UV Serge Joncour Black Swan £6.99 pbk Sept 2005 Calum Macloed

The retro-style cover, looking like a screen grab from the title sequence of a glossy '60s thriller, tells us we have been here before. The sun-dripped French setting, the wealthy family with secrets under the surface, the mysterious stranger who throws their small world out of sync, all taking place in a bubble of privilege and old world values which could place it any time between 2005 and Liberation.

That's all right. We've been pretty much everywhere before by now, every messy police precinct, sleepy village or mean street. It's not where you are, it's what you do with the place that counts and French author starts well, with a nicely judged air of menace:

"It must have been the white that reassured them.

"When a stranger pushes open the gates to your property like that, when he is dressed in white from head to foot, and when that white is so absolutely spotless, you don't even think about being suspicious."

Before you can say "The Talented Mr Ripley", Boris, the stranger, has insinuated himself into the family circle, sharing jokes with the father, appealing to the mother's maternal instincts with stories about his schooldays with her feckless son Philip and charming the two daughters. Only the uptight son-in-law is resentful, suspicious of the stranger and his claims of friendship with Philip. But if he is an impostor, why is Boris so unconcerned at Philip's imminent arrival for the Bastille Day fireworks?

It's a slight tale, weighing in at less than 190 pages and propelled along less by action or dialogue than the internal thoughts of its characters. Family relationships are exposed, a closer connection than expected between the respectable brother-in-law and disreputable brother is revealed and questions are raised over who is the truly dangerous figure.

With Camus as well as Highsmith in its DNA and a slight whiff of pretension hanging over proceedings, it all seems very French, but with its small cast and fairly enclosed setting there is probably a better play in here than a novel. A disposable beach read for those who want to pretend they are not reading a potboiler.