Page 39 of The Blue Hour

Grace inclines her head and gives him a sad smile. ‘It changed her,’ she says softly. ‘What happened that summer, it changed the way she looked at the world …’ She touches her face again and looks away, out the window. A car crests the hill across the water, headlights on full beam. ‘I’m not sure she was ever the same again.’

For a minute or two, they drink their wine in silence. Becker’s mind is racing, he has so many questions, not least whether or not he can keep this confidence – it’s not as though he’s sworn to, has he? He said he understood that Vanessa didn’t want this made public, but he’s made no promises. And, realistically speaking, hecannotkeep this from Sebastian.

‘Grace,’ he says eventually, ‘I do understand why Vanessa was afraid of what might happen if this became public, but I think I have a duty to let Sebastian Lennox know what happened to those works.’

‘No you don’t!’ She shakes her head vigorously. ‘We’re talking about pieces that were destroyed twenty years ago, long before Fairburn inherited Vanessa’s estate. They’ve nothing to do with Lennox. Please, Vanessa would hate to have all this picked over, to have everyone speculating again about what she did or didn’t do. If you have any respect for her memory, you’ll let this lie.’

He is torn between the idea that Vanessa really would hatethis being known and the idea that this is part of her story, afundamentalpart of her story. It will surely have informed everything that came after. He thinks ofDivisionII, its delicate components enclosed in a glass case, protected from the world.

Until now.

‘Can you remember,’ Becker asks, ‘any details about the pieces that were destroyed? What they looked like, I mean, what sort of forms they were? Vases, bowls, something more sculptural …?’

Grace shakes her head. ‘I’m sorry, I really don’t remember the ceramics all that well … The paintings I can recall a bit better, but the porcelain pieces sort of … blend into one for me.’ She shrugs guiltily.

Becker feels a brief flash of anger.You lived with a genius, he thinks,and you weren’t even paying attention.

‘The names didn’t help,’ she goes on, ‘they were always so vague. Flourish or Breathe … I never understand why she didn’t just call things what they were. I expect it means I’m a philistine, but whyHope is Violent? Why not Lighthouse on Sheepshead? WhyTotem, why not Grace with Bird?’

‘Totem?’ Becker repeats. ‘Totemwas a portrait? Of you?’

‘I was holding a wood carving,’ she says, her voice gruff, ‘of a little bird.’

He’s not sure if it’s because he’s had too much wine or because the light is so dim in the kitchen, but it takes him a while to notice that Grace is crying.

‘Grace,’ he says, ‘I’m so sorry …’ He reaches across the table, awkwardly patting the top of her wrist. She rolls her hand over and takes hold of his fingers, squeezing their tips momentarily. She inclines her head, brushing tears from her cheek against the fabric of her shirt. They sit like this for a moment, until, mercifully, Becker’s phone pings, giving him an excuse to withdraw his hand.

‘Sorry,’ Becker says, glancing at the message. It’s from Helena – she’s exhausted, she’s going to have an early night. He glances at his watch, frowning – it’s barely 9.30.

Grace sniffs. ‘Is everything all right?’ she asks.

He nods. ‘Yeah, it’s fine, it’s … my wife.’

‘Is something wrong? You look concerned.’

‘Oh,’ he smiles, ‘it’s nothing. It’s nothing.’

Grace pats the tips of her fingers to her cheeks. ‘It’s clearly notnothing.’

Becker shakes his head. ‘It’s just me. I worry about her. The pregnancy, and the stress of the situation at Fairburn …’

Grace raises her eyebrows. ‘The situation? You meanoursituation?’

‘Oh, no,’ Becker says, shaking his head again. ‘I don’t mean that.’

He’s drunk, he realizes, he must be, because he’s started to talk too much, and before he knows it, he’s running his mouth, pouring his heart out. ‘Helena was engaged when we met,’ he says, ‘to Sebastian Lennox.’ Grace’s eyebrows creep closer to her hairline, and Becker blushes, fidgeting with the tassels of the tablecloth. ‘She … uh … she changed her mind.’ He looks up. ‘It wasn’t really my doing,’ he says, and Grace smiles. ‘No, no, honestly. It wasn’t like Itriedto take her from him. I would never have imagined for a minute that she would leave him for me. He’s a great deal more eligible.’

Grace tips her head to one side, her eyes meeting his. ‘Your Helena sounds a good judge of character,’ she says. ‘Not everyonewantssomeone flashy or obvious or terribly rich. Some people see past that, don’t they? And sometimes people like us have our own quiet attractions.’

Becker nods, smiling idiotically, unsure of what she means.People like us?Does that mean her and him? What does she imagine they have in common?

‘So this Sebastian,’ Grace says, leaning forward as she tips the last of the red wine into Becker’s glass. ‘He wants rid of you?’

‘Actually,’ Becker says, his blush deepening, ‘Sebastian has been a lot more forgiving than I would’ve been in the circumstances.’ He laughs nervously. ‘It’s Seb’s mother who’s the problem. She didn’t like me in the first place – she thinks I’m common – but she loathes me now, and she’s become quite …unpleasant.’

‘Oh, Emmeline was always unpleasant,’ Grace replies, getting to her feet.

‘Of course.’ Becker pushes his chair back, rising to help her clear the table. ‘I’d forgotten you know her.’

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