Sussex Drive: A Novel (25 page)

She didn’t dare think about Solange or her Samuel, or even if they were still alive. She was too spooked even to check the Internet.

“The PM’s coming,” René said, waking her up.

Lise rushed across the hall to Margaret Lee, also still wearing the same outfit as yesterday. “Constitutional advisers,” Lise said, like ordering doughnuts at Tim’s. “Who’ve you got?”

“I told you,” Margaret Lee said. “Nobody’s available.”

“Akinfemi?”

“He’s in Nigeria, international court.”

“Thomson?”

“The Hague.”

“I don’t think you really tried,” Lise said.

“I am truly sorry you feel that way,” Margaret Lee said. “We’ve had short notice and are making best efforts. In serving you, I serve the government of Canada, and it’s crucial, Your Excellency, that you are well supported and believe you are, today.”

Lise retreated.

She showered, and then sorted through what the valet had chosen: skirt by Paprika, blouse by Neige, jacket by Diplomatic, hose from Hue. She stood there in her lingerie, chilled.
Brain from Fried. Nerves from Scrambled
.

“I’m sorry about last night.” René was at her dressing room door.

“I am, too.” She waited for him to say that he’d slept on it, thought about it, had changed his mind.

He came over to her and pulled her into his arms. His scent made her weak. “I haven’t changed my mind, Lise,” he whispered.

“Okay,” she said. That was all she had left in her.

“Do you want to know the polls?”

“I can guess.”

“You’ve guessed right. Karp-Deem and Rippo—average 85 percent in favour of prorogation.”

“What about the other poll? The Standard?”

“It doesn’t matter. The other poll didn’t make the headline.”

She hugged him back. “Niko?” she asked.

“Il dort,”
he said. “When he wakes up, we’ll hang out. Maybe play some shinny on the rink.” He paused. “And I want you to consider the North.”

“The North?”

“His extended family. Mistassini. Niko would be safe there.”

“His father wasn’t.” She waited and he didn’t bite. “And what about LA?”

“LA now. The North—later. Just think about it.” He let her go and switched on the TV coverage. “I’m not going anywhere until you conclude this.”

She saw another reporter doing a stand-up at the locked doors of the House of Commons, and then a shot outside Rideau Hall where a circus of TV trucks and crews were setting up. Live footage rolled of the Prime Minister’s limousine arriving at the Prime Minister’s private entrance downstairs.

“Good morning, Excellency,” said Greg. His valet had gone the extra mile this morning: the PM sported a cashmere topcoat over his Harry Rosen suit, a crimson tie with an arrowhead motif, and his rim of hair was fluffed. He stamped his feet on the carpet, a Ferdinand the bull gesture. “Clark’s right behind me. He’s been held up by the very enthusiastic pro-government supporters.”

“Of course,” said Lise.

“Becky sends her regards.”

“Yes.”

“She may drop over later. Nick left some things at our place.”

“Yes, thank you so much for your hospitality.”

“No skin off my nose. I never saw the kid, to be perfectly frank.”

“Good morning!” said Clark the Privy Clerk, filing in. He seemed a little crisp, his game face tightly on.

Margaret Lee joined them, gathering her weight in outerwear, then ushered them into the Governor General’s study, which Lise could detect had been thoughtfully refreshed, with Kazakhstan folded and replaced on a decorative Mennonite table.

The Prime Minister checked his BlackBerry. “I’ve allotted a couple of hours. More for appearance than substance.”

“Prime Minister, I have set aside the entire day.”

“I understand, Lise, but I have another important media event—”

“The Ski-Doo dealership?”

“—to attend directly following and it can’t be—”

“The Ski-Doo—”

“I heard you the first time, Excellency. Clark, outline the procedure.”

“With all due respect, Prime Minister,” Lise said, “I know it. I am up to speed on everything,
everything
that has transpired.”

Greg took her measure. “Fab. Then let’s cut to the chase, shall we?”

Lise made a temple of her fingertips. “I have studied the situation and I must let you know that in my opinion, and in using my reserve powers—”

“The reserve powers are really at the Prime Minister’s discretion—” the PM said.

