{"id":20991,"date":"2025-07-25T11:32:06","date_gmt":"2025-07-25T11:32:06","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/au\/20991\/"},"modified":"2025-07-25T11:32:06","modified_gmt":"2025-07-25T11:32:06","slug":"read-an-extract-from-the-new-book-by-paula-hawkins","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/au\/20991\/","title":{"rendered":"Read an extract from the new book by Paula Hawkins"},"content":{"rendered":"

Read the opening chapters of The Blue Hour by Paula Hawkins. the Winner in our Good Books Summer Collection<\/a>. <\/p>\n

The moon woke me, bright and close. It shed such a strange light over the sea, a dark kind of daylight, like looking at the negative of a photograph. I couldn\u2019t go back to sleep. I haven\u2019t been able to work for weeks so I went down to the beach. I was barefoot and the sand was cold under my feet, it made me want to run.<\/p>\n

There was a wind. Strangely warm, it made the sands shift, and the clouds passing over the moon threw shadows to chase me. I kept thinking of the song Grace taught me, the one about the wolves, digging the newly dead from the sod, strewing their poor bones over the earth.<\/p>\n

Lately, I\u2019ve been feeling a bit savage myself. <\/p>\n

I ran and ran until I had my feet in the water, and when I turned, I looked back at the island, at the house, at my bedroom window with the light still on, and I saw something move. The curtain, probably, but I felt chilled through. I watched and waited, willing him to appear again, but there was nothing, nothing and no one, only suddenly the water lapping at my calves, at my knees.<\/p>\n

The sands weren\u2019t shifting any longer, I couldn\u2019t see the sand at all, everything was underwater and I had so far to go. I tried to wade, as fast as I could, but the wind was against me and the tide was like a river. I kept stumbling, falling to my knees; the cold felt like a slap, like being hit, over and over. <\/p>\n

I don\u2019t think I\u2019ve ever felt terror like it.<\/p>\n

By the time I got back to the steps I was so exhausted I could barely move. I lay there, shivering so violently it felt as though I were convulsing. Eventually I managed to get up, to climb to the house. I showered and dressed and went up to the studio and started to paint.<\/p>\n

********<\/p>\n

Division II (circa 2005)<\/p>\n

Vanessa Chapman<\/p>\n

Ceramic, urushi lacquer, gold leaf, gold filament, artiodactyl rib, wood and glass<\/p>\n

On loan from the Fairburn Foundation.<\/p>\n

One of just seven sculptures Chapman made combining ceramic pieces with found objects, Division II is a deceptively simple spatial device: a group of objects are arranged in relation to each other, suspended by wires, enclosed in a glass box.<\/p>\n

In presenting these objects in this way, Chapman poses questions about inclusion and exclusion, about what we hide and what we reveal, where we are generous and where we are withholding, about what we make and what we leave behind.<\/p>\n

******** <\/p>\n

From: bjefferies@gmail.com<\/p>\n

To: info@tatemodern.co.uk<\/p>\n

Subject: Chapman \u2013 Sculpture and Nature exhibition<\/p>\n

Dear Sir\/Madam,<\/p>\n

I very much enjoyed my visit to Tate Modern this weekend, in particular the Sculpture and Nature exhibition, which contained some wonderful pieces. I did, however, spot an error on the exhibit label of Vanessa Chapman\u2019s 2005 work Division II, which listed artiodactyl rib among the materials. As a forensic anthropologist of many years\u2019 standing, I can assure you that the rib in the piece is not artiodactyl; it is in fact human.<\/p>\n

I suspect that it is quite possible that Ms Chapman herself made the error: to the untrained eye, the rib of a deer looks very similar to a human one. I thought perhaps you ought to be made aware.<\/p>\n

