The King of Fools E-Book

Frédéric Dard

• Herausgeber: Pushkin Vertigo
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

An ingenious thriller, set in Edinburgh, from the master of French noir From the moment he first gazes at Marjory across the roulette table in the Côte d'Azur Jean-Marie is entranced, and when their feverish holiday romance comes to an end he decides to take the biggest gamble of his life - to follow the beautiful Englishwoman back to rainy Edinburgh. But Jean-Marie's luck runs out as soon as he arrives. His infatuation with Marjory draws him into an impenetrable mystery and soon he finds himself with blood on his hands, trapped in the grey-granite labyrinth of the city streets, and running out of time to save his sanity and his life. The King of Fools is a fiendish tale of passion, betrayal and murder. Frédéric Dard (1921-2000) was one of the best known and loved French crime writers of the twentieth century. Enormously prolific, he wrote hundreds of thrillers, suspense stories, plays and screenplays throughout his long and illustrious career. Dard's Bird in a Cage, The Wicked Go to Hell, Crush, The Executioner Weeps and The Gravediggers' Bread are also available or forthcoming from Pushkin Vertigo.

Leseprobe

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Contents

Title Page1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 Also Available from Pushkin Vertigo Copyright

1

When I saw her climb into my car, I thought she was planning to steal it, and hurried out of the restaurant, still clutching my napkin. Outside, in the harsh midday sun, I found her settled in the passenger seat, leafing through a tourist guide. She was small, with a ruddy complexion and colourless hair matted with seawater. She wore a green towelling beach robe, and the water trickled down her neck, losing itself in the opening of her bathing suit. The sudden cast of my shadow across the pages of her book caught her attention. She raised her eyes and gazed thoughtfully at me, trying to discover what this fellow in swimming shorts, idiotically twisting his red-and-white chequered napkin, could possibly want from her. Curiously, it was I who felt awkward. We stared at one another in this way for some time. She seemed perfectly at ease, like a person with right on their side.

“I’m so sorry,” I stammered, at length. “You’re… you’re in my car.”

She had thick eyebrows which she obviously never plucked; they gave a depth to her pale eyes. The eyebrows were frowning in surprise now.

“I don’t understand – your car?” she said quietly.