The Silkworm

“Been making calls for the Ingles file and getting some numbers for Longman,” Strike told Robin, handing her the old-fashioned brown card folders, each with a handwritten serial number on the spine, that he had used in the Special Investigation Branch and which remained his favorite way of collating information.

“Is that a—a deliberate look?” she asked, staring at what looked like grease marks on the knees of his jeans.

“Yeah. It’s for Gunfrey. Long story.”

While Strike made them both tea, they discussed details of three current cases, Strike updating Robin on information received and further points to be investigated.

“And what about Owen Quine?” Robin asked, accepting her mug. “What did his agent say?”

Strike lowered himself onto the sofa, which made its usual farting noises beneath him, and filled her in on the details of his interview with Elizabeth Tassel and his visit to Kathryn Kent.

“When she first saw me, I could swear she thought I was Quine.”

Robin laughed.

“You’re not that fat.”

“Cheers, Robin,” he said drily. “When she realized I wasn’t Quine, and before she knew who I was, she said, ‘I don’t work in that bit.’ Does that mean anything to you?”

“No…but,” she added diffidently, “I did manage to find out a bit about Kathryn Kent yesterday.”

“How?” asked Strike, taken aback.

“Well, you told me she’s a self-published writer,” Robin reminded him, “so I thought I’d look online and see what’s out there and”—with two clicks of her mouse she brought up the page—“she’s got a blog.”

“Good going!” said Strike, moving gladly off the sofa and round the desk to read over Robin’s shoulder.

The amateurish web page was called “My Literary Life,” decorated with drawings of quills and a very flattering picture of Kathryn that Strike thought must be a good ten years out of date. The blog comprised a list of posts, arranged by date like a diary.

“A lot of it’s about how traditional publishers wouldn’t know good books if they were hit over the head with them,” said Robin, scrolling slowly down the web page so he could look at it. “She’s written three novels in what she calls an erotic fantasy series, called the Melina Saga. They’re available for download on Kindle.”

“I don’t want to read any more bad books; I had enough with the Brothers Ballsache,” said Strike. “Anything about Quine?”

“Loads,” said Robin, “assuming he’s the man she calls The Famous Writer. TFW for short.”

“I doubt she’s sleeping with two authors,” said Strike. “It must be him. ‘Famous’ is stretching it a bit, though. Had you heard of Quine before Leonora walked in?”

“No,” admitted Robin. “Here he is, look, on the second of November.”

Great talk with TFW about Plot and Narrative tonight which are of course not the same thing. For those wondering:- Plot is what happens, Narrative is how much you show your readers and how you show it to them.

An example from my second Novel “Melina’s Sacrifice.”

As they made their way towards the Forest of Harderell Lendor raised his handsome profile to see how near they were to it. His well-maintained body, honed by horseback-riding and archery skills

“Scroll up,” said Strike, “see what else there is about Quine.”

Robin obliged, pausing on a post from 21 October.

So TFW calls and he can’t see me (again.) Family problems. What can I do except say that I understand? I knew it would be complicated when we fell in love. I can’t be openly explicit on this but Ill just say he’s stuck with a wife he doesn’t love because of a Third Party. Not his fault. Not the Third Party’s fault. The wife won’t let him go even if it’s the best thing for everyone so we’re locked into what sometimes feels like it’s Purgatory

The Wife knows about me and pretend’s not to. I don’t know how she can stnad living with a man who wants to be with someone else because I know I couldn’t do it. TFW says she’s always put the Third Party before everything else including HIm. Strange how often being a “Carer” masks deep Selfishness.

Some people will say its all my fault for falling in love with a Married man. Your not telling me anything my friends, mySsister and my own Mother don’t tell me all the time. I’ve tried to call it off and what can I say except The Heart has it’s reasons, which Reasons don’t know. And now tonight I’m crying over him all over again for a brand new Reason. He tells me he’s nearly finished his Masterpiece, the book he says is the Best he’s ever written. “I hope you’ll like it. You’re in it.”

What do you say when a Famous Writer writes you into what he says is his best book? I understand what he’s giving me in way’s a Non-Writer can’t. It makes you feel proud and humble. Yes there are people we Writer’s let into our hearts, but into our Books?! That’s special. That’s different.

Can’t help loving TFW. The Heart has it’s Reasons.

There was an exchange of comments below.

What would you say if I told you he’d read a bit to me? Pippa2011

You’d better be joking Pip he won’t read me any!!! Kath

You wait. Pippa2011 xxxx