Yours sincerely,<\/p>\n

Benjamin Jefferies<\/p>\n

******** <\/p>\n

Chapter one <\/p>\n

In the chastening chill of a dazzling October morning, James Becker stands on the footbridge, hip hitched against the handrail, rolling a cigarette. Beneath him, the stream runs black and slow, the water close to freezing, oozing like treacle over rusty orange stone. This is the mid-point of his daily commute, which takes a full twelve minutes from the Gamekeeper\u2019s Lodge, where he lives, to Fairburn House, where he works. Fifteen minutes if he stops for a smoke.<\/p>\n

Coat collar up, glancing quickly over one shoulder \u2013 he might appear furtive to an outsider, though he\u2019s no need to be. He belongs here, astonishing as that may be. Even he can barely credit it. How can he \u2013 fatherless bastard of a supermarket checkout girl, state-school boy in a cheap suit \u2013 be living and working here, at Fairburn, among the bluebloods? He doesn\u2019t fit. And yet somehow, through hard work and dumb luck and only a minor bit of treachery, here he is.<\/p>\n

He lights his cigarette and checks over his shoulder one more time, looking back at the lodge, warm light spilling from the kitchen window, turning the beech hedge golden. No one is watching him \u2013 Helena will still be in bed, pillow clamped between her knees \u2013 no one will see him breaking the promise he made to quit. He has cut down \u2013 to just three a day now \u2013 and by the time the water freezes, he thinks, he\u2019ll pack them in altogether.<\/p>\n

Leaning back on the rail, he draws hard on his cigarette, looking up at the hills to the north, their peaks already dusted with snow. Somewhere between here and there a siren wails; Becker thinks he glimpses a flash of blue light on the road, an ambulance or a police car. His blood rushes and his head swims with nicotine; in his stomach he feels the faint but undeniable tug of fear. Smoking quickly, as though it might do less damage that way, he flicks the dog-end over the rail and into the water. He crosses the bridge and crunches his way across the frosted lawn towards the house.<\/p>\n

The landline in his office is ringing when he opens the door. \u2018\u2019Lo?\u2019 Becker jams the handset between his shoulder and chin, turns on his computer and pivots, reaching across to flick the switch on the coffee maker on the side table.<\/p>\n

There\u2019s a pause, before a clear, clipped voice says, \u2018Good morning. Am I speaking with James Becker?\u2019 <\/p>\n

\u2018You are.\u2019 Becker types in his password, shrugs off his coat.<\/p>\n

\u2018Right, well.\u2019 Another pause. \u2018This is Goodwin, Tate Modern.\u2019<\/p>\n

The phone slips from Becker\u2019s shoulder; he catches it and presses it to his ear once more. \u2018Sorry, who?\u2019<\/p>\n

The man on the other end of the phone exhales audibly. \u2018Will Goodwin,\u2019 he says, his cut-glass vowels exaggerated by enunciation. \u2018From Tate Modern in London. I\u2019m calling because we have a problem with one of the pieces on loan from Fairburn.\u2019<\/p>\n

Becker stands to attention, his fist tightening around the handset. \u2018Oh, Christ, you haven\u2019t damaged it, have you?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018No, Mr Becker.\u2019 Goodwin\u2019s tone drips restraint. \u2018We have taken perfectly good care of all three of Fairburn\u2019s pieces. However, we have had cause to withdraw one of the sculptures, Division II, from the exhibition.\u2019<\/p>\n

Becker frowns, sitting down. \u2018What do you mean?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018According to an email we received from a very distinguished forensic anthropologist who visited our exhibition this weekend, Division II includes a human bone.\u2019<\/p>\n

Becker\u2019s burst of laughter is met with bottomless silence. \u2018I\u2019m sorry,\u2019 Becker says, still chuckling, \u2018but that is just\u2014\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Well might you apologize!\u2019 Goodwin sounds murderous. \u2018I\u2019m afraid I do not share your amusement. Thanks entirely to your curatorial incompetence, in my very first exhibition as director and the gallery\u2019s very first post-pandemic show, we find ourselves in the position of having inadvertently displayed human remains. Do you have any idea how damaging this could be for us as an institution? It\u2019s this sort of thing that gets people cancelled.\u2019<\/p>\n

