Debs on the Cover That Wasn't

DEBORAH CROMBIE: I thought I might have a least a first draft of the cover for Kincaid/James #19 to show you today, but, alas, I fear that particular cover was not meant to be. Covers are so difficult! A cover has to convey what sort of book it is, it has to draw the reader in, and you want it to identify the author as well as the series if you are writing a series.

To compound the challenge, this book is set mostly in Bloomsbury and Soho, parts of London that have turned out to be remarkably difficult to photograph in a way that says LONDON! MYSTERY! READ THIS!

My London photographer friend did a little Bloomsbury photo shoot for me in early December--good timing for the setting of the book, but not so much for photos. London is pretty brown and drab at the beginning of December. But there was one shot of the Number 14 (Russell Square) bus that my editor and I both really liked, so we sent it to the art department. This was a close shot of the front half of the bus, with a beautiful carved pillar in the background.

What came back from the art director last week was a sequence of covers with London buses on bridges, complete with time-lapse light trails. He took the bus idea and ran with it. The 14 bus was in there, too, and while I still liked it, my agent HATED it. NO BUSES. NO TRANSPORTATION ON BOOK COVER. All caps.

So we are back to the drawing board, this time with the idea of lighted pub windows, seen from the outside. I have no idea if this will work! The good news is that they managed to get the title on the cover and it looked fabulous! (And, no, I'm not sharing it quite yet.)

In the meantime, I've been consoling myself by looking through my Portobello Market photos. Here's a snippet from the book, in which Kit goes to work at Otto's cafe in Elgin Crescent, one of the streets that bisects Portobello Road right in the center of the market. Otto's is entirely fictional, but I know exactly where it is. See the hat vendor in this photo from 2016? Otto's is just to the right. (I was sitting in the Duke of Wellington pub. Oh, the short hair! With no gray! Not to mention being IN a pub!)

You can see it better here, disguised by the graffiti and the scaffolding. Just imagine the blue awning...

Kit walked down Arundel Gardens with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie. After yesterday’s drizzle, the air was sharp with the sort of biting nip you only got on crisp, clear autumn days. If Gemma had been home she’d have told him to wear a coat, but he didn’t want to look a prat. No one at school wore a coat unless it was the apocalypse.

He was looking forward to working the lunch shift at Otto’s. The cafe was always busy on Portobello Market day, and Otto and Wes would need the extra help. Otto was paying him, too, although Kit suspected Otto knew he’d happily work for free. He loved the buzz and efficiency of a busy kitchen, and he felt comfortable there, more so than he ever did at school. People who knew what his parents did for a living tended to avoid him. He got bullied, too, for not having every social media app, but once when he’d tried to explain that his parents had seen first-hand what sort of trouble people could get into by sharing personal stuff, that git Trevor had fallen over himself laughing. Now everyone thought he was some sort of goody two-shoes, and God forbid they found out his little brother was dancing ballet.

That nerve-wracking thought took him into Elgin Crescent and he was glad to see the cheerful blue awning of the cafe front. Sandwiched between the charity shop and a bar that had changed hands half a dozen times since Kit had moved to Notting Hill, Otto’s café was a neighborhood institution. Just beyond it, the hat stall set up on the pavement provided a blaze of color against the crowd thronging Portobello Road. The fine weather meant it would be a good day for the market, and the punters should be edging from morning coffees into early lunches.

Pushing open the cafe door, he met a blast of warmth and the smell of fresh coffee. With one glance, he checked the small dining room’s occupied tables. One woman, plastic shopping bags piled at her feet, was scrolling through her mobile, an empty coffee cup and a crumb-littered plate on the tabletop. At another two-top, a couple were perusing menus. The man set his down and looked round impatiently.

Kit frowned. The first table should have been cleared, and someone should have taken the couple’s orders. Where was everyone? Neither Otto nor Wes had appeared at the door to the kitchen. Usually, Otto’s daughters helped out on busy Saturdays, but there was no sign of the girls, either.

Kit crossed the room, nodding at the impatient man and murmuring, “Someone will be right with you,” as he passed. Pushing open the swinging door at the back of the room, he clattered down the stairs to the kitchen.

He stopped dead in the entryway, staring. Wesley Howard sat on the single kitchen stool, the palms of his hands pressed to his face. Otto stood before him, flapping his apron like a rotund chicken, his bald head gleaming with sweat under the harsh overhead lighting. The smell of hot fryer fat singed Kit’s nostrils.

“What’s happened?” he asked, his heart thumping into overdrive. “Wes, are you okay?”

Wes’s shoulders gave a convulsive heave. When he swiped his palms across his cheeks, Kit saw that his dark eyes were brimming with tears. Although a good few years older, Wesley was the first real friend Kit had made when he’d moved to London to live with his dad and Gemma. He had never seen Wes cry.

“Ah, Kit, you are here.” Otto turned to him with a look of relief. “I’m afraid Wesley has had some bad news.”

REDS and readers, what do you think about buses and book covers?  A double-decker definitely says LONDON, but not necessarily mystery. How about old buildings? Pub windows? What would draw you in?