Shall We Tell the President? (19 page)

‘One Campari and soda and I’ll have a
spritzer.’

Glance at menu. Chef Michel
Laudier
. The restaurant motto:
Fluctuat
nee
mergitur
.
Oh, I’ll
mergitur
,
all right, cover charges, service charges. Ouch. And she has no way of
knowing. This is one of those sexy places where the man is given a menu with
the prices.

‘I’ll have a first course, but only if
you’ll join me.’

‘Of course I’m going to have one, lovely
lady.’

‘Good, I’ll have the avocado .. .’

Without prawns?

‘... with prawns, and then . . .’

... Caesar salad?

‘... the filet mignon Henri IV - rare,
please.’

$20.50. To hell with it, she’s worth every
penny, I think I’ll have the same.

‘Have you decided, sir?’

‘Yes, we’ll both have the avocado with
prawns and the filet mignon Henri IV, rare.’

‘Would you care to look at the wine list?’

No, thank you, I’ll have a beer.

‘Would you like some wine,
Elizabeth
?’

‘That would be lovely, Mark.’

‘A bottle of Hospice de
Beaune
,
soixante
-dix-
huit
,
please.’

I bet he can tell the only damn French I
learned at school was the numbers.

‘Very good, sir.’

The first course arrived and so did the
sommelier with the wine. If you think you’re going to sell us two bottles, you
damn frog, think again.

‘Shall I serve the wine, sir?’

‘Not yet, thank you. Open it and then serve
it with the main course.’

‘Certainly, sir.’

‘Your avocado, mademoiselle.’

Prawns go before the fall.

‘Good evening, Halt. How’s life at the
Bureau?’

‘We’re surviving, Madam.’

What banal remarks the mighty make to each
other.

The Director glanced around the pleasant
blue and gold room. H. Stuart Knight, the head of the Secret Service, stood
alone at the far end. On the sofa, by the window overlooking the West Wing and
the
Executive
Office
Building
,
sat the Attorney General, Marian Edelman, talking to Senator Birch
Bayh
, the man who had succeeded Ted Kennedy as chairman of
the Judiciary Committee. The hackneyed phrase ‘boyish good looks’, which had
been applied to
Bayh
constantly during his
campaigning in the1976 Democratic presidential primaries, was still an accurate
description. The thin, gaunt senator from
Texas
, Marvin Thornton, hovered over his
colleague and Marian Edelman.

My God, let me have men about me that are
fat. ..

‘You see I’ve invited
Thornton
.’

‘Yes, Madam.’

‘We must try and talk him round on the Gun
Control bill.’

The West Sitting Hall was a comfortable
room on the family floor of the White House, adjacent to the First Gentleman’s
dressing-room. It was an honour to be entertained in this part of the White
House. And to eat in the small dining-room, rather than the President’s
dining-room downstairs, was a special privilege, since the former was usually
reserved for strictly family dining. The fact that the President’s husband was
absent only confirmed how private this occasion had to be.

‘What will you drink, Halt?’

‘Scotch on the rocks.’

‘Scotch on the rocks for the Director and
an orange juice for me. I’m watching my weight.’

Doesn’t she know orange juice is the last
thing to drink if you’re dieting?

‘How are the votes stacking up, Madam?’

‘Well, the numbers are forty-eight for and
forty-seven against at the moment, but it’s got to go through on the tenth or
I’ll have to forget the whole thing until the next session. That’s my biggest
worry at the moment, what with my European tour and the
New Hampshire
primary less than a year off.
I would have to drop the bill until I was re-elected and I can’t afford it to
be the main election issue. I want it out of the way and seen to be working
before then.’

‘Then let’s hope it passes on the tenth,
because it would certainly make my job easier, Madam President.’

‘Marian’s too. Another drink, Halt?’

‘No, thank you, Madam.’

‘Shall we go in to dinner?’

The President led her five guests into the
dining room. The wallpaper in the room depicted scenes from the American
Revolution. It was furnished in the Federal style of the early nineteenth
century.

I never get bored with the beauty of the
White House.

The Director gazed at the
plaster-composition mantel designed by Robert Welford of
Philadelphia
in 1815. It bore the famous
report of Commodore Oliver Hazard Perry after the Battle of Lake Erie during
the War of 1812: ‘We have met the enemy, and they are ours.’

‘Five thousand people passed through this
building today,’ H. Stuart Knight was saying. ‘Nobody really grasps the
security problems. This building may be the home of the President, but it still
belongs to the people and that makes one continuous democratic headache.’

If he knew everything...

The President sat at the head of the table,
the Attorney General at the other end,
Bayh
and
Thornton on one side, the Director and Knight on the other. The first course
was avocado with prawns.

I always get sick when I eat prawns.

‘It’s good to see my law officers
together,’ said the President. ‘I want to take this opportunity to discuss the
Gun Control bill, which I remain determined will pass on 10 March. That’s why I
invited Birch and Marvin here tonight, because their support will influence the
fate of this bill.’

10 March again. Perhaps Cassius has to keep
to a deadline. Seem to remember
Thornton
being firmly against this bill, and he’s on Andrews’ list of seven.

‘The rural states are going to be a
problem, Madam President,’ Marian Edelman was saying. ‘They won’t be willing to
hand over their guns all that readily.’

