During nearly every run up to Christmas over the last five or six years I have read one of the creepy modern Gothic horror novels by this author. In this one, it is early 1990s Britain, where Michael Feraru is the son and grandson of aristocratic Romanian emigres who fled that country after the Communist takeover in the late 1940s. Michael returns to his ancestral home with the aim of setting up an orphanage to cater to some of the poor Romanian children in the existing orphanages, whose plight was well publicised in the west after the collapse of Ceausescu's regime 30 years ago this month (I recall the haunting images of filthy and ragged children confined permanently to metal cots). When Michael gets to Romania and tries to find out more about his family history, he realises it centres on his ancestral home Castel Vlaicu, set deep in the Carpathian mountains. After some unsettling occurrences in Bucharest, he finally makes his way to the family pile, cut off from communication with his mother and girlfriend back in Britain, who continue to write to him in increasing desperation at his non-communication and the developing tragedies in his local community (this is an epistolary novel). He soon discovers dark and sinister secrets in the castle surrounding his ancestors and their influence over the local peasantry over several centuries. The ending is particularly shocking as the family secret takes over Michael's life and transforms him into a true son of his aristocratic Vlahuta ancestors. Great stuff, after a fairly slow build up, as is characteristic of this author. ( )

Cover Blurb:

Cambridge prep school teacher Michael Feraru was tired of his life, tired of his job, and -- though he didn't realize it -- tired of Sophie and her safe, undemanding love. So he took a sabbatical and went to Romania, to claim the property his grandparents had abandoned after World War II. Once there, he discovered he was a titled lord and owner of an ancient stronghold in the Transylvanian Alps, Castel Vlaicu.

The whole adventure was a lark until the gypsy recognized him, until he picked up the doll, and then saw the girl -- the unexpected, unexplainable, irresistible dark-eyed girl.

For it was then that Michael learned the truth: that there was an evil older than time, an evil that reached back to the very origins of his shattered family -- and forward to his own dark future. He was about to learn the secret of the strigoi--the undead. Not vampires. Something far more seductive. And far, far worse.