Ivor has been dead for two months now after a car accident and Imogen, his widow, is not taking it too badly, Ivor being a sort of swaggering, self-important man. But it’s almost Christmas and everyone wants to look after Imogen… Ivor’s son, Ivor’s daughter and her family, her husband and two children, and Cynthia, Ivor’s ex-wife. Gradually, as they all invade Imogen’s house, eerie events and strange behaviours begin to occur. This is a lovely cosy Christmas crime, with problems that every family has, especially at this time of year, loads of British humour, lots of little clues that lead nowhere, and a surprising ending. A real pleasure to read Fremlin.
“And in fact, her presence at this juncture did have a calming effect, if only because she was someone you could make tea for. It is the making of tea, not the drinking of it, that soothes nerves and gives the beverage its reputation, simply because it is all so complicated. Water exactly at the boil … the ceremonial warming of the pot … and then the soft, boring little argument about milk in first, last, or not at all … the proffering and refusing of sugar … very soon the strange, stereotyped ritual had brought Cynthia to the point where she was able to give a very-nearly coherent account of the events of the evening.”