Celia Fremlin

Lindy had a lovely voice. It rose into the summer darkness clear and true as a nightingale ; or was it, rather, like a bird of prey ? Rosamund wakes up from her afternoon nap to find, to her delight, that she is running a temperature. Surely that explains her blinding headache and the weird, delirious dream in which she murdered her overly seductive neighbour - the Other Woman - in a vengeful act of jealousy ? A great relief, then, to find this was merely the nightmarish work of a fevered imagination.
Until her husband exclaims, "Rosamund ! Have you any idea what's happened to Lindy ? She's disappeared ! "