How To Work with a Makeup Artist – For Up and Coming Photographers
Gwyneth Williams
Author Bio
After a long and successful academic career, Gwyneth decided to finally write her first cozy mystery-detective novel. She always had it in her and has several more up her sleeve that will be made available before long to the world of mystery readers.
Although she very much enjoys mysteries, she feels indebted to all the women writers of her youth who inspired her so much. She’ll probably talk about the books she reads to those among you who want to read her and correspond with her.
Her own taste in reading has always been, and still is, very eclectic. She enjoys films and traveling; in fact there are not many things that she refuses to enjoy, so she hopes you will find the same enjoyment in her writing.
She has, throughout her career, won several awards for her work for equality and justice for all, particularly for women.
She’s also a great cook, very much in the French and Italian styles but also likes to resuscitate old English recipes and share Welsh recipes inspired by her mother and maternal grandmother.
Description
A murder takes place, a woman seems to be a suspect. Are we involved in a follow-up to an earlier horror story or do these events belong only to contemporary society?
How does Sara, a nice professional woman who loves to entertain and cook gourmet meals come to be involved in murder in one country only to have it follow her back to another country? Why does her eclectic mix of acquaintances and interests intrigue the police of these two nations so much? What is it about their mother that, when called upon, her daughters are so willing to bend the rules? Can friends be trusted? An intercontinental intrigue that will have you laughing, sighing, and surprised by the end of it.
“… my husband … sergeant, sits in the armchair with his eyes closed and his head lolling. I never assume he’s been stabbed. I assume he’s having a snooze before supper.”
Book excerpt
She heard him pass as he was going to the guest room in the hope that Sara would finally enjoy a quiet dreamless night, and called out to him a friendly Goodnight. He poked his head around the bathroom door to return her greeting and throw her a kiss. Feeling even more cheerful, Sara went to bed, to snuggle down among the nice still clean sheets, leaving a spot for any cat that wished to join her. She lay there quietly, reflecting on the one hand on the possible relationship between the geologist, if indeed that was his profession, and the religious group; on the other, she gave some thought to the object she had noted and admired, wondering about its provenance. She should, she thought also, mention to Danesh that Huguette’s Friend, Richard, had been the person who had been encouraging Huguette very strongly to be the co-purchaser of the empty house just up the street. He had, he said, been visiting it quite often in the last few days. Bizarre! Maybe she did hold, at least in part, the key to the whole problem. But How? And Why?
Finally, she fell into a deep sleep, haunted a little by dreams, one of which staged an exotic dancer of a rather Hollywoodian nature, covered in jewels that Sara, as if hypnotized by the chimæra in her dream, found vaguely recognizable. In another, she and Victor were digging energetically at a hole somewhere in the mountains. Sara recalled thinking at one point in this dream that his back must be a great deal better.
When she totally woke up, she wondered whether Hollywood dancer had not been inspired by a fairly recent visit to a Tamara da Lempicka exhibition rather than something connected to the murder. In her day, Tamara, the famous portrait painter of Polish origin, had been the queen of the Art Deco and jazz period. With a faint touch of cubism and sometimes more than suggestions of nudity, her paintings had overwhelmed Society. She painted the rich beautiful, and the powerful, in sumptuous colours, with sleek lines and other voluptuous attributes. But her day had, of course, also passed. Anyway, Sara concluded that Tamara had not been the link to her Hollywood lady. She must look elsewhere. But she did find it amusing that Victor’s activity appeared to be confined to digging, although it seemed to be a little useless in the context.
In spite of the different concerns revealed by these night images, she woke up rather refreshed and turned the radio on to hear the morning news, which covered the ubiquitous wars springing up and spreading like poisonous mushrooms all over the planet. Nothing about the explosion of the day before. Lots of heat warnings though, encouraging the young and the old to stay indoors or visit only air-conditioned buildings.
Sara sighed a little but decided to shower and dress before sharing her breakfast with Victor. Her first business-like gesture of the day, after dressing somewhat slowly, was to check the phone, only to discover that no-one had called her back from any kind of police organization, here or anywhere else. Had they received the message, she wondered. No answer came so she decided finally to join her husband in the shade on the terrace, looking, she hoped, her innocent best.