Rosamund Lupton - Sister

Здесь есть возможность читать онлайн «Rosamund Lupton - Sister» весь текст электронной книги совершенно бесплатно (целиком полную версию без сокращений). В некоторых случаях можно слушать аудио, скачать через торрент в формате fb2 и присутствует краткое содержание. Город: New York, Год выпуска: 2011, ISBN: 2011, Издательство: Crown Publishers, Жанр: Триллер, на английском языке. Описание произведения, (предисловие) а так же отзывы посетителей доступны на портале библиотеки ЛибКат.

Sister: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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“Lupton enters the highly charged ring where the best psychological detective writers spar… Like Kate Atkinson, Patricia Highsmith and Ruth Rendell… Both tear-jerking and spine-tingling,
provides an adrenaline rush that could cause a chill on the sunniest afternoon.”

When her mom calls to tell her that Tess, her younger sister, is missing, Bee returns home to London on the first flight. She expects to find Tess and give her the usual lecture, the bossy big sister scolding her flighty baby sister for taking off without letting anyone know her plans. Tess has always been a free spirit, an artist who takes risks, while conservative Bee couldn’t be more different. Bee is used to watching out for her wayward sibling and is fiercely protective of Tess (and has always been a little stern about her antics). But then Tess is found dead, apparently by her own hand.
Bee is certain that Tess didn’t commit suicide. Their family and the police accept the sad reality, but Bee feels sure that Tess has been murdered. Single-minded in her search for a killer, Bee moves into Tess’s apartment and throws herself headlong into her sister’s life—and all its secrets.
Though her family and the police see a grieving sister in denial, unwilling to accept the facts, Bee uncovers the affair Tess was having with a married man and the pregnancy that resulted, and her difficultly with a stalker who may have crossed the line when Tess refused his advances. Tess was also participating in an experimental medical trial that might have gone very wrong. As a determined Bee gives her statement to the lead investigator, her story reveals a predator who got away with murder—and an obsession that may cost Bee her own life.
A thrilling story of fierce love between siblings,
is a suspenseful and accomplished debut with a stunning twist.

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“So who knew about it?”

“Her close friends, including other art students. But Tess asked them not to tell the college.”

I just couldn’t understand why you protected Emilio. He hadn’t earned that from you. He’d done nothing to deserve it.

“Did he offer Tess any help?” asks Mr. Wright.

“No. He accused her of tricking him into pregnancy and said that he wouldn’t be pressured into helping her or the baby in any way.”

“Had she ‘tricked’ him?” asks Mr. Wright.

I’m surprised at the amount of detail he wants from me, but then remember that he wants me to tell him everything and let him decide later what is relevant.

“No. The pregnancy wasn’t intentional.”

I remember the rest of our phone call. I was in my office overseeing a new corporate identity for a restaurant chain, multitasking with my job as older sister.

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“But how can it possibly be an accident, Tess?”

The design team had chosen Bernard MT condensed typeface, which looked old-fashioned rather than the retro look I’d briefed .

“Accident sounds a little negative, Bee. Surprise is better.”

“Okay, how can you get a ‘surprise’ when there’s a drugstore in every high street selling condoms?”

You laughed affectionately, teasing me as I chastised you. “Some people just get carried away in the moment.”

I felt the implied criticism. “But what are you going to do?”

“Get larger and larger and then have a baby.”

You sounded so childish; you were acting so childishly, how could you possibly become a mother?

“It’s happy news; don’t be cross.”

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D id she ever consider an abortion?” Mr. Wright asks.

“No.”

“You were brought up as Catholics?”

“Yes, but that wasn’t why she wouldn’t have an abortion. The only Catholic sacrament Tess ever believed in is the sacrament of the present moment.”

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t know…”

I know that it’s of no use to the trial, but I’d like him to know more about you than hard-edged facts in black three-ring binders.

“It means living in the here and now,” I explain. “Experiencing the present without worrying about the future or cluttering it with the past.”