When finally Becker gets off the phone he stares at the computer screen in front of him, waiting for Goodwin to forward him the email. This complaint \u2013 if you can call it that \u2013 is obvious nonsense. A joke perhaps? Or possibly a genuine mistake?<\/p>\n

The message appears at the top of his inbox and Becker clicks.<\/p>\n

He reads the message twice, googles its sender (a well-respected academic at a major British university \u2013 an unlikely joker) and then clicks on ArtPro, Fairburn\u2019s cataloguing software, to search for the piece in question. There it is. Division II, circa 2005, by Vanessa Chapman. Colour photographs, taken by Becker himself, illustrate the listing. Ceramic, wood and bone, suspended by filament, float around each other in a glass case fashioned by Chapman herself. The ceramic and the bone are identical twins: fragile spindles of pure white, fractured at their centres and bonded together with lacquer and gold.<\/p>\n

The first time he saw it, he thought it must have been sent by mistake. Sculpture? Vanessa Chapman wasn\u2019t a sculptor, she was a painter, a ceramicist. But there it was, beautiful and strange, a delicate enigma, the perfect puzzle. No explanatory note, only the briefest mention in a notebook, where Chapman talked about the difficulties she\u2019d had putting together its skin, the glass box encasing the other components. Indubitably hers, then, and now his. His to research, to catalogue, to describe and display, to introduce to the world. It was shown, briefly, at Fairburn House and since then has been viewed by thousands of people \u2013 tens of thousands! \u2013 on loan at galleries in Berlin and Paris and most recently in London.<\/p>\n

A human bone! It\u2019s absurd. Pushing his chair back from his desk, Becker gets to his feet, turning to face the window.<\/p>\n

His office is in the public wing of the house, looking out over the east quad. At the centre of a lawn as neat and green as baize stands a Hepworth bronze, its curves burnished by morning light, the sloping convex walls of the hollow at its heart shimmering green. Through that oval space, Becker spies Sebastian striding quickly across the grass, his phone pressed to his ear.<\/p>\n

Sebastian Lennox is the heir to Fairburn \u2013 once his mother shuffles off, Sebastian will own this house, the lodge Becker lives in, the quad, the Hepworth and the fields beyond. He is also director of the foundation, so not only Becker\u2019s landlord, but his boss, too. (And his friend. Don\u2019t forget that.)<\/p>\n

Becker watches as Sebastian skirts the bronze, his smile a little too wide, his laugh audible even at this distance. Becker turns slightly and the movement catches Sebastian\u2019s eye; he squints, raising one hand in salute, and spreads his fingers wide, indicating five. Five minutes. Becker steps away from the window and sits back down at his desk.<\/p>\n

Ten, fifteen minutes later, he hears Sebastian\u2019s footsteps in the hall, and a moment after that Sebastian bounds into the office, a golden retriever in human form.<\/p>\n

\u2018You\u2019re not going to believe the call I just had,\u2019 he says, pushing a hank of blond fringe from his eyes.<\/p>\n

\u2018It wasn\u2019t from Will Goodwin, was it?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018God, yes!\u2019 Sebastian laughs, collapsing into the armchair in the corner of Becker\u2019s office. \u2018Wetting himself about getting cancelled. He called you too, then?\u2019<\/p>\n

Becker nods. \u2018They\u2019re withdrawing the piece from the exhibition,\u2019 he says. \u2018It\u2019s . . . it\u2019s a total overreaction\u2014\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Is it?\u2019<\/p>\n

Becker spreads his palms wide. \u2018Of course it is! It has to be. The piece has been viewed by God knows how many people, including experts. If the bone were human, I think someone would have spotted it by now.\u2019<\/p>\n

