Thrillers
Harriet Waugh
The Parasite Person Celia Frernlin (Gollancz £6.95)
The first mystery in Antonia Fraser's detective novel, Cool Repentance, is why it is not set in Ireland. The characters give off such a strong whiff of decadent Anglo-Irish flesh that it seems perverse to have located them somewhere in rural- England-by-the-sea. Anyway, despite the eccentricity of the setting, it starts off ex- cellently.
Christobel Herrick, whose fate is at the centre of the novel, is a prematurely retired famous actress about to be enticed back on stage by an ambitious, pseudish director running the local theatre festival. She has recently returned to her husband's home after a protracted desertion of a humiliating kind: she had run off with the stable boy, the son of the domestic servants of the house. The stable boy had used her as a stepping-stone to becoming a pop star, ruined her career, then deserted her, only to die in a motor-bicycle crash. Christobel has now returned to resume her role at the cen- tre of the household as though she had never left it. Her husband, Julian, seems as adoring as ever, but is he? Why is Gregory, her ex-lover, giving off gothic Byronic vibrations? Are her daughters who burst in- to tears, wear unsuitable clothes, and ride horses into the kitchen really pleased that she is back? What does their governess, the aunt of the stable boy, feel about having her place in the household usurped? And, most important of all, what do Mr and Mrs Blagge, the parents of the spoilt stable boy feel at having to serve the woman they blame for their son's death? These are the questions that intrigue Jemima Shore, An- tonia Fraser's prissy detective, when she ar- rives with a television crew to cover the festival.
As can be seen, this is an excellent recipe for murder and, until a badly described se- cond death, is glorious fun. Unfortunately at this point the story loses some of its zest, and though the ending is genuinely surpris- ing the psychology behind the first murder makes an unconvincing Molotov cocktail.
On the other hand, Julian Symons in The Detling Murders never allows the narrative flow to falter for an instant. The story, gently satirical, opens the door on the domestic drama of an upper-crust Victorian family who are in the process of losing a lit- tle of that crust. Sir Arthur Detling's son has married into an embarrassingly middle- class banking family, and now his strong- minded eldest daughter, Dolly, has insisted on marrying a too-clever-by-half M.P. call- ed Bernard of no background or fortune. In the meantime his slightly younger daughter, Nellie, is flirting with Bohemia. Add a dead, disreputable artist with Bernard's name and address in his pocket, some sinister Fenians, then a second murder (this time of a guest at the Detlings' depressingly uncomfortable country house) and you have as nice a mixture of goodies as decent detection can offer. Thoroughly satisfac- tory.
The Last House Party by Peter Dickin- son is a highly enjoyable, indelicate mystery comedy. There are no corpses here. The question on offer is who was it that in 1937 out of Lord Snailwood's guests, raped the housekeeper's five year old daughter during an atmospheric, political weekend? The Countess of Snailwood is a beautiful, char- ming bully who has married her elderly hus- band for his title and position, and would now like to off-load him sexually on to the new housekeeper. The housekeeper, mother of the child in question, would prefer not to take on grumpy Lord Snailwood. How frustrated is . Lord Snailwood? Then there are two first cousins — Harry who fancies the housekeeper and Vincent who does seem to have an odd reac- tion to the child. With a politician of dubious sexual tastes and a unhappy Arab princeling you have an excellent cast of suspects. It takes 40 years for the answer to emerge as an enigmatic old man sets about mending the unique tower clock that stop- ped, never to go again, the night that the child was attacked.
Moving away from the emotional dif- ficulties of those who live in large country houses, Celia Fremlin has written one of the most enjoyable satires I have read for a long time. The Parasite Person concerns a middle-aged lecturer on psychological depression who has never fulfilled his early promise and is still struggling with his Ph.D thesis. Martin has left his wife whom he blames for his lack of success (she never believed in him) and now lives with Helen, a full-time teacher, who is pretty, does believe in him, and cooks wonderfully. Poor Helen is, in fact, exhausted by trying to be everything that Martin's wife was not. Despite these idyllic circumstances Martin still cannot write his thesis and detests the depressed patients he has to interview for it But when he interviews a patient called Ruth who is 'into suicide' everything changes. Ruth pursues him, discovers where he lives, and takes over his thesis with her theory of The Parasite Person. 'Show me a depressive,' she says 'and I'll show you a Parasite Person. A buoyant, cheerful outgoing type ... devoting an amazing amount of time and trouble to "cheering up" the poor bloody victim ... all the time they are growing fat on the happiness and hope they are quietly draining out of their victim.' Ruth is dangerous and Martin knows it, but he is seduced by the originali- ty of the idea that somebody is gaining by another's depression. She wages a war of attrition against the innocent Helen, even criticising her crocuses on the table.
"Dead things!" Ruth pointed. "She keeps dead things to look at in the evenings! She tears them from live trees and hedges, and brings them back here so she can watch them die! She a necrophiliac or something, your girlfriend?" ' Ruth is a marvellous, monstrous creation and the book is full of original, perverse felicities. Martin is pulled deeper and deeper into intellectual iniquity until his success explodes in his face. This is a truly funny, sharp comedy that is packag- ed inside a psychological thriller. I recom- mend it highly.
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