Preface to Murder

have been wasted for nothing. Jake, too, seemed distracted. He shuffled his feet and rubbed his nose – both giveaways that his mind was elsewhere. She prodded him gently to refocus his attention on the task in hand.
On stage, Dearlove was asking Diane about the motivations behind her latest work. ‘Why did you choose to write this book, and can you tell us why you think it’s so important to tell this story right now?’
Diane responded in cool, measured tones, although her views were certainly controversial. In her opinion, the current conflicts in the Middle East were due largely to the failure of western governments to show respect for Arabic culture, and of the greed of those same western nations in enriching themselves through the sales of arms. Continued instability in the region was in the interests of the British and the Americans because it kept the arms trade alive.
Bridget began to wonder who might have sent the death threat. But the details of the talk didn’t engage her attention for long. Instead she found herself thinking of Chloe and what she was doing right now. She’d gone to London to spend a couple of days with Ben, and – this news had rocked Bridget’s boat and left her feeling out of sorts for quite a while – his fiancée.
Bridget still couldn’t quite believe it. Ben and his girlfriend, Tamsin, had swanned off to the Maldives for Christmas and had returned in January to announce their engagement and their plans to marry in the summer. That was certainly one way of solving the problem of what to call your significant other half. Fiancée! Bridget was putting a brave face on it, but the news had left her reeling. It wasn’t that she wanted Ben back, far from it. Her marriage to him had been a disaster, the only good thing to come out of it being Chloe. And besides, she loved Jonathan dearly. But the idea of Ben marrying Tamsin – who Bridget still hadn’t met but imagined to be more glamorous and attractive than her, and certainly younger and slimmer, not to mention taller – left her feeling bruised.
The fact that Tamsin had asked Chloe to be her chief bridesmaid, and that Chloe had accepted with eager enthusiasm, hadn’t softened the blow. The main purpose of Chloe’s current visit to London was to attend a fitting for her dress. This, together with the bridal gown, was being designed by a dressmaker who, according to Chloe, made outfits “for celebs”. Bridget worried that under Tamsin’s influence her daughter was becoming too fixated with celebrity culture and her appearance. The almost certainly svelte Tamsin couldn’t possibly be a healthy role model for an impressionable teenager. Whilst Bridget would gladly have shed a few pounds herself, she didn’t want Chloe becoming anorexic. The pressure to look good for a wedding, and to fit into a tight dress could be immense, especially for a growing girl. Jonathan had reassured her that Chloe was absolutely fine and showed no signs of developing an eating disorder. But it didn’t stop Bridget from worrying.
Forty minutes or so after it had begun, the main part of the interview drew to a close and Dearlove invited the audience to ask questions. At first no one put their hand up, perhaps too intimidated by the writer’s haughty demeanour to venture an opinion of their own or risk displaying their ignorance. Then a man on the front row raised his hand and Dearlove, with an obvious look of relief, invited him to speak. A young woman with a microphone rushed over to him.
The questioner was middle-aged and somewhat portly, dressed in a tweed jacket. Bridget couldn’t see his face, but the man’s hair was silver. ‘Ms Gilbert, you have written a very interesting book,’ he began. Diane accepted the compliment with a smile and the faintest inclination of her head, but Bridget sensed a “but” coming. The man continued, his voice growing in confidence as he framed his question. ‘But don’t you think that what you’ve revealed may be harmful to the security of the United Kingdom?’
A frisson of excitement ran through the audience. People had paid good money to come and listen to a controversial writer and now it seemed they were going to get their money’s worth.
Bridget swept her gaze across the crowd, immediately on heightened alert. Next to her, Jake shifted his position as if he too sensed possible danger. Diane Gilbert had received a death threat after all. When the questioner’s hand strayed to his jacket pocket, Bridget felt herself tensing. He pulled out a handkerchief, and she exhaled with relief. The man dabbed his forehead as if being the centre of attention was proving to be rather stressful.
Bridget gathered from Diane’s somewhat dismissive response that she had little sympathy with the man’s concerns. But the first questioner had evidently lent courage to the others, and more hands now went up. Michael Dearlove deftly gave as many as possible a chance to ask their questions, each of which Diane Gilbert answered in her rather brusque fashion.
Finally, and much to Bridget’s relief, Dearlove announced that there was only time for one more question. A woman attempted to lighten the mood by asking Diane if she was planning to attend any events at the literary festival herself and, if so, which ones. Diane smiled – rather condescendingly, Bridget thought – and replied that she would have liked to attend the talk by a bestselling novelist but his event had sold out as soon as tickets went on sale. Fiction, she declared, was far more popular than serious books like hers would ever be. Few members of the public had the intellectual capacity or curiosity to read in order to improve themselves. A nervous titter went around the room, but on balance the audience seemed pleased with her performance and gave Diane a more enthusiastic round of applause