“—in using my reserve powers, I am not inclined to grant a prorogation at this time.
Pourquoi? Parce que
we just had an election, and you know, Prime Minister, as well as I, that Canadians do not vote in a president, it is the party with the most seats who forms the government. You were the leader of that party and formed a minority government. You can only govern as long as the other parties in the House align with yours to give you a majority vote and confidence. Confidence,
c’est le clef
. Right now it seems to me that you do not enjoy the confidence of the House, and if a vote is taken, your government will fall.”

The Prime Minister stood. “Privy Clerk, Secretary, please entertain yourselves while I speak with the Governor General alone.”

Clark murmured, “I must remain in the room.”

“Everyone has to heed the call of nature,” Greg said.

Clark didn’t budge.

“Get out.”

Clark and Margaret Lee headed out of the study and the PM closed Lise’s door behind them.

Lise’s heart was beating so vigorously she thought her Neige blouse might be visibly pulsating.

“Look, Lise, I may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, and you’re definitely not, but we both know that this country can’t be taken over in a coup. It’s not right, it’s not on, and I won’t stand for it.”

“If I may be frank, Greg—”

“Well, as it turns out, Lise, you may not—”

“The hubris—”

“Excuse me.”

“—behind
ce cirque
. And this is not a coup. This is what occurs day to day in Parliament, and is based on the evolution of our system from the Royal Proclamation of 1763, through the Quebec Act of 1774, to the Statute of Westminster, 1932, to the Letters Patent of 1947.”

“Have you seen the polls?”

“I do not trust them.”

“The press?”

“Ditto.
Même chose
.”

“The general mood of the nation won’t sustain—”

“You make it sound as if Canada, she’s having her period—”

That seemed to repulse him and he shut up.

There was a knock at the door and it swung wide open, as in a Molière farce. It was René. He wouldn’t look at Greg. “Your Excellency, I would like for to speak a minute with you.” His
anglais
disintegrated when he was nervous.

“Excusez-moi.”
Lise bowed to the PM, and led her consort into his own adjoining study and closed the door with gravitas.

“They’re going over your head, Lise,” René said. “A Privy Council member on Can TALKS says the Tories will go to the Canadian people and ask the Chief Justice to give the permission to prorogue. The PC member, she says you’re an unelected official—”

“So is she!”

“—appointed by a defeated Liberal PM. She said—”

“Who is this?”

“Madame Alice Nanton. She said they’ll explore every legal—”

“So if I don’t do it, they attack this office.”

“Oui.”

“Mon Dieu, mon Dieu, mon Dieu.”

“That is what you’re dealing with.”

“I am damned if I do, and if I don’t.”

René looked at her. “You must break the traditional silence of the Governor General.
Parle à la presse
.”

Lise walked purposefully back to the door of her study, even knocking so that she didn’t barge in on the Prime Minister in case he was combing his hair, blowing his nose, et cetera.

But he was gone.

The door to the hallway was ajar and sitting on the polished oak floor, by the coffee table, was the little orphan Pablo, spreading out what looked like Kumon homework sheets.

“Pablo!” Lise said.
“Buenos días.”

“Salut,”
said Pablo.

“What are you doing here, bud?”

“Math.”

“Where is your father?”

“He had to go do something.”

Lise was about to cross the hall and hunt Pablo’s dad down when Becky arrived, hauling a backpack stuffed fat with Niko’s gear. She’d appeared seemingly from nowhere.

“Is this a bad time?” Becky asked, and before deigning to read the very plain answer on Lise’s face, she said to Pablo, “Not in Aunty L.’s office, honey! Use the library next door, go on, go on, NOW! And don’t tag any of the furniture, okay?”

Pablo collected his Kumon file and worksheets and trudged down the hall along with his wiggly worm eraser and fistful of automatic pencils. Lise noticed Pablo looked under the weather; decimals had done that to Niko too.

Before Lise could say a word, Becky said, “I think we’re looking at home schooling here.” She nodded in the direction Pablo had travelled.

