The Long Shadow, by Celia Fremlin
Jolted from sleep by the ringing of the telephone, Imogen stumbles through the dark, empty house to answer it. At first, she can't quite understand the man on the other end of the line. Surely he can't honestly be accusing her of killing her husband, Ivor, who died in a car crash barely two months ago.
As the nights draw in, Imogen finds her home filling up with unexpected guests, who may be looking for more than simple festive cheer. Has someone been rifling through Ivor's papers? Who left the half-drunk whiskey bottle beside his favourite chair? And why won't that man stop phoning, insisting he can prove Imogen's guilt ..?
'Beautifully written . . . Fremlin's sly, subtly feminist take on the ghost story is a gem.' Sunday Times
'Reads as if it were written yesterday ... Makes you laugh, smile or wince in recognition on virtually every page ... This clever, clear-eyed mystery is the perfect antidote to the often fake bonhomie of the festive season.' Times Book of the Month
Jolted from sleep by the ringing of the telephone, Imogen stumbles through the dark, empty house to answer it. At first, she can't quite understand the man on the other end of the line. Surely he can't honestly be accusing her of killing her husband, Ivor, who died in a car crash barely two months ago.
As the nights draw in, Imogen finds her home filling up with unexpected guests, who may be looking for more than simple festive cheer. Has someone been rifling through Ivor's papers? Who left the half-drunk whiskey bottle beside his favourite chair? And why won't that man stop phoning, insisting he can prove Imogen's guilt ..?
'Beautifully written . . . Fremlin's sly, subtly feminist take on the ghost story is a gem.' Sunday Times
'Reads as if it were written yesterday ... Makes you laugh, smile or wince in recognition on virtually every page ... This clever, clear-eyed mystery is the perfect antidote to the often fake bonhomie of the festive season.' Times Book of the Month
Jolted from sleep by the ringing of the telephone, Imogen stumbles through the dark, empty house to answer it. At first, she can't quite understand the man on the other end of the line. Surely he can't honestly be accusing her of killing her husband, Ivor, who died in a car crash barely two months ago.
As the nights draw in, Imogen finds her home filling up with unexpected guests, who may be looking for more than simple festive cheer. Has someone been rifling through Ivor's papers? Who left the half-drunk whiskey bottle beside his favourite chair? And why won't that man stop phoning, insisting he can prove Imogen's guilt ..?
'Beautifully written . . . Fremlin's sly, subtly feminist take on the ghost story is a gem.' Sunday Times
'Reads as if it were written yesterday ... Makes you laugh, smile or wince in recognition on virtually every page ... This clever, clear-eyed mystery is the perfect antidote to the often fake bonhomie of the festive season.' Times Book of the Month