Sebastian nods, his mouth turning down at the corners.<\/p>\n

\u2018You\u2019re disappointed?\u2019 Becker asks, incredulous.<\/p>\n

Sebastian shrugs. \u2018It might have escaped your notice, Beck, but the great British public haven\u2019t exactly been beating down our doors since we reopened . . . I thought maybe the suggestion of a mystery, a whiff of scandal . . .\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Scandal? Oh, I like the sound of that.\u2019 The two men turn to see Helena standing in the doorway. She is clad from her chin to her ankles in black cashmere, a ribbed dress which hugs her neat bump. Wisps of chestnut hair have escaped her ponytail and there are bright spots of colour across her cheekbones. She\u2019s slightly out of breath.<\/p>\n

\u2018Hels!\u2019 Sebastian leaps to his feet, embracing her, kissing her gently on both cheeks. \u2018Radiant one. Did you walk over? Come in, sit!\u2019<\/p>\n

Helena allows herself to be guided to the armchair Sebastian has just vacated. \u2018I fancied a little walk,\u2019 she says, smiling at Becker, who\u2019s regarding her quizzically. \u2018It\u2019s so beautiful out, what I\u2019d really love is to go for a ride, but,\u2019 she wafts a hand in the air, preempting Becker\u2019s objections, \u2018I\u2019m obviously not going to do that. So tell me, what\u2019s all this about a scandal?\u2019<\/p>\n

She listens attentively as Becker explains, interrupting when he gets to the punchline. \u2018But that piece was on display at the Berlinische Galerie! It was in the Twenty-One show at the Mus\u00e9e d\u2019Art Moderne in Paris!\u2019<\/p>\n

Becker nods. \u2018That\u2019s exactly what I said.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018So . . . what are you going to do?\u2019<\/p>\n

Sebastian perches on the edge of Becker\u2019s desk. \u2018No idea,\u2019 he says. \u2018To be honest, I\u2019m not entirely sure I see what the fuss is about. Say the bone is human. It\u2019s not likely she robbed a grave, is it? Does it really matter?\u2019<\/p>\n

Becker bites the inside of his cheek. \u2018You can\u2019t just display human remains, Seb.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018The British Museum is full of them!\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Well, yes.\u2019 A smile breaks across Becker\u2019s face. \u2018But I think this is a bit different.\u2019<\/p>\n

Sebastian turns to him and scowls. \u2018Well, Goodwin agrees. He\u2019s having kittens, he wants to send the piece to a private lab for testing, on the QT, you know\u2014\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Absolutely not!\u2019 Becker leaps to his feet, jolting the desk as he does so, knocking coffee on to its fine green leather surface.<\/p>\n

Sebastian and Helena watch as he frantically mops up the spill with a handful of tissues. \u2018To test the bone, they have to break the glass case and the case is part of the piece. She made it herself. If you break the glass you . . . well, I should think you invalidate the insurance at the very least, but more than that you damage the work. They\u2019re not sending it off to some . . . random laboratory with no knowledge of its history and no expertise in this area.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018OK,\u2019 Sebastian says, shrugging extravagantly. \u2018Well. What, then?\u2019 <\/p>\n

\u2018We could start by asking someone else, some other expert, perhaps even a couple of experts, to take a look at it. Just a look, through the glass. And while that\u2019s going on, we could talk to our insurers, explain the situation, explain that there might be need for . . .\u2019 He doesn\u2019t want to say testing, doesn\u2019t want to concede that point, \u2018for further investigation somewhere down the line.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018And in the meantime,\u2019 Helena says, crossing and uncrossing her legs, \u2018you could go and talk to Grace Haswell.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018No,\u2019 Becker says, stifling a thrill of excitement, \u2018I can\u2019t. I don\u2019t want to leave you . . .\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018In my enfeebled condition?\u2019 Helena laughs. \u2018Yes, you can. Come on, Beck, you\u2019ve been dying to get out to Eris, you talked of nothing else during lockdown. And now here\u2019s the perfect opportunity. The perfect excuse.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018I suppose,\u2019 Becker says carefully, \u2018I could leave early, nip up and get back in a day . . .\u2019<\/p>\n

