by L. C. Tyler
‘The boat was pretty empty. I’m sure that could have been arranged – but you don’t want to go.’
There was a crunching noise in Hampstead as somebody ate another restorative chocolate digestive. In the background I thought I heard an empty packet hit the wastepaper bin.
‘You deserve a holiday, Ethelred. I should hate to see you cancel just because I wasn’t there for you. I like to support my authors every way possible. Are we flying first class?’
‘The quickest way of getting there is a charter flight straight to Luxor from Gatwick. And it’s research, not a holiday.’
This time, I noticed, she didn’t say ‘yeah, right’. Elsie did not take unnecessary risks.
‘I’ll put up with a charter flight if I have to,’ she said. I couldn’t see her at the other end of the phone line, of course; but I knew that, just as soon as she had finished her biscuit, her expression would be one of noble self-sacrifice, probably modelled on the statue of Nurse Edith Cavell outside the National Portrait Gallery.
Five minutes later I was ringing the travel agent to say that I would now be accompanied by Ms Elsie Thirkettle rather than by Lady (Annabelle) Muntham, and that a cabin on the top deck would most certainly be required. As I paid the additional charges I felt a momentary pang of guilt that I was, in a sense, spending Annabelle’s money.
But it had – I reminded myself – been Annabelle’s decision not to come. Even she, surely, would have conceded that much? And, had I been able to see into the future as I read out the three numbers printed on the back of my card, I might have felt that she had made a very wise decision indeed. But of course, you never do see into the future. If I’d noticed any references in the tour brochure to a dead body floating in the Nile or to the cold barrel of a gun pointing at a spot precisely midway between my eyes, I might have decided South Wales in a blizzard was in fact much the better option. But perhaps they’d hidden that sort of stuff in the small print, along with the fuel surcharges. They often do, I find.
The Herring in the Library
L. C. Tyler was born in Essex and educated in Southend and at Oxford University. He has worked in Hong Kong, Malaysia, Sudan, Denmark, Norway, Sweden and Finland. He currently lives in Islington with his wife, children and border terrier.
Also by L. C. Tyler
The Herring Seller’s Apprentice
Ten Little Herrings
Herring on the Nile
A Very Persistent Illusion
First published in the UK 2010 by Macmillan
This edition published 2011 by Pan Books
This electronic edition published 2011 by Pan Books
an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited
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ISBN 978-1-4472-0605-7 EPUB
Copyright © L. C. Tyler 2010
The right of L. C. Tyler to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
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