The Fragment by Davis Bunn

Author:Davis Bunn
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781616369354
Publisher: Franciscan Media
Published: 2015-12-23T05:00:00+00:00

: CHAPTER 15 ::

Muriel’s bedchamber was on the legation’s top floor, in what had once been the servant’s lodgings. The room was long and narrow and had three cat’s-eye windows that extended over the eaves. The scarred floor held shadows where once six beds and tables had stood. But it was all hers, and the view was stupendous. She hung up her clothes in the wardrobe, bathed, and dressed in one of the more modest dresses she had brought from home. She spent the hour before lunch seated by the central window, staring out over the city, yearning to go out and look and absorb and experience.

At midday, a man in a fez and white apron walked through the central courtyard below, striking a xylophone he held in one arm. Muriel descended the stairs and joined the chattering flow into the main dining room. The ground-floor rooms were very grand, with frescoed ceilings and gilded bas-relief pillars. Muriel was stared at, but no one spoke to her. She had known such treatment from her early days at the Smithsonian, when the other researchers had taken acidic pleasure in pretending she was invisible. She was too young, she was too inexperienced, and she was too eager to learn and grow and move on. Muriel had remained determined to never become mummified like them.

And now here she was again. She had traveled halfway around the world to experience the same petty spite. She sat alone at a table by the far wall, eating food she did not taste, surrounded by other people who had developed the professional ability to exclude, to ignore.

“May I join you?”

She greeted Charles Fouchet with a smile from the heart. “I have been trying to tell myself that I do not mind being alone.”

“The ambassador has protested to the senator over your presence. These embassy officials are professionals at reading the political winds.” He nodded his thanks as a waiter placed a plate down in front of him. “What are we eating?”

“Boiled beef. At least, I think it’s beef.”

“That is the problem with the Orient. When Westerners insist upon being served food they find familiar, the local cooks are both baffled and insulted.” He took a bite and grimaced. “This is dreadful.”

“I agree.”

“This will not do.” He set his napkin to one side and rose from the table. “Excuse me.”

Muriel watched him cross the room, a leopard drifting through a crowd of mice. Charles Fouchet was not handsome in any conventional sense. His features were too severe, and the scar that ran down the left side of his face was a jarring reminder of whatever had shattered his dark gaze. But his was a commanding presence, and Muriel liked him. Then she recalled the senator’s warning, and her insides went cold with a sudden wash of fear. Even so, her feelings could not be denied. Her affections for Charles grew with each meeting.

He returned from the kitchen, followed by two beaming waiters. They swept up the two plates and deposited new ones in their place.

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