Breathe

'Donald combines historical events and fictional characters to superb effect, in a novel that deserves to win prizes' The Sunday Times'Remarkably accomplished . . . the most appealing, original protagonist I've read for some time . . . Donald's depiction of the city's thickening gloom is splendidly [...]
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'Donald combines historical events and fictional characters to superb effect, in a novel that deserves to win prizes' The Sunday Times'Remarkably accomplished . . . the most appealing, original protagonist I've read for some time . . . Donald's depiction of the city's thickening gloom is splendidly evocative . . . A very impressive debut' ObserverA stunning debut crime novel for fans of Robert Harris, Philip Kerr and C.J. Sansom's Dominion.London, 1952. Dick Bourton is not like the other probationer policemen in Notting Hill. He's older, having fought in Europe and then Korea. And he's no Londoner, being from Cotswold farming stock. Then there's Anna, the exotically beautiful White Russian fiancee he has brought back to these drab streets and empty bombsites. She may as well come from a different planet. The new copper also has a mind of his own. After an older colleague is shot by a small-time gangster they are chasing in a pea-souper fog, something nags at Bourton's memory. He begins to make connections which his superiors don't want to see, linking a whole series of deaths and the fogs that stop the city in its tracks. Desperate to prove himself and his theories, Bourton fails to notice the fear which his mysterious bride is doing her best to conceal - and overcome.Soon both Anna and Bourton are taking dangerous paths into the worst fog London has ever known...**********"London had gone. As he stepped through the wicket, a dry smoky chill puffing over the lintel, everything that made the city - skyline, street signs, crowds, scarlet double-deckers - had disappeared, lost in the murk. I can't see the kerb, for God's sake, let alone Barker's across the road. He looked both ways, the chill crawling down his neck . . . Coshing gangs will love this. And our man. But we're on your trail, sunshine. He raised his hat to Marling, locking up behind. Tomorrow we nab you."