Who are the Waldensians? Whose home town was-somewhat appropriately- Belley? What connects Homer and Cullercoats? No, you haven’t strayed by chance into some bastard offshoot of the King William’s college quiz. All these questions are posed (and answered) by the latest art and banking thriller from ex-CWA chairman John Malcolm. And, one might add: why Simpson’s Homer? A playful bid for the Sky viewer?
Fans of course will need little explanation. Many will remember titles such as Whistler in the Dark (1986), or Mortal Ruin (1988), the nickname of Winston’s Churchill’s uncle, Sir Moreton Frewen whose many activities (amongst them lover, speculator, and Wyoming cattle rancher) formed the background to the book. New readers (of which I hope there will be many) should know that Malcolm writes marvellously entertaining books featuring his art sleuth Tim Simpson (for the Homer bit, read this book!). Tim, amongst other occasional duties, runs the Art Investment Fund for White’s, a City merchant bank, a job involving large sums of money, oodles of lovely often obscure but fascinating facts and opinions about late 19th/early 20th century painting, not to mention furniture and buildings–together with a predilection for pandemonium, mayhem and murder.
In this one the bank gives Tim a watching brief over Sir Richard White, currently exploring some rather strange investment opportunities in France. For Tim, problems enough but then he is contacted by Henry Weaver, an old acquaintance, with an offer of a mysterious watercolour. But Henry winds up dead in a suspicious car crash. Before long Tim is knee-deep in high finance and sundry low-life, and at risk from both.
Malcolm knows his world very well (he was an international marketing consultant) and writes about it in clear, no-nonsense prose, and (a particular joy) bright, funny dialogue. He has perhaps overdone the knowledge a tad here, particularly in the point-scoring that sometimes constitute the exchanges between Tim and his wife Sue, now a part-time curator at the Tate Gallery. But his grasp of characterisation remains sure. One key to the charm of the novels is Tim’s delightfully unsentimental rugger-blue persona. Whilst getting to grips, for example, with the duties of "the modern father", coping with the recently arrived Simpson "sprog", so far, seems to remain the province of the ever-capable Sue. And as usual the book is skilfully and credibly plotted, with a particularly satisfying ending.
Books from Malcolm have been rather thin on the ground of late. I hope the success of this one will persuade A&B to bring at least some of the back-list on to the market again. For example Patricia Cornwell fans just might fancy the first Simpson title A Back Room in Somers Town(1984) which centres around a painting by Mary Godwin, a pupil of Walter Sickert now, according to my namesake, identified as Jack the Ripper!