He glances at Sebastian, who shrugs. \u2018I don\u2019t mind. Go if you think it\u2019ll be helpful. Not sure how the Wicked Witch of Eris Island is going to help with this, though? Unless you think she\u2019ll know something? Perhaps the bone\u2019s the last remains of one of the children she\u2019s lured to her gingerbread house?\u2019 Sebastian laughs at his own joke. Helena winks at Becker. Idiot. \u2018No, it\u2019s a good idea. It is. You could kill two birds with one stone \u2013 clear up this bone business and let her know in person that we\u2019re sick of her foot-dragging. It\u2019s time she handed over Chapman\u2019s papers, along with anything else that belongs to us. You can remind her that the artistic estate was left to Fairburn, and that she doesn\u2019t get to decide what to give us and what to withhold\u2014\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Well, technically,\u2019 Becker cuts in, leaning back in his chair, \u2018she does. She\u2019s the executor.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Don\u2019t try to be fucking clever.\u2019 Sebastian\u2019s playfulness evaporates like spit on a hotplate. Becker does his best not to flinch.<\/p>\n

Helena looks down at the carpet. \u2018She\u2019s been holding things back, hasn\u2019t she? Papers, letters and quite possibly some works of art. It belongs to us. All of it. Every canvas, every sketch, every porcelain bowl she threw on her wheel, every fucking pebble she picked up on the beach and arranged just so. It\u2019s ours. Anything related to the artistic estate is ours.\u2019<\/p>\n

Becker bites his tongue. He is desperate to get his hands on Chapman\u2019s papers; a couple of notebooks found their way to Fairburn along with the main consignments of art, but there is a great deal more material that no one has ever seen. Becker knows from interviews that she kept process journals, that she corresponded with other artists about her work \u2013 if and when Grace Haswell hands these over, he will be the first to read them. He will have the power to shape how the world sees Vanessa Chapman, how it sees her work, how that work is valued. The thought of it is enough to make him light-headed.<\/p>\n

But Becker is cautious by nature, and kind, too. If there is a way of accessing those papers without threatening and bullying Chapman\u2019s executor \u2013 and dear friend \u2013 he would rather take that route.<\/p>\n

\u2018I\u2019m not trying to be clever,\u2019 he says eventually. \u2018You know as well as I do that it has not yet been determined what constitutes the artistic estate and what makes up the rest\u2014\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Boys.\u2019 Helena gets to her feet, waving away Sebastian\u2019s offer of help. \u2018This is all fascinating, but I think you might be missing the bigger picture. Say this bone does turn out to be human, then what? What are you going to do? How are you going to play this?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Play?\u2019 Becker repeats.<\/p>\n

\u2018Beck, Fairburn could end up on the front page of every newspaper in the country, on The One Show, on . . .\u2019<\/p>\n

Sebastian\u2019s face has lit up, but Becker is sceptical. \u2018I\u2019m not sure it\u2019s that much of a big deal, Hels,\u2019 he says. \u2018It\u2019ll be an oddity, sure, but\u2014\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Beck.\u2019 Helena smiles at him, shakes her head. \u2018Sweetheart, be serious. You don\u2019t think the press might be interested in the fact that a human bone has been found to form part of a sculpture made by the late, great, reclusive, enigmatic Vanessa Chapman?<\/p>\n

The same Vanessa Chapman whose notoriously unfaithful husband went missing nearly twenty years ago? His body never found?<\/p>\n

Related Story<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Read the opening chapters of The Blue Hour by Paula Hawkins. the Winner in our Good Books Summer…\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":20992,"comment_status":"","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[30],"tags":[64,63,457,2372,21548,430,134,429,21547],"class_list":["post-20991","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","category-books","tag-au","tag-australia","tag-books","tag-content-type-default","tag-contentid-89b84c86-b52b-448d-b3fd-db483b8a4c2c","tag-displaytype-standard-article","tag-entertainment","tag-locale-gb","tag-shorttitle-read-an-extract-from-the-new-book-by-paula-hawkins"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/au\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20991","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/au\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/au\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/au\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/au\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20991"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/au\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20991\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/au\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/20992"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/au\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20991"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/au\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20991"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/au\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20991"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}