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It’s murder in a sleepy French fishing village . . .
Crime writer Ben Anderson was hoping for a peaceful honeymoon sailing in Europe. He’s solved four murders in the last three years, which is more than enough to suit him. He is, after all, a married man now. Things are going to be different.
Alas, their trip to a quiet, out-of-the-way French village is disrupted when they rescue the passengers of a boat on fire, and find themselves swept up in a chain of events that involves smugglers, car chases and – yes – murder.
‘Compton has been one of Britain’s most original and consistent novelists since the late Sixties, but he has never received the attention he deserves…Compton’s prose is fine-tuned, his human insights sharp, and his narrative pace filled with the weird synchronicities and dissonances of how violent things usually happen’ INDEPENDENT
Crime writer Ben Anderson was hoping for a peaceful honeymoon sailing in Europe. He’s solved four murders in the last three years, which is more than enough to suit him. He is, after all, a married man now. Things are going to be different.
Alas, their trip to a quiet, out-of-the-way French village is disrupted when they rescue the passengers of a boat on fire, and find themselves swept up in a chain of events that involves smugglers, car chases and – yes – murder.
‘Compton has been one of Britain’s most original and consistent novelists since the late Sixties, but he has never received the attention he deserves…Compton’s prose is fine-tuned, his human insights sharp, and his narrative pace filled with the weird synchronicities and dissonances of how violent things usually happen’ INDEPENDENT
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