Charles Swinter is eighty, fabulously wealthy and, since the sudden death of his estranged wife, Vivienne, seemingly on top of the world. It's time to go abroad in search of true love. Anticipating the inevitable disapproval of his friends, he covers his tracks in England before departing. It's none of their business, after all, and no one knows what's good for him like he does. Charles quickly locates what he considers the ideal woman. Nongnuch Kitkailart: beautiful, intelligent, desperately poor, pragmatic enough to be highly biddable, and fifty years his junior. Unfortunately, back in England, people become concerned at his prolonged absence. The police are duly informed, but one particularly close friend, Edward Grant, decides to track him down in person. Edward is everything Charles is not. Young, good-looking, morally perceptive, loyal, capable of deep and genuine attachment to another human being. And suddenly - predictably - both are in love with the same woman. Yet what happens next isn't so straightforward. No one's reckoned with the demands of conscience. Nor with murder, mental disturbances, reports of ghosts, a sham marriage, wrongful imprisonment, and an entire further universe of heavy obstacles. Not the least of which is that Edward's older brother, George, and Charles's granddaughter, Susan, are also mutually smitten, and in a tangle of ways no one on Earth can apparently unpick - including them. Nevertheless, where there is love, a happy conclusion can never entirely be ruled out. The House of Charles Swinter is an epic romance. It concerns human dignity, the relationship between the sexes, goodness and beauty, poverty and wealth, globalisation, tradition and modernity. And one man and woman

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