Blue Hour - Paula Hawkins

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’s Lodge, where he lives, to Fairburn House, where he works. Fifteen minutes if he stops for a smoke.Coat collar up, glancing quickly over... Zobrazit více