The reviews on the back promised that this book "puts 'The Remains Of The Day' in the shade". I can only imagine that the reviewer is either on very strong medication, a friend of the author or being paid very handsomely by the publisher, because this load of watered down piddle is one of the most disappointing books I've read for ages. The characterisation is weak, nothing happens for absolutely ages and there is never any genuine sense of menace, even though that is clearly the intention. Do yourself a favour and read The Remains of the Day (which, come to think of it, is not even remotely like this novel and a bit of a weird choice to compare it to), The Turn of the Screw, The Glass of Time, or any one of a hundred Mary Elizabeth Braddon novels before bothering with this.It's not terrible, it's just not terribly good.
