics face to face until now.
So what did Blacker's verdict amount to? Well, he'd wrapped it up as prettily as he could, but only Zach's science fiction got the nod. Basil's gardening stuff needed expanding, and was going to bring unwanted publicity. The reverse was true of Thomasine's poems. They needed thinning out. Miss Snow's biography had no bite to it. Jessie's tips were old-fashioned. It was obvious he hadn't read Naomi's witchcraft book or Dagmar's latest romance and whatever he thought of Tudor's life story wasn't fit to be heard by everyone else.
A few tears must have been shed that night.
7
It's not the people in prison who worry me. It's the people who aren't.
In the morning he returned Thomasine's call.
'They've charged Maurice,' she said.
'You told me.'
'He'll be suicidal. We've got to stop it.'
'Bit late for that.' He didn't like being a downer, but when a man is done for murder, the law takes over.
'Not at all. This is the time we can make a difference.'
He soft-pedalled. 'I don't see how.'
'The police think they've got their man and the case is closed. We can have a clear run. Are you listening to me, Bob? It's down to us.'
No more gentle persuasion from Thomasine. Things had gone beyond that.
'We can try,' he said. 'But let's face it. We don't know what the police found out. And we don't have their resources — fingerprinting, DNA, all that stuff.'
Thomasine was unimpressed. 'This was a fire, remember? The house went up in flames. We're not dealing in fingerprints and DNA. This is about people's motives and where they were on the night of the fire.'
'We could find ourselves fingering someone else from the circle.'
'If they're guilty, what the hell?' she said. 'I don't believe Maurice is. Do you?'
He didn't answer that. 'Last night I looked at the video of Blacker's talk to the circle. I borrowed it from Miss Snow.'
'Oh?' There was a pause, and when she spoke again there was a change of tone. She sounded more guarded now. 'What did you make of it?'
'Quite a few of them came out of it with their hopes dashed. I don't know what it must feel like to beaver away for a year or more on a book and then be told it's crap.'
'He didn't tell anyone that.'
'Not exactly. But I think they got the message he didn't want to publish them.'
'Who? Tudor?'
'Tudor stands out, yes. But others were given the thumbs down as well. He didn't think much of Jessie's household hints for the twenty-first century.'
'He told her to get more up-to-date.'
'But she isn't going to, is she? She isn't capable. This is the point, Thomasine. How many of them are going to alter what they've done? Do you think Miss Snow is going to dish the dirt on the people she's writing about? I don't see it. Will the witchcraft lady — what's her name?'
'Naomi.'
'Will Naomi write stuff about spells and black magic, because that's what sells? No chance. And she won't be opening her house and garden to the public to give a puff to Basil's book.'
'In case they catch her riding her broomstick?'
He smiled. 'What I'm saying is that some of you lot were pretty pissed off by Blacker and his advice. I'm not a serious writer like the rest of you, but anyone can see it's a pain to chuck years of hard work in the bin. The question is. .'
'Whether it's enough to justify murder. Definitely,' she said. 'If you haven't done it, you can't know how
