I’ve added last year’s NOBODY PAYS FOR IT to the STORIES page for anyone who may have missed it.
“Two days after his car was found burnt-out near a cliff’s edge her PA handed her a padded envelope. She recognized the handwriting, its unruly loops and truncated stems. There were meetings scheduled that day. Her clients had travelled distances, one from as far as Cologne. She cancelled them all and left Populus, the recruitment consultancy she’d built from a desk in a spare room to a suite of offices on London Wall. She drifted around the City, not looking up or down until she found the restaurant. She insisted on a table not facing the street. At first it seemed he’d sent her nothing personal, no letter or explanation, only J, a manuscript an inch thick. His agent’s statement had said that James Jay’s last masterpiece was either ashes or he’d taken it to the sea.”