Read Online The Translation of the Bones by Francesca Kay - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Francesca Kay
Ads: Link
of the Opposition, had much to do with Rufus’s decision, Stella thought. Rufus would say he wanted a challenge, was bored with banking, had made enough money to retire on but was too young to give up working, felt he had something to contribute. Stella suspected that in fact what he relished was the sense of belonging to a powerful inner group. As an investment banker he had had power of sorts but now, with his party forecast to win the next election, he scented real influence, the power that changed lives, made history, made its possessors famous. Rufus was determined and ambitious. His friend had hoisted him onto the Shadow Cabinet as soon as he decently could. There were great things just around the corner, Rufus was sure, and Stella would support him, as she always did.
Before Rufus won his safe seat at a by-election in 2003, he had consulted Stella. Felix then was four years old, Barnaby and Camilla in their teens. This ought to be a partnership, Rufus explained. We ought to be a team. The hours are long, there’s the going to and fro from Dorset. Stella, I’ll need your help.
He had never asked for help before. A man armored from birth by money and privilege, he had always seemed self-sufficient, confident to a point some might consider arrogant. When Stella met him, Rufus was already a success. Stella was a young official in the Foreign Office at the time but she knew that her career stood little chance when she married Rufus. She would not be able to accept a posting overseas and, besides, she wanted children. She went on working at a London desk until Barnaby was born, relinquished it to be with him and, soon, Camilla. When both of them had started school, she returned to the department as a part-time translator. Stella’s mother was Italian, from Verona; she grew up bilingual, and at university had also studied Portuguese and French. The new job suited her; she enjoyed the discipline of exact translation, choosing the correct and perfect word from the alternatives available, as a mosaic artist chooses from a tray of tesserae or a jeweler the right stone for a setting.
But Rufus wanted her to give it up. It’s not as if we need the money, and I just don’t see how you’ll fit it in with all the new commitments and with Felix. Felix, her unexpected gift, her soul’s delight. When Stella found that she was pregnant, Rufus was displeased. Two healthy children was enough, he said; to ask for more was tempting fate. And with Barney and Camilla growing up, he waslooking forward to the amplitude precluded by small children. More time with her. Because she had not been planning to conceive, Stella had been taking drugs to treat an ear infection. Can you be sure the fetus won’t have been affected? Rufus asked. And you are older than you were. I don’t want to put any pressure on you, but . . .
Love incarnate, children were, thought Stella. She had not known what love could mean until she held her firstborn in her arms. The promise of more time with the children convinced her to agree with Rufus. Now, six years later, she asked herself if she had made the right decision. Despite the endless journeying to and from the constituency, there were altogether too many hours to fill. Rufus was increasingly swept up into a world where she did not belong, or want to. Unspoken between Stella and her husband was the possibility that she did not share his opinions or his beliefs—if beliefs were what pragmatic Rufus held. Unspoken, as Rufus never asked her. And, if he had, she would not have known how to give a truthful answer. But she did feel she had a duty to her husband. Duty was so much easier to quantify than love.
Fidelma O’Reilly heard the key turn in the lock. Mary-Margaret had not spoken to her since Thursday evening and she was beginning to wonder if her daughter was ever coming back. Fidelma was used to waiting but even she had begun to think that some kind of action might have to be taken if Mary-Margaret
Before Rufus won his safe seat at a by-election in 2003, he had consulted Stella. Felix then was four years old, Barnaby and Camilla in their teens. This ought to be a partnership, Rufus explained. We ought to be a team. The hours are long, there’s the going to and fro from Dorset. Stella, I’ll need your help.
He had never asked for help before. A man armored from birth by money and privilege, he had always seemed self-sufficient, confident to a point some might consider arrogant. When Stella met him, Rufus was already a success. Stella was a young official in the Foreign Office at the time but she knew that her career stood little chance when she married Rufus. She would not be able to accept a posting overseas and, besides, she wanted children. She went on working at a London desk until Barnaby was born, relinquished it to be with him and, soon, Camilla. When both of them had started school, she returned to the department as a part-time translator. Stella’s mother was Italian, from Verona; she grew up bilingual, and at university had also studied Portuguese and French. The new job suited her; she enjoyed the discipline of exact translation, choosing the correct and perfect word from the alternatives available, as a mosaic artist chooses from a tray of tesserae or a jeweler the right stone for a setting.
But Rufus wanted her to give it up. It’s not as if we need the money, and I just don’t see how you’ll fit it in with all the new commitments and with Felix. Felix, her unexpected gift, her soul’s delight. When Stella found that she was pregnant, Rufus was displeased. Two healthy children was enough, he said; to ask for more was tempting fate. And with Barney and Camilla growing up, he waslooking forward to the amplitude precluded by small children. More time with her. Because she had not been planning to conceive, Stella had been taking drugs to treat an ear infection. Can you be sure the fetus won’t have been affected? Rufus asked. And you are older than you were. I don’t want to put any pressure on you, but . . .
Love incarnate, children were, thought Stella. She had not known what love could mean until she held her firstborn in her arms. The promise of more time with the children convinced her to agree with Rufus. Now, six years later, she asked herself if she had made the right decision. Despite the endless journeying to and from the constituency, there were altogether too many hours to fill. Rufus was increasingly swept up into a world where she did not belong, or want to. Unspoken between Stella and her husband was the possibility that she did not share his opinions or his beliefs—if beliefs were what pragmatic Rufus held. Unspoken, as Rufus never asked her. And, if he had, she would not have known how to give a truthful answer. But she did feel she had a duty to her husband. Duty was so much easier to quantify than love.
Fidelma O’Reilly heard the key turn in the lock. Mary-Margaret had not spoken to her since Thursday evening and she was beginning to wonder if her daughter was ever coming back. Fidelma was used to waiting but even she had begun to think that some kind of action might have to be taken if Mary-Margaret
Similar Books
