About

How I came to write The Time of Cherries

Fifteen years ago I bought a computer – explored the keyboard. Found myself describing a motorbike accident I had witnessed on Sloane Street – the bike sliding under a lorry, the rider eventually staggering to his feet. And the story of a New York mafia boss who had ‘disappeared’ a man who had killed his son in a traffic accident.

I had a plot. I was hooked.

At school, we had to precis Montezuma’s Daughter a novel by H Ryder Haggard. I took great care and loved the story. The teacher gave me a C, but commended me for effort – my written English had let me down.

I read the classics, including those by Alexandre Dumas and Victor Hugo – the Musketeers, Jean Valjean, my heroes. I loved adventure stories: the hardship…the heroism.

Despite gaining a modest haul of three O levels I came away from school with an abiding love of history, its characters.

On leaving school my mother frogmarched me to the local technical college where, not requiring A levels, I enrolled on a course which resulted in my qualifying as a chartered surveyor, a career which took me to Hong Kong. I got lucky – stumbled on the right place at the right time.

My job was selling properties on behalf of clients. Most of the work was a waste of time, a fraction of which resulted in a ‘deal’. I worshipped at the temple of Mammon, drank too much, did not like myself very much. In the end I loathed the office but had – and still have – a wonderful wife and family to keep me going.

I’ve tried to work out why I write. It’s to do with the academic thing – trying to prove myself. And an innate fear of boredom.

And I love it – a reason to get out of bed in the morning. The plot is always on my mind. The research is fascinating: digging into holes where I never imagined I would dig.

Winston Churchill said: ‘Writing a long and substantial book is like having a friend and companion at your side, to whom you can always turn for comfort and amusement.’

I agree with him.

From the outset I decided against writing courses. I wanted to be self-taught. I wrote two trainer novels before I judged Cherries as being worthy of publication.

Those two old French masters niggled at me. The Time of Cherries is the result. A woman, Kiki, seeking fame and fortune in Paris – just as D’Artagnan had done those centuries before – and convulsed by events beyond her control, as the Musketeers and Jean Valjean had been.