Once again, Mrs Trellis reveals her undying interest in literature.
Dear Jeffrey Archer, she writes, I envy you knowing a Dane. The only one I know, well know of, is Hans Christopher Anderson, but I don't know what he's famous for. He was much too late for the rape, arson and pillage thing, so maybe he was the inventor of blue-veined cheese, or a breeder of mermaids.
But, anyway, I am pleased that you are helping the Danes to learn English, poor devils (Don't they put a little o over their a's? An act of desperation, in my view).
I don't want to be blasphemous, but I don't know why God didn't get everybody speaking English in the first place, it being His Own Personal Mother Tongue, well, assuming He had a Mother. But He works in Mysterious Ways, as we all know, and screwing the Danes must be part of some Divine Plan the purpose of which we know not wot of.
By the way, this story of yours they bought, I hope it wasn't pornographic - you know the reputation of these Scandinavians, taking their clothes off and leaping into the snow - but, from what I know of your stories, that is unlikely, you sticking to normal themes like corruption, murder, love, incest and laundry.
Blodwen Trellis, Mrs, widow, retired