The House of Green Turf (Felse, Book 8)
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One of the Inspector Felse mysteries. A famous singer wakes up in hospital after a car crash, haunted by the certainty that she has been responsible for a death at some time in the past. She hires an private investigator, who launches a hunt across Europe - and the trail also leads to Felse's wife.
indescribable, rank flavour on the night. But most surely no gaiety. ‘Aylwin had been here two or three times with Dr. Fredericks,’ he said. ‘Hadn’t you met him before?’ ‘I was not here until that summer. I came when my father died. I had nothing, you understand? Not even a human face. Who would want me? But he was lively, and funny, and kind. On that last evening I was late finishing the dishes, and I saw him go out, across the terrace, down the path… as you did to-night. And when I was
glass with some small hard object had a perceptible shape and size. A man’s hand, tapping out that minute but penetrating sound with his keys to wake her. She had no thoughts, no curiosity, and no fear. She drew back the bolt. The cool of the outer air gushed in before him as he slid into the room quickly and silently, and closed the door behind him. Her hand had gone up automatically to the light switch, but he caught her by the wrist before she could reach it. ‘No, don’t! No lights! They’d
and awe abroad in the Goldener Hirsch; but there was no grief. Only Gisela, in love with living and genuinely sorry that anyone should have to surrender it, much less feel wretched enough to want to opt out of it, had shed tears. In the office it was very quiet. The young man behind the desk, thickset, solid and tanned, looked up from the list he had before him, and smiled briefly and perfunctorily in tribute to a good-looking woman. Off-duty, he would have had more time to appreciate her. ‘Sit
that she did not believe in that possibility. ‘But even so, if it does exist in your past, however inadequately, then it must be possible to run it to earth.’ ‘That’s what I’ve been trying to do for days. I’ve been forwards and backwards through my life poking under all the stones I can find. At first I took it for granted it was Tom, you see… that I’d killed him when I crashed the car. But they told me at once that he was safe. Then I thought that there might have been somebody else involved
bounds. She lengthened the focus of the glasses again, and made a thoughtful sweep along the shore opposite, just as the wave of moonlight reached it. It looked almost close enough to touch. She fixed on the forward wash of the tide of light, and let her sweep keep pace with it; and for a moment she felt like a surf-rider. Round towards the bowl of darkness below the Goldener Hirsch, stroking the advancing light across the close-set trunks of the trees like fingers over the strings of a harp.