Elizabeth Peters - Borrower of the Night

If it didn’t bother him, why should it bother me?

I sighed. Turning to Tony, I said, ‘Have you had a chance to read the answers to your cables yet?’

‘My God, how can you ask at a time like – ’

‘Do you know who Schmidt really is?’

Tony sat down with a thud.

‘You’re going to marry Schmidt?’

‘Schmidt,’ I said, ‘is the top historian at the National museum. I had a long talk with him this afternoon.’

‘Anton Zachariah Schmidt?’ Tony gasped. ‘That Schmidt?’

‘That Schmidt. One of the foremost historians in the world. At the moment he is a sad and sorry Schmidt . . .’

‘He should be,’ said Blankenhagen, unimpressed. ‘Such disgraceful behaviour for a grown man and a scholar.’

‘He’s a nut,’ I said. ‘What’s wrong with that? Why, the nuts found the New World and discovered the walls of windy Troy! Where would we be without the nuts? Schmidt has dabbled in parlour magic and spiritualism since he was a kid. He’s in good company. Businessmen and politicians consult astrologers; many scientists have been suckers for spiritualism. When he got on the trail of the shrine, Schmidt went a little haywire. It was his dream come true – sneaking around the halls of an ancient castle, finding a treasure, and presenting it to his precious museum. When Tony and I arrived, he had horrible visions of rich Americans stealing his prize – it had become “his” by then.’

‘Even so,’ said Blankenhagen coldly. ‘Even so . . .’

‘You’re a fine one to talk. You’re a secret nut yourself. If you were as sensible as you think you are, when I came around in the middle of the night babbling of arsenic you’d have sent me away and gone back to bed. You would have gone for the police when the knife missed Tony, instead of chasing George into the tunnel.’

‘Umph,’ said Blankenhagen, turning red.

‘Schmidt didn’t mean any harm,’ I said. ‘He’s a sweet little man. I always liked him.’

Blankenhagen’s face got even redder.

‘You are going to marry Schmidt!’

‘I’m not going to marry anybody,’ I said. ‘I’m going to take the job Herr Schmidt has offered me, at the Museum, and write a book about Riemenschneider, and also a best-selling historical novel based on the Drachenstein story. Maybe I’ll call it “The Drachenstein Story.” The plot has everything – murder, witchcraft, blood, adultery . . . I’ll make a fortune. Of course I’ll publish it under a pseudonym so the scholarly reputation I intend to build in the next five years won’t be impaired. Then – ’

‘You aren’t going to marry anyone?’ Tony asked, having found his voice at last.

‘Why do I have to marry anyone?’ I asked reasonably. ‘It’s only in simple-minded novels that the heroine has to get married. I’m not even the heroine. You told me that once. Irma is the heroine. Go marry her.’

‘I don’t want to,’ Tony said sulkily.

‘Then don’t. But stop hassling me.’ I smiled impartially at both of them. ‘You’re very sweet,’ I said kindly. ‘The trouble is, neither of you has the faintest idea of how to handle women – not women like me, anyhow. But you’re both young, and fairly bright; you can learn . . . Who knows, I might decide to get married some day. I’ll be around; if, in the meantime, you feel like – ’

Blankenhagen’s expression changed ominously, and I said, with dignity.

‘If you feel like taking a girl out now and then, I am open to persuasion.’

I smiled guilessly at him.

After a long moment he smiled back.

‘ Also ,’ he said coolly. ‘I will be here. I will continue to be here. I do not give up easily.’

There was a knock at the door, followed by the voice of one of the maids telling us dinner was ready. I started for the door.

Tony got there ahead of me.

‘It wouldn’t help Schmidt’s reputation if this affair were made public,’ he said meditatively. ‘I don’t suppose you intimated – ’

‘Why, Tony,’ I said, with virtuous indignation. ‘That would be blackmail! Would I resort to such a low trick?’

‘Of course not. Schmidt offered you a job because of your brilliance. I’m brilliant too,’ said Tony. ‘I imagine Herr Schmidt could find another job at the Museum, if I asked him nicely . . .’

Blankenhagen stood up.

‘You talk to me of rascals!’ he exclaimed. ‘You are an unprincipled dishonest – ’

I left the two of them jostling each other in the doorway and went humming down the corridor. The next five years were going to be fun.

If you enjoyed Borrower of the Night why not join Vicky Bliss on her next adventure in . . .

Street of the Five Moons

by Elizabeth Peters

The strange case of the jewel of Charlemagne

What does it all mean? The note with the hieroglyphs was found in the pocket of a man lying dead in an alley. The man also possessed a small piece of jewellery, a reproduction of the Charlemagne talisman. The reproduction is so exquisite that expert art historian Vicky Bliss thought she was being shown the real thing . . .

Vicky doesn’t know what to make of it all yet. She packs her bags for the sun-drenched streets and moonlit courtyards of Rome determined to find the answers, even if it kills her. But that dangerously exciting Englishman might just get in her way before she gets the answers she wants.

£6.99 paperback

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Silhouette in Scarlet

by Elizabeth Peters

Is Vicky to be cast adrift or will love save the day?

One red rose, a one-way ticket to Stockholm and a cryptic message in Latin intrigue Vicky Bliss – just as they were meant to. Vicky recognizes the handiwork of her former lover, jewel thief John Smythe. She takes the bait, eagerly following Smythe’s lead in the hope of finding a lost treasure.

The trail begins with a priceless fifth-century chalice, which will place Vicky at the mercy of a gang of ruthless criminals who have their eyes on an even more valuable prize. The hunt threatens to turn deadly on a remote island, where a captive Vicky must dig deep at an excavation into the distant past…

Published August 2007

£6.99 paperback

Coming soon in Robinson paperback

Trojan Gold

by Elizabeth Peters

A traditional fairy tale Christmas? Or is it a mask for murder?

They say a picture is worth a thousand words but the photograph Vicky Bliss has just received gives rise to a thousand questions instead. The blood-stained envelope is all the proof she needs that something is horribly wrong.

The photograph itself is very familiar: a woman dressed in the gold of Troy. Yet this isn’t the famous photograph of Frau Schliemann – this photograph is contemporary. And the gold, as Vicky and her fellow academics know, disappeared at the end of the Second World War.

Vicky and her fellow experts gather to renew the search and enjoy a festive Bavarian Christmas together. Their efforts are soon marred by a determined killer in their midst . . .

Published August 2007

£6.99 paperback