Mrs de Winter, book review. (Susan Hill)

Having just reread Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca (see 27/6/21 post), loving it just as much

as I did the first time, and being thoroughly in awe of the author once again - My Cousin Rachel and Frenchman's Creek having cemented my love for her books even more - I thought I would reread this, Susan Hill's sequel, straight after.

With Susan Hill also in my top ten authors, I had high hopes, and coming off of the back of Rebecca, with all that went on at Manderley fresh in my mind, it was the right thing to do.

So, over a decade has passed since our unnamed narrator and her husband (and murderer) Max de Winter fled to Europe. The authorities do not pursue them, for the death of his first wife Rebecca was deemed an accident, but the memories of her death, the burning of Manderley, the bribery attempt by Rebecca's cousin, Jack Favell and the cold icy fear that Mrs Danvers installed in the first book, still do, so they stay away, far, far away, until . . .
They are summonsed back to England for a funeral.
Max's sister has died.

They arrive back in the nick of time, planning to stay only a shot while - only long enough to settle some affairs, put the estate in order et cetera, but Frank Crawley, Max's right-hand man from Manderley is there, and he is well and enjoying life in the highlands of Scotland, so they must visit him before they depart - take flight! - surely?

As with Rebecca, the tension in this book is subtle at first: our narrator being concerned for Max's health if they return, what people might say and think; that everyone will remember the outcome of the inquest into Rebecca's death but possibly have had their heads turned in their absence, but when those fears do not materialise and they find an idyllic but somewhat neglected Manor House in the Cotswolds, all seems well with the world.
Then, Jack Favell! Rebecca's cousin and lover.
The chance encounter with Favell in London brings to the fore our narrator's fears, and the lies she tells as to why she's there, along with the demands for money that begin to arrive a few weeks later, create more tension, and her and Max's relationship becomes tense, and then . . .
Mrs Danvers, and the De Winter's relationship hardens further, the garden party that Mrs de Winter was so looking forward too ceases to hold interest - painful memories of the Manderley ball come flooding back - trust is lost and secrets are revealed and . . . and . . .

Susan Hill's writing is as always, exemplary, but I did find some elements of the story a little drawn out, not quite as punchy as they could have been and I wondered whether a shorter book might have been better, but with passages like, 'It was not the the flowers at which I started, in horror, not the printed words that chilled me, splintered the sky and fractured the song of the blackbird, darkened the sun. It was the single handwritten letter, black and strong, tall and sloping. R,' you can see why I hold the author in such high esteem.

Three and a half stars for Mrs de Winter then. A thoroughly good read.

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