In front of the woman is a table. When she leans forward to write, the back of her head feels the full force of the sun and her eyes curl from the glare reflecting off the notebook’s open white page. There will be no relief from the heat until late in the evening, long after the sun has set. We never know her name, but this woman, a New Zealander in France, is at the centre of this beautifully crafted novella, which traces the course of her destructive love affair with subtlety and assurance. Laurence Fearnley gives the old scenario of a menage a trois, and of the cruelty and expunging of pride that can be caused by love, a fresh and impressively original twist. Through the moods, colours and textures of the French countryside, and in precisely observed, sensual detail, she creates an achingly memorable portrait of obsessive and unanswered love.