I must confess that for many years I have had an irrational prejudice against your books.
You see, back when I was living and working in London I developed an eye problem. I had to take quite a bit of time off work and – disaster – I had to stop reading.
And so – even though my doctor and I soon worked out that I had developed a bad intolerance to sunlight and put things right with a course of steroids, eyedrops, and tinted glasses at all times – the unhappy association remained.
Unfair I know, but there it is.
The emotion of the opening chapter captured me.
And when I turned to the second chapter I realised that you understood the Cornish psyche:
“Crossing the Tamar for some reason made me feel different inside. It was only a river, yet every time I crossed it I felt I had stepped through some mystical veil that divided the world that I only existed in from the one that I was meant to be living in.”
I have crossed the bridge that links Cornwall to Devon and the rest of the country so many times, and those words capture the sensation perfectly.
I’m afraid there’s a slip in the next paragraph. Daphne du Maurier lived on the north coast, not the south. As a native of the south coast I’d love to claim her, but I can’t. Though I can say that she was living just a few miles away when I first fell in love with her books.
But I’m rambling. What I meant to say is that I can easily forgive a few little inaccuracies if the spirit of the story is right. And the spirit is.
So I’ll go back to reading …