What revealed the magic of books for me was The Wind in the Willows. When I was five, I contracted measles, which meant I had to spend my days in bed in a darkened room. My mother sat outside my bedro

Mary Pargeter was starting to feel her age. When did she first attend the annual Christmas tree lighting ceremony at Greenwood House? A quarter of a century, and she was retired even then. Had she loc

They’d have loved the drama of it – bowing out almost exactly ten years apart. Born in the same year and with the same initials, both queens of the bonkbuster. One was a Hollywood lioness, the other a

An old man lives at the bottom of my garden. His name is Robert Barkus, or Bakehouse, or Bagust. Nobody is quite sure. But I often sense him around when I’m gardening, and I’ve found out a fair bit ab

Oh, the joy of curling up on a winter’s afternoon to immerse oneself in a compelling crime novel or TV drama featuring victims and sleuths. The story will be set in a picturesque, seemingly safe place

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