Obituary: Sonata for Two Lovers - Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Translator: Yonnee

—

If she could just smoke even a single cigarette, it would be so much easier to endure.

It had been a month since she had quit smoking, a habit abandoned alongside the marriage she had never even wanted.

The woman who had once been Rose Davis, now Rose Crawford, sighed as she climbed the embassy stairs. The party held at the embassy had already dragged on for three hours.

“How can we have a toast without Orthuran’s most popular man! Go fetch him. He’s probably in the gallery room.”

At the Prime Minister’s wife’s insistence to bring her husband back to the main hall, Rose had reluctantly set off.

The embassy’s gallery room was uniquely designed: only a door at the end of an L-shaped corridor, with just a curtain hanging at the corner where the hallway bent.

As was usual during parties, the door was wide open.

Her husband, sitting alone on a velvet sofa tucked in the corner, did not seem to notice her even when she stepped across the threshold.

Approaching him slowly with a reluctant face, Rose suddenly halted at the voices coming from somewhere.

“A Boltonian, of all things. Crawford must have finally gone mad. I simply can’t understand it.”

A loud voice full of criticism, followed by mocking laughter.

It came from beyond the curtain, from the side where the paintings were displayed.

“How much exactly did Elliot Davis donate to the Conservative Party?”

“Come on, it can’t just be that. It’s not like the party’s short on money. I think the rumors are true. He must have been swayed by that woman’s face. I was shocked myself when I first saw her.”

“With that face, why did she remain unmarried until that age?”

“Elliot Davis probably hesitated too long, trying to auction off his daughter to the highest bidder, but then missed the right timing.”

“I can’t tell which is worse—that she’s a Boltonian or that she’s Elliot Davis’s daughter.”

“Isn’t it the worst precisely because it’s both? Foreigners of every kind are crawling into Orthuran these days. But Bolton, really!”

Judging by the voices, there were probably three or four people, but whether they were unaware of someone being in the adjoining space or were speaking deliberately despite it, Rose could not tell.

After a moment’s thought, she assumed it was likely the former.

At least, Orthurans typically refrained from being so blatant to someone’s face.

Of course, this was not the first time she had heard such criticisms.

The news that Orthuran’s most beloved young politician was marrying a ‘primitive’ woman from Bolton had been treated by the press as if it were some national tragedy.

The more patriotic newspapers subtly expressed concern that a foreign upstart, who had swept up Orthuran’s wealth, might now bring even greater harm to the nation through a connection born out of a political marriage.

“Does Crawford even know that that vulgar merchant is now sticking his nose into every urban development project, just because he’s gained a minister for a son-in-law? What a disgrace.”

“Is it our disgrace? It’s Crawford’s disgrace.”

“Which is the same as Orthuran’s disgrace, isn’t it? The newspapers are bound to have a field day again soon.”

The father she had not seen even once since the wedding seemed to be living his life throwing fuel onto such concerns.

Listening to the endless string of insults, Rose clasped her trembling hands together for a moment.

Ever since she came to this country, a heavy, unjust guilt had weighed on her constantly. Even though it was clear that this marriage had never been her fault.

Stealing a glance at her husband, who had become the subject of so much gossip because of her, Rose was struck speechless.

The man himself, Ray Crawford, was simply smiling.

“Honestly, Lord Crawford has always been far too arrogant, relying only on his popularity. I see it as God teaching him humility by placing a stumbling block in his path.”

“Don’t think that attitude comes just from popularity. He’s a Crawford, after all. A Crawford.”

“Isn’t he even His Majesty the King’s godson? That kind of attitude comes naturally.”

Despite the relentless stream of scorn, his elegant and handsome face held a faint smile. Even from the side, she could tell.

With each slight tilt of Ray Crawford’s polished shoes, the red wine in his glass rippled gently.

What on earth is he thinking, hearing all this?

Another burst of laughter erupted from beyond the curtain, and at that moment, Ray Crawford’s head slowly turned. Toward where Rose stood.

Even upon seeing that she had entered the room, he did not look surprised. He simply let that faint smile disappear.