The Glass Room (Vera Stanhope 5)

contemporary novel.’ The man didn’t wait for a response. Perhaps he’d already worked out that Vera wasn’t a natural BBC4 viewer. ‘Oh, God, this’ll be a nightmare. We’ll never get any of the professionals from London up after this. Imagine the publicity! Lunatic students cutting the lecturers’ throats! It’s hard enough to prise the sods away from London as it is.’
    ‘So he was working for you?’ But not much liked, Vera thought, if Alex’s first thought was for the business rather than the man.
    ‘He deigned to grace us with his presence.’ He must have seen that Vera still needed an explanation. ‘He came to the Writers’ House once every couple of years to act as tutor. Making it clear that he was doing my mother an enormous favour. They go back a long way. But his support made a big difference when we set up the writing courses.’ He paused, seeming to realize that he sounded callous. ‘I’m sorry. It’s hard to believe that he’s dead.’
    ‘How long have you known him?’ Vera found herself amused. This young man was hardly more than a child to her and surely couldn’t have been involved in this business for more than a few years.
    ‘Pretty well as long as I can remember. Since I was a child. Tony worked with my mother at St Ursula’s, and when she was first published his positive reviews made a big difference to her career.’
    Vera wasn’t sure how any of this worked. St Ursula’s? This was a world about which she knew nothing.
    ‘She’s a writer too, is she?’
    ‘Of course. Miranda Barton!’ He paused. ‘I suppose she’s not that well known now. But don’t let on you’ve never heard of her. She’d be mortified.’
    ‘Sorry, pet. I don’t get much time for reading in my line of business. Not stories, at any rate.’ Through the thick walls she heard the muffled sound of a police siren in the distance. The local cavalry arriving, showing off for all they were worth. What did they need a siren for? To scare one tractor and a bunch of sheep from the lane?
    ‘What was Mr Ferdinand doing here?’ Vera went on. ‘Was he lecturing on this course, “Short Cuts”?’
    ‘In theory.’ Again she thought she sensed bitterness in the young man’s voice. It seemed there were lots of complications in this case. At least she hoped there were. She liked something she could get her teeth into, something to prove what a brilliant detective she was.
    ‘And in practice?’
    ‘He was here to massage his ego, to convince himself that he was still as influential as he’d always been. In 1990 The Observer called him a star-maker. I think he’s always on the lookout for more stars, to prove his importance in the literary firmament.’
    Again Vera wasn’t sure what this meant, and now wasn’t the time for another show of her ignorance.
    ‘Who found the body?’ she asked.
    Alex leaned back against the end of the chaise longue as if he was suddenly exhausted. ‘My mother. Tony was scheduled to run an informal session before supper. Questions and answers. All about how to find an agent or a publisher, how to submit work. It was often the most popular workshop of the week, the practical side of getting work into print. It was what a lot of the students came for. Of course they all hoped Tony would recognize their genius and recommend them to an agent or publisher. He was charismatic, you know. One word of praise from him and they’d believe in themselves as writers. Tony hadn’t appeared for tea, so Mother went to find him. The glass room was one of his favourite places.’
    ‘That’s what you call it? The glass room?’
    ‘Yes.’ Again he regarded Vera with suspicion.
    ‘Was that unusual? Mr Ferdinand not arriving to work on time?’
    ‘It was, rather. Tony wasn’t the easiest person to work with, but he was professional.’
    ‘Your mother came up here and saw him on the balcony?’ Vera wasn’t sure that made sense. If you were looking for someone, wouldn’t you just poke your head round the door to see if they were inside? How could she know that Ferdinand would be crouched in a heap in the corner?
    ‘Yes,’ Alex said. ‘Then all hell broke loose.’ Despite his expression of shock at the professor’s murder, it seemed to Vera that the young man was devoid of emotion. He was going through the motions. Which couldn’t be said of his mother. Vera could still hear the sound of Miranda Barton’s screaming in her ears, feel it reverberating through her body. The