I’ve never bought that sacrament; it’s too irresponsible, too hedonistic. It was probably tacked on by the Greeks—Dionysus gate-crashing Catholicism to make sure they at least had a party.

There’s something else I want him to know. “Even at the beginning, when the baby was little more than a collection of cells, she loved him. That’s why she thought her body was a miracle. That’s why she would never have had an abortion.”

He nods, and gives your love for your baby a decently respectful pause.

“When was the baby diagnosed with cystic fibrosis?” he asks.

I am glad he called him a baby and not a fetus. You and your baby are starting to become more human to him now.

“At twelve weeks,” I reply. “Because of our family history of CF, she had a genetic screen.”

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“It’s me.” I could tell that at the other end of the phone you were struggling not to cry. “He’s a boy.” I knew what was coming. “He has cystic fibrosis.” You sounded so young. I didn’t know what to say to you. You and I knew too much about CF for me to offer platitudes. “He’s going to go through all of that, Bee, just like Leo.”

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S o that was in August?” asks Mr. Wright.

“Yes. The tenth. Four weeks later she phoned to tell me that she’d been offered a new genetic therapy for her baby.”

“What did she know about it?” asks Mr. Wright.

“She said that the baby would be injected with a healthy gene to replace the cystic fibrosis gene. And it would be done while he was still in the womb. As he developed and grew, the new gene would continue to replace the faulty cystic fibrosis gene.”

“What was your reaction?”

“I was frightened of the risks she’d be taking. First, with the vector and—”

Mr. Wright interrupts. “Vector? I’m sorry I don’t…”

“It’s the way a new gene gets into the body. A taxi, if you like. Viruses are often used as vectors because they are good at infecting cells in the body, and so they carry in the new gene at the same time.”

“You’re quite an expert.”

“In our family we’re all amateur experts in the genetics field, because of Leo.”

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“But people have died in these gene therapy trials, Tess. All their organs failing.”

“Just let me finish, please? They’re not using a virus as a vector. That’s the brilliant thing about it. Someone’s managed to make an artificial chromosome to get the gene into the baby’s cells. So there’s no risk to the baby. It’s incredible, isn’t it?”

It was incredible. But it didn’t stop me from worrying. I remember the rest of our phone call. I was wearing my full older-sister uniform .

“Okay, so there won’t be a problem with the vector. But what about the modified gene itself? What if it doesn’t just cure the CF but does something else that hasn’t been predicted?”

“Could you please stop worrying?”

“It might have some appalling side effect. It might mess up something else in the body that isn’t even known about.”

“Bee—”

“Okay, so it might seem like a small risk—”

You interrupted, elbowing me off my soapbox. “Without this therapy, he has cystic fibrosis. A big fat one-hundred-percent definite on that. So a small risk is something I have to take.”

“You said they’re going to inject it into your tummy?”

I could hear the smile in your voice. “How else will it get into the baby?”

“So this gene therapy could well affect you too.”

You sighed. It was your “please get off my back” sigh, the sigh of a younger sister to an older one .

“I’m your sister. I have a right to be concerned about you.”

“And I’m my baby’s mother.”

Your response took me aback .

“I’ll write to you, Bee.”

You hung up .

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D id she often write to you?” asks Mr. Wright.

I wonder if he’s interested or if there’s a point to the question.

“Yes. Usually when she knew I’d disapprove of something. Sometimes when she just needed to sort out her thoughts and wanted me as a silent sounding board.”

I’m not sure if you know this, but I’ve always enjoyed your one-way conversations. Although they often exasperate me, it’s liberating to be freed from my role as critic.

“The police gave me a copy of her letter,” says Mr. Wright.

I’m sorry. I had to hand all your letters to the police.

He smiles. “The human angels letter.”

I’m glad that he’s highlighted what mattered to you, not what’s important for his investigation. And I don’t need the letter to remember that part of it:

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