This creepy psychological thriller brilliantly fuses themes of obsession and loneliness against the fur trade and the changing face of London in the sweltering summer of 1967. Full of sexual tension but with very little actual sex, it kept me gripped to the very end.
As you have probably (and rightly) assumed from the way I have talked about him, Mr F was not the sort of man who was given to thinking about himself a great deal. Mostly he just got on with things. And he would certainly never have thought of discussing such a personal matter as this with anybody else; even if he had somebody else with whom he could have talked about his dream, nothing in his upbringing would have equipped him to begin a conversation which would inevitably have had to include a description of exactly what it was that he saw in it.