‘The Perigord, they said, is life itself. The cradle of man. A festival.’
The Chase
The Chase has had a revamp! Now with a gorgeous new cover, both ebook and paperback versions are available.
A house in France, a marriage in pieces, and a past that refuses to be left behind.
Nestling in the dense forest of the Dordogne, a region cloaked in dark history, stands an old house with secrets of its own.
In 1989, Gerald Feldwick buys Le Sanglier, seeking sanctuary. He promises his wife Netty a fresh start in France, far from memories of the harrowing event that fractured their marriage. He assures her they can leave the anguish of the past behind.
But Netty harbours doubts.
And soon, she discovers her instincts are right.
Richly atmospheric, evocative and intriguing, The Chase blends the beauty of the French landscape with a compelling exploration of how invisible threads tie us to the traumas of the past.
What people say about The Chase
‘The Chase tells a disturbing story with great vividness … A remarkable achievement’
TIMES LITERARY SUPPLEMENT
‘This is a haunting book, skilfully written and tantalisingly unravelled. Lorna Fergusson weaves a vivid but dark tale set in the beautiful Dordogne, where past and present fuse in a page-turning mystery. I could go back to this again and again.’ ALISON WEIR, best-selling novelist and historian
‘Steeped in the atmosphere, history and excitement of France … It is very definitely the sort of book that is difficult to put down.’ LIVING FRANCE
‘Beautiful, accomplished and original … Lorna Fergusson describes [rural France] beautifully and manages a large cast of believable characters with great skill.’
THE SUNDAY TELEGRAPH
‘Lorna Fergusson has a natural gift for telling a story – think of Daphne du Maurier … Splendid … it has the power to catch the reader up in the rush of the narrative.’
THE SCOTSMAN
‘Superbly written, ambitious in scope, morally complex, emotionally challenging, this is a real page-turner’
LINDA GILLARD, novelist
‘…her dread of that house drove her on, downhill, scrambling along in the dust, slithering on pebbles, down into the valley scented with gently ripening grapes, fuzzy, warm still with the memory of the day.’