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By Andrew Taylor

1934, London. Into the decaying cul-de-sac of Bleeding middle sq. steps aristocratic Lydia Langstone fleeing an abusive marriage. in spite of the fact that, unknown to Lydia, a dismal secret haunts Bleeding center sq.. What occurred to overlook Penhow, the middle-aged spinster who owns the home and who vanished 4 years past? Why is a seedy plain-clothes policeman obsessively observing the sq.? what's making suffering journalist Rory Wentwood so desirous to touch omit Penhow? And why are parcels of rotting hearts being despatched to Joseph Serridge, the final individual to work out leave out Penhow alive?

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Sample text

I don’t suppose you’d consider . . ” Fenella stood up abruptly. “No. I’m sorry. ” “I could pay rent. I could—” He broke off and ran his fingers through his hair. “Sorry. It just seems so damned stupid. ” “You wouldn’t say that if you were a woman, Rory. ” She looked at the clock on the mantel. ” He cleared his throat. He wanted to tell her about Narton and the flat in Bleeding Heart Square, despite what the Sergeant had said. He should also mention the improbably smart young lady who had been at both the house and the café.

Lydia found a moderately clean dishcloth under the kitchen sink and wiped the woodwork around the sitting-room windows. It was much harder work than she had expected, and much dirtier. Before moving to the mantelpiece, she tied up her hair with a silk headscarf. How did people manage without servants, she wondered for the first time in her life, and indeed how did servants themselves manage? There were footsteps on the landing and she looked round. The door was open, and Mrs. Renton was staring at Lydia kneeling by the hearth.

He had saved a little from his salary in India. His grandmother had left him a hundred pounds when she died last year. He had enough for a few months in London, if not enough to marry on. “But I can’t stay where I am. It’s not convenient, and anyway Mrs. Rutter’s idea of a square meal is tinned tongue and green slime. I don’t suppose you’d consider . . ” Fenella stood up abruptly. “No. I’m sorry. ” “I could pay rent. I could—” He broke off and ran his fingers through his hair. “Sorry. It just seems so damned stupid.

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