Bøker av Ruth Rendell

Her white face stared blankly back at him. He fancied that she had cringed, her slim body pressing further into the wall behind her. There had been only one thing he had ever been able to do to women and, advancing now, smiling, he did it.

Two years ago he had been a promising young novelist. Now he survived - you could hardly call it living - in a near derelict cottage with only an unhooked telephone and his own obsessive thoughts for company. Two years of loving Drusilla - the bored, rich, unstable girl with everything she needed, and a husband she wanted dead. . .