I LIFT my head to the weak sun and give thanks for having survived another winter. It’s good to see the lane is passable, even if there are ruts and puddles. However, I can still see the bones of icy,

THE MARK OF A GREAT, TOUGH BOOK MAY NOT be how many literature classes it’s taught in but how many film or TV adaptations you can drape on its branches without breaking them. Dramatizations are tricky

MADELEINE could not think when she last went to the theatre. Her father didn’t enjoy plays much, and Madeleine tended to go along with what he liked. They were close; the Gilbert family was just the t

IT was a clear early spring day, the breeze light and the sands empty. Sea and land seemed to go on forever, their divisions blurred by light and distance. Brigitte Wetherby breathed in the salty air

IT’S time to go to the police again,” Mark said. “That’s what I think.” “We all think that,” Lydia snapped. “We have all got that far, Mark.” The Denzell children glared at each other, then sighed and

Waresley is a tiny picture-postcard Cambridgeshire village of about 200 inhabitants where you might think nothing exciting ever happens. And mostly, it doesn’t. But in 1965 it was the scene of one of