In the novel, a shocking fire breaks out in the home of Frances McDonald. She lives on the edge of the Karoo semi-desert in South Africa. It is the early 1940s, and she's alone while her husband serves with Allied forces in North Africa.
At first, it seems that the fire is an accident. But then Frances takes stock: the hearth was empty; the stove was turned off; no lamps were lit. Two windows had been broken, indicating forced entry, leaving shards of glass on the floor - curved glass rather than flat window stock.
Could the accident be arson?
My challenge was to make sure I understood the nature of house fires. The villain was to hurl home-made bombs through two windows. They would start a fire that sweeps through the house but fails to destroy it entirely. Curtains are burnt, furniture charred, floorboards scorched. Helpers pass water buckets hand-to-hand before the arrival of a water tanker and fire hose.
Who do you call for advice on a fire-bombing from the 1940s? It turned out that my local Fire Station was happy to help - and, I suspect, rather intrigued. The discrete heaps of curved glass shards would come from the fire-bombs, which consisted of a wick inside a milk bottle filled with petrol. Once lit, the bombs must be thrown fast before the petrol vapour explodes and my villain is vaporised. I had to ensure Frances drank her tea black - no curvy milk bottles could be on site! Or glass vases. To further confirm the fire-bombing scenario, I introduced a savvy builder (there to effect repairs) who found a partly-burnt rug that was about to be discarded, and detected the faint whiff of petrol, specifically on its underside. The temperature of the fire was also important. Glass in framed pictures would not necessarily melt but probably only crack. The mirror that reflects Frances's haunted face also suffered a crack, in this case down its centre... a crack that would prove unexpectedly significant for the Fire Portrait that she creates.
It is Frances's young pupil who, months later, provides the final proof.
I saw him, ma'am. I saw him take a bottle out of his coat, bend down and light it, then throw it through the window... then I saw flames inside.
He didn't look back, ma'am...
But who will believe the youngster?
No comments:
Post a Comment