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New Oxford Tearoom Mystery coming soon ~ and a new look for the series!

As I said, I'm almost finished writing "A High Whisk Situation" - the 12th book in the Oxford Tearoom Mysteries. It will then still have to go through beta reading, editing and proofreading rounds but it's on track for release in Feb next year.

And with the new year comes a new look for the series! Yes, the Oxford Tearoom books will be getting a fresh set of covers, in a slightly different style. 

So for those of you who are collecting the print editions, if you would like to have a complete set of the old covers, you might like to purchase any titles you don't have yet before the end of Jan 2023. After that, they will only be available on Amazon in the "new" cover styles.

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Talking of the new book, here is a little sneak peek of the upcoming release. This is taken from Chapter 1 of my current (unedited) working draft, so please excuse any mistakes and typos!

     When life deals you lemons… head to the Scottish Highlands.
     Well, I’m sure the original speaker of that quote never expected that variation, but it was certainly apt in this case. It wasn’t an abundance of sour citrus fruits, though, but rather a flood of sewage water that threatened the mundane peacefulness of my life...
     “It’s totally gone, luv. Rusted right through. You’re goin’ to need a whole new system,” said the plumber as he sat back on his heels, wiped his hands on a dirty rag and eyed the twisted network of old pipes with relish (no doubt thinking of what the “whole new system” was going to put in his pocket). “Reckon I could squeeze you in before my next job, but you’re goin’ to have to close for a week.”
     “A week?” I stared at him in horror. “You want me to shut the tearoom for a week?”
     The plumber shrugged. “No other way. Not unless you want your customers smellin’ everything I bring up.”
     I shuddered. It had been bad enough the last few days when I’d had to explain to irate customers that there was no working toilet available—not something you want to be announcing to big tour groups and families with young children after you’d been plying them with multiple cups of tea! 
     And people might rave about how much they loved the period features and quaint atmosphere of the converted Tudor inn that housed my tearoom, but somehow, they drew the line at experiencing authentic 15th century plumbing. I knew the Little Stables Tearoom had already copped some negative reviews online because of this; its reputation would sink completely if things got worse.
     “All right,” I sighed. “Just… can you please do it as fast as you can?”
     “Sure, luv. I’ll have it done for you in a jiffy,” he said cheerfully.
     Which—as anyone who has had experience of British tradesmen knows—probably meant he would only drink seventeen cups of tea a day, have twelve cigarette breaks and knock off at three-thirty instead of three.
     Still, I didn’t have much choice and after I showed the plumber out the front door and readjusted the “CLOSED” sign, I went into the kitchen to break the news. Two women looked up expectantly as I stepped inside the door: Dora my tearoom chef, a stocky, grey-haired matron with a wonderful knack for creating gorgeous baked treats and a brisk manner that belied her kindly heart… and Cassie my best friend and partner-in-waitressing, whose sensual resemblance to an artist’s muse belied her own brilliant talent with the paintbrush. While they could not have been more different, at the moment they were both wearing identical expectant expressions on their faces. 
     “Well?” said Cassie. “What did the plumber say?”
     I relayed the bad news, bracing myself for their dismay. After all, both Dora and Cassie had worked as hard as I had over the past year to make the tearoom a success, and I knew they’d both be appalled at the prospect of being forced to close for business. To my surprise, though, Cassie beamed and exclaimed: 
     “Actually, that’s brilliant! You can come with me!”
     I looked at her blankly. “Come where?”
     “To Scotland, of course,” said Cassie. “I’m heading off this weekend, remember? I’m teaching that painting workshop at Aberglinn Castle in the Highlands.”
     “Oh… yeah, that’s right,” I said, wondering how I could have forgotten when I’d had to make changes to the menu and seating arrangements, to ensure that we could manage while Cassie was away. 
     “My contract comes with room and board,” Cassie continued excitedly. “And there are twin beds in my room, so you can stay with me. I’m sure they won’t mind. It’ll be perfect: you can just lounge around and relax, or go and explore the castle grounds while I’m teaching the workshop. The castle’s been converted into a posh hotel, you know, and it’s up in the Highlands, at the foot of the mountains. The countryside around is spectacular. You could try fly-fishing or go hiking—”
     “Cassie, I can’t go gallivanting off to Scotland while work is being done on my tearoom!”
     “Why not? It’s not like you’re going to be holding the spanner for the plumber, are you?” Cassie said. “You can’t do anything while this place is closed, so you might as well take advantage of the situation. And you’re well overdue for a holiday.”
     “Cassie’s right, dear,” Dora chimed in. “You’ve been working so hard; it’s high time you took a break.”
     “It’s not a break that I need, it’s a new plumbing system,” I muttered. “Besides, you’ve both been putting in long hours too—”
     “Not like you,” said Cassie. “You’ve been working like a madwoman, especially in the past few weeks. It’s not healthy, Gemma! Do you realise you haven’t taken any time off since the tearoom opened nearly eighteen months ago? And don’t mention that trip to Vienna,” she added, giving me a mock glower. “Spending most of your time investigating a murder doesn’t count as a proper holiday.”
     “It’s not like I haven’t tried to take a holiday,” I said irritably. “But every time I organised something, it ended up being cancelled because Devlin—” I broke off. 
     There was an awkward silence. Then Cassie took a breath and said, in a determinedly cheerful voice, “Well, let me tell you, that’s one of the perks of being a single girl. No more worrying about the stupid workaholic boyfriend, no more contorting your life to match another person’s schedule. You just suit yourself.” She grabbed my arm. “Come on, Gemma—it’ll be a great ‘girls’ trip’! We’ll have a brilliant time.”
     I shook my head but inside, I could feel myself beginning to waver.