BOOK TUESDAY - "UNDERCURRENTS"

"Murder may pass unpunish'd for a time, But tardy justice will o'ertake the crime." - John Dryden

I am currently reading an excellent novel by author Frances Fyfield, called: “Undercurrents”. The author is a criminal lawyer who lives and practices in London, where many of her books are set. She is the author of more than seven suspense novels, including “Shadow Play” and “Without Consent”. “Undercurrents” is a rich psychological drama and concerns a shy and retiring American Henry Evans who twenty years after seeing Francesca, the woman of his life leave on a bus while they were both backpacking through India, wishes he had asked her not to leave. Only after the bus left did Henry realize he truly loved Francesca Chisholm, and his mad dash after the departing bus was in vain. All his life, Henry reminisces, he has been wisely running away from events and objects as well as people. As the story opens, Henry is in the English coastal town of Warbling seeking Francesca, where he learns she is in prison for the murder of her child.

This is a very low-key start to an emotional thriller, which grabs one attention and fires one’s imagination. The language is rich and fruity like a moist, spicy cake studded with raisins and the pace begins at a relaxed, slow amble but gains momentum as the horror that Henry is confronted with reveals itself. Here is a short extract from Chapter 1:

“Outside the station, the wind tore at his coat like a mauling dog. The rain skittered in the eddies of wind to scratch at his face and hat. His suitcase was ballast, lifting from his shoulder and leading him in a sideways-sloping spring across the carpark. It defied the mild sense of triumph he had felt in alighting from the train at all, beating the challenge of the antiquated door as the carriage lurched to a halt in front of a sign so obscure he could scarcely read it. warbling, a name like a dowdy bird. Doctor Henry Evans, poetry-loving scientist, with impeccable transatlantic credentials and comfortable North American lifestyle, felt himself unfairly fooled by the weather and did not enjoy the sensation of being outwitted. He congratulated himself briefly at the same time for that level of preparation which was his own hallmark. He had purchased a map; he had listened carefully to telephone instructions and he knew precisely where he was going.

Rain, spitting at him with renewed vigor. You can't miss it, squire. Straight down the road by the station until you reach the sea; turn left. Big hotel, squire. Nelson stayed there long before they built the pier. Henry had enjoyed the train, dirty though it was. At least he could open the window and breathe. He hated to be inside those capsules of transport where he had no control.

And he craved his first sight of the sea. His was a landlocked heart, in love with gentle ocean sounds. He could see it in his mind's eye, calm and dark, moody with moonlight and full of inspiration. The shops on his route were small and, in the shuttered darkness, less than quaint. He noticed a deserted cinema with posters of films he thought he might have seen a decade since, a forlorn wine bar with single occupant, the closed premises of a post office apparently doubling as a pharmacy and a florist's without flowers, but apart from a couple of illuminated signs, the only significant lights were the Belisha beacons where the road dipped into a pedestrian crossing before rising toward the sea. The yellow globes winked at a lone woman who waited as if needing some extra sign which would give her license to cross an empty road. She was followed at a distance by a big, black dog, which did not seem to belong. Henry nodded and said hi. There was no response, reminding him of another feature about the natives he had encountered so far. They were not so much rude as preoccupied at any given time. They would not ignore the outstretched hand if you waved it right in front of their faces, but any gesture not initiated by themselves required repetition before gaining acknowledgment. They were not unfriendly, he decided bravely, simply undemonstrative and destined to lead him into a deliberate and useful heartiness through the means of their natural reserve. You have to learn to come out of your shell, Henry. No one else is going to winkle you out. He was trying to remember what a winkle was…”

Rather than me spending more time telling you something about the book, why not read what the author herself has to say about this novel?

Happy reading!