I’d been thinking about writing a novel for a good 30 years, but never got round to it. There was always something more important to do. Then the Covid pandemic turned up. Out of nowhere. And it was mind-frazzling and grim. But for most of us it was a chance to reassess our lives. A long time-out. If I was going to write that novel, I wouldn’t get a better chance than this. But what would it be about?
One thing I knew, it wasn’t going to be a dark. Living in a horror story every day – watching the virus run out of control, a government staggering after it – I wanted some escapism. A beautiful setting. Eccentric side characters. A few laughs, with a bit of luck. A houseboat – the boat figured early in the planning. I live in Ealing, which is not quite central London. Not quite leafy suburbia. A long way from the countryside I dreamt about moving to with my family during the pandemic. Where we might cash-in, buy a houseboat on a backwater.
One of my favourite places in the country is the Dorset coast around Poole. There’s a huge harbour – an inland sea almost – that’s surrounded by some stunning landscapes. Sandy beaches. Wild heathland. Deserted islands. A river that winds up to a pretty village called Wareham. Which is where the protagonist Astrid Swift, an art conservator from the British Gallery in London, finds herself after inheriting a creaky houseboat. The town in the book isn’t Wareham. It’s called Hanbury, and is even more picturesque – the quintessential English hamlet that I thought about moving to, but never but never did in the end. If it even exists. It’s a village where the weather is always great. The locals are friendly, and the local pub is, like the genre, cosy.
I like cosy crime – writers like Agatha Christie, and more recently Robert Thorogood and Richard Osman. In their books, the villain never gets away with it. The amateur detectives triumph because, underneath it all, they’re good eggs. They have skills and do the decent thing. There’s a satisfying certainty to it all, and in uncertain times, those are the stories I wanted to read and write. A story that values friendship and community. That was the remarkable thing about the pandemic – how most people stepped up and did their bit. Cared for each other. It was the silver lining. In The Trust, Astrid slowly realises the shallowness of her materialistic life – the trophy husband begins to tarnish, and she’s sacked from her high-flying job. But in picking up the pieces in a small town where she has to rely on the kindness of strangers, she discovers who she truly is.
The lockdowns rolled in over the course of 2020 and, between the home schooling for the kids and the statutory one hour of outdoor exercise a day – remember that? – the story began to take shape. There was a fair amount of research to sort out along the way. None of it in person, but then, given the wonders of the internet, everything I needed to know was out there. So began hundreds of hours watching art conservators at work. A show called Fake or Fortune? presented by Fiona Bruce became essential viewing. As did sailing tutorials on YouTube. Lots of books were delivered: guides to deadly mushrooms and bird-spotting, tide charts and biographies of England’s finest stately homes. Sherbourne Hall, the scene of much of the crime in the book, is a mix of various grand houses around the country.
By the start of 2021, the book was finished. It went off to my agent, who seemed happy. She’s always happy though. Then it found a quick home, along with two more in the series, at Head of Zeus. It comes out in paperback this spring, now that life is, it seems, getting back to normal. If there hadn’t been those lockdowns, I doubt I’d have written a novel. Life would have carried on as usual – which is always wonderful. I’m lucky, and keenly aware of that. Grateful for getting through the pandemic, and out the other side with a new career and outlook on life.
The Trust by M H Eccleston (Head of Zeus) Out Now
Ever so wholesome. Ever so deadly... When art restorer Astrid Swift moved from London to the Dorset village of Hanbury, she thought she was heading for a quiet life. Far from it. A local man has just been murdered in the English Trust stately home where Astrid works, and the sleepy community is shaken to its core. Soon Astrid has discovered the shocking truth about her employer: rather than being the genteel organisation it seems on the surface, the Trust is a hotbed of politics and intrigue. As Astrid's new friend Kath from the village says: 'It's like the mafia, but with scones. As the suspicious deaths mount up, Astrid must use every gadget in her restorer's toolkit to solve the mystery, salvage her reputation - and maybe even save her life.
Mark can be found on Twitter @MarkEccleston1
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