Never heard of this guy, or read anything of his before.
1930’s upper class decadence and sexual depravity meets 1930’s intellectualised detective skills, with social snobbery, establishment plotting and even a bit of cricket thrown in. But the omniscient Rachel Savernake is a lot younger and prettier than Miss Marple.
The book ends, very Agatha Christie like, as Savernake explains the plot to the bewildered cast, including the possibly less bewildered villains, as the coast manor house they are in collapses into the north sea.
Well written and cleverly plotted, but conceptually very derivative.
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