Page 27 of The Blue Hour

Darkness Causes Us Not Discomfort (Black I), Black II, Follow Me

Totem

North

The Tide Always Comes: Summer & Winter

Eris Rock: Arrival, spring, winter & winter II

Hollow

Sea series: Sundown, Storm I & II, Wreck, Revival.

Now it is Sebastian who is standing with arms folded, expression defiant. ‘By my count, that’s at least twenty-nine ceramic pieces andeighteenpaintings,’ he says, an edge of triumph in his tone.

Becker scans the list, does the maths in his head – Sebastian is correct. And yet when the works were delivered to Fairburn, there were fifteen ceramic pieces in total, and he can see right away that a number of the paintings listed here are missing.

‘My father was right!’ Sebastian says. ‘You wanted evidence? Well, this is it, isn’t it? She can’t start going on about private sales – we’ve talked to all the auction houses, we’ve canvassed collectors, there’sno traceof them.’

Becker sits down heavily at the kitchen table, frowning at the list in front of him. ‘It doesn’t make sense,’ he mutters. ‘We have … four of the black series, but there’s noTotem, noNorth, we haveWreckbut noRevival… there’s at least … Christ,sixof these not accounted for.’

‘Right? Haswell is lying to us, Becker. She’s been lying all along, and honestly I no longer see any reason why—’

‘It’s possible,’ Becker interrupts, ‘that Vanessa changed the names of some pieces. Some artists do that, although I doubt—’

‘Oh, comeon!’ Sebastian throws up his hands, exasperated. ‘You’re clutching at straws.’

He is and he knows it. He nods, rubbing his forehead hard with his fingers, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. ‘So … what are we saying? We’re suggesting she’s hidden the paintings somewhere?’ He looks up at Sebastian, who nods vigorously. ‘But to what end? She can’t sell them, not legally. Who would give her money for them, without provenance?’

Sebastian sits back down and shrugs extravagantly. ‘God knows! Maybe it’s not about the money, maybe it’s about spite? Or anger? Maybe she expected Vanessa to leave everything to her, and then it turned out—’

‘She was left with nothing.’

‘Nothing?She got a house! She got a fucking island!’ Sebastian points to what he presumably believes to be the direction of Eris. ‘Look, God knows why she’s hung on to them, I don’t know, all I know is that she has our property, and it’s time you dealt with it. It’s time you dealt withher. And if you don’t think you’re capable of that—’

The kitchen door leading out to the courtyard slams shut and they both start. Emmeline, dark and crooked as a witch, accompanied by her canine familiars, back from their walk.

‘Hello there.’ Sebastian’s tone is transformed; he is cheerful, respectful. He gets up from the table and goes over to say hello, but Emmeline turns her back on him, steadying herself on the kitchen counter as the dogs circle her legs, whining excitedly. Emmeline takes off one of her wellington boots and then pauses, her stockinged foot dangling, knee bent like a horse favouring a hoof. ‘Mother?’ Sebastian says. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m … fine,’ she says crossly, but she’s clearly not. Sebastian is at her side at once, holding her elbow. She pulls away. ‘Don’tfuss, Sebastian, I’m fine.’

‘You’re bleeding—’

‘Blasted bitch keeps getting under my feet,’ Emmeline spits, ‘she’s a liability.’ She allows Sebastian to support her as she takes off the other boot. She has blood on her hands, and even from ten feet away Becker can see that she’s trembling. He stands, slipping the notebook Sebastian was reading into his pocket, and slinks silently out of the room without a word.

Vanessa Chapman’s diary

A terrible start to the new year. Celia Gray is dead – a car accident in the South of France. No one else involved – she went off the road and into a tree. Julian wasn’t with her, thank god.

Poor, poor Julian. My heart aches for him – he wanted this so much. Her, obviously, but the life she offered him, too. All that money! So tantalizingly close, and now it is gone.

God knows what he will do.

20

Becker writes to Grace that afternoon and is surprised to receive a reply almost immediately, saying that he is welcome to come to Eris on the weekend. Saturday would be good. You mean tomorrow? he replies. Yes, tomorrow.

He calls Helena to let her know that he’ll be gone by the time she gets back from London, but her phone goes straight to voicemail. He is tempted to look at her Instagram, knowing there will be evidence of lunches in fashionable restaurants and drinks in bars, trips to the theatre perhaps, a glimpse into another life, one he feels excluded from. The fact that his exclusion is self-imposed doesn’t make it feel any better. He doesn’t look. Too dangerous.

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