‘A long amnesty period, say about six
months, might be the answer, the Director offered. ‘So the law remains
unaffected for a statutory period. It’s what always happens after a war. And
the public relations boys can keep announcing that hundreds of weapons have
been handed in to local police stations.’

‘Good thinking, Halt,’ said the President.

‘It’s going to be a hell of an operation,’
said the Attorney General, ‘with seven million members of the National Rifle
Association and probably fifty million firearms in
America
.’

No one disagreed with that conclusion.

The second course arrived.

Dover sole. Obviously the President is
serious about her diet.

‘Coffee or brandy, sir?’

‘Don’t let’s bother,’ said
Elizabeth
, touching Mark’s hand gently.
‘Let’s have it at home.’

‘Nice idea.’

He smiled into her eyes and tried to guess
what was going on in her mind . . .

‘No, thank you. Just the check.’

The waiter scurried away obediently.

They always scurry away obediently when you
ask for the check. She hasn’t let go of my hand.

‘A delicious meal, Mark. Thank you very
much.’

‘Yes, we must come here again sometime.’

The check arrived. Mark glanced at it in
rueful bemusement.

$87.20, plus tax. If you can understand how
a restaurant gets to its final figure you deserve to be Secretary of the
Treasury. Hand over the American Express Card. The little piece of blue paper
comes back to sign. Make it up to $100.00 and forget it until the envelope
marked American Express arrives in the mail.

‘Good night, Mr Andrews.’ Much bowing and
scraping.

‘I hope we will see you and Mademoiselle
again soon.’

‘Yes, indeed.’

You’ll need a very good memory to recognise
me next time I come. Open car door for
Elizabeth
.
Will I do this when we’re married? Christ, I’m thinking about marriage.

‘I think I must have eaten too much. I’m
rather sleepy.’

Now what does that mean? You could take
that about twenty different ways.

‘Oh, really, I feel ready for anything.’

A bit clumsy, maybe. Look for parking space
again. Good. There’s one right in front of the house and no Volkswagen to stop
me grabbing it. Open car door for
Elizabeth
.
She fumbles with front door keys. Into kitchen. Kettle on.

‘What a nice kitchen.’

Silly remark.

‘I’m glad you like it.’

Equally silly.

Into living-room. Good, there are the
roses.

‘Hello, Samantha. Come and meet Mark.’

Christ Almighty, she has a roommate.

Samantha rubbed up against Mark’s leg and
purred.

Relief. Samantha is Siamese, not American.

‘Where shall I sit?’

‘Anywhere.’

She’s no help at all.

‘Black or with cream, darling?’

Darling. The odds must be better than
50-50.

‘Black, please, with one sugar.’

‘Amuse yourself till the water boils. I’ll
only be a few minutes.’

‘More coffee, Halt?’

‘No thank you, Madam, I have to be getting
home, if you’ll excuse me.’

‘I’ll walk you to the door. There are one
or two things I’d like to discuss with you.’

‘Yes, of course, Madam President.’

The Marines at the West Entrance came to
attention. A man in a dinner jacket hovered in the shadows behind the pillars.

‘I’ll need your backing a hundred per cent
for this Gun Control bill, Halt. The committee is bound to be pushing for your
views. And although the numbers are just with us on the floor of the House, I
don’t want any last-minute hiccups; I’m running out of time.’

‘I’ll be with you, Madam. I’ve wanted it
ever since the death of John F. Kennedy.’

‘Have you any particular worries about it,
Halt?’

‘No, Madam. You deal with the politics and
sign the bill, and I’ll see that the law is enforced.’

‘Any advice, perhaps?’

‘No, I don’t think so . . .’

Beware the ides of March.

‘. .. although it’s always puzzled me,
Madam President, why in the end you left the bill this late. If something goes
wrong on 10 March and if you were to lose next year’s election, we would all be
back at square one.’

‘I know, Halt, but I had to decide between
my Medicare bill, which was a controversial enough way to start an
administration, and pushing a Gun Control bill through at the same time; I might
have ended up losing both. To tell you the truth, it had been my intention to
start the bill in committee a year earlier, but no one could have anticipated
Nigeria attacking South Africa without warning, and America finally having to
decide where she stood on that continent.’

‘You sure stuck your neck out on that one,
Madam President, and I confess at the time I thought you were wrong.’

‘I know, Halt. I had a few sleepless nights
myself. But, getting back to the Gun Control bill: don’t ever forget that
Dexter and Thornton have run the most successful two-man filibuster in the
history of the Senate. By 10 March, this damn bill will have been going the
rounds for nearly two years despite the tacit support of Senator Byrd as
Majority Leader. But I’m not too worried. I still believe we’ll pull it off. I
can’t foresee anything that can stop it now, can you, Halt?’

The Director hesitated. ‘No, Madam.’

The first lie I have ever told the Chief.
Would an investigating commission believe my reasons if the President is
assassinated in three days’ time?

‘Good night, Halt, and thank you.’

‘Good night, Madam President, and thank you
for an excellent dinner.’

The Director stepped out, and into his car.
The special agent in the driver’s seat looked around at him.

‘An important message has just come in for
you, sir. Could you return to the Bureau immediately?’

Not again.

‘All right, but it might be simpler to keep
a bed in the place, except someone would accuse me of trying to live rent-free
on taxpayers’ money.’