“Becky, where’s the PM? We’re in the middle of the meeting,” Lise said. “Thank you for Niko’s stuff, but we’ll have to catch up
plus tard
.”

Becky floated into an armchair
à la capucine
near Lise’s desk. “Well, everyone’s taking a break. Greg’s huddling with Clark and Peggy in her office. I don’t mean to butt in, but how’s it going? And how are
you
holding up?” She gestured to Lise herself to have a seat. “I also brought fresh-baked blueberry muffins.” She pulled out a blue gingham tea towel–covered basket from her huge tote, skimmed off the towel and offered them.

“Not right now,” said Lise. But the smell got to her. “Oh,
tabarnac
,” and she took one.

Clark the Privy Clerk appeared in the open doorway. “Your Excellency, are you agreeable to meet again in ten minutes? The Prime Minister’s finishing an international call.” Messenger Boy.

“Bien sûr.”

“Hello, Becky,” said Clark, sighting her.

“Hi, Clark.”

He waved and exited.

“Bye, Clark.”

Lise sat kitty-corner to Becky.

“Word is you’re not keen to do the deed,” Becky said.

“Word is right.”

“Well, you’re the GG. You’ve got to do what you feel is best.”

“D’accord.”

“Far be it from me to offer any advice,” she began. “I know I have no business talking with you about it, but we do go back, us ex-newbies,
vous
and me. So, I’ll just say, take a moment to think about your legacy. And how it impacts your family long-term, particularly if you side with the coalition over a legitimately elected government and that splits the country in two. The press are mean. That CBC.”

“
Many
are mean,” Lise corrected.

“If you do it, Lise, nothing is lost. The coalition can come back in a few weeks, vote down a confidence bill and take over the reins of government. In a way, that’s the best test. If they can hold together for a few weeks, maybe they can hang together for six months, nine, until the next election. But if the coalition sinks in the interim, nothing’s lost. Greg’s a world-class leader, almost a beloved icon. He’s already served as Prime Minister and was resoundingly re-elected.”

“I think you’ve mixed the crack in the Kool-Aid,” said Lise.

“Okay, so not
resoundingly
.”

That won an unwilling smile from Lise. “So you’re saying that if I don’t do it, I’m throwing the country to the wolves and will wear it forever.”

“I’m not saying
that
,” Becky said. “You know I’m not.”

Lise’s land line shrilled on her Napoleonic desk at the same time as Margaret dashed in. “It’s King Charles!”

“Impressive,” said Becky.

Lise picked up the phone and gave Becky and Margaret Lee the look. They both took their leave, Becky with a curtsy.

“Your Majesty,” Lise said warmly.

“Our most flattering representative,” King Charles said.

“Thank you for returning my call.”

“Our pleasure. We received a message that you wanted to consult about the goings-on.”

“Yes, Your Majesty, I did want to check in with you, at the same time as I’m fully aware that there are no restrictions on my completely independent reserve powers.”

“Yes, completely true. How’s your husband? Has he been in any film productions recently?”

“As a matter of fact, he has.”

“Really? How splendid! I’m always telling our British producers that they should IMDb René and take a look.”

“How kind.” The director of
In Bruges
was Irish.

“And how was your African vacation? I’ll be there next year. How’s the suntan?”

Lise winced. “I know you’re on a schedule, so I just wanted to ask about your experience or your mother’s with this sort of Commonwealth crisis.”

“You just missed our Mother, actually—”

“So—”

“Well, I watched all of the goings-on from afar when I was growing up. In the instance of your own prime minister, Vampire Leggatt, I’d like to stab a silver crucifix into his anti-environmental heart. And I have a few of those handy in the Abbey, my dear. But, that aside, what I’ve learned is that Governors General may be right, they may be wrong—but in the short term, the country always resents interference. Governors General do themselves no favour by standing up to their PM. How would the King Mum put it? ‘It comes back and bites one on the arse.’ ”

“King–Byng,” said Lise.

“Well, I don’t recall that one,” the King said, “but the Dismissal down under, that was a corker! Back in the seventies, of course. I admit our Mother did have a hand in that one.”

Lise heard a commotion in the King’s background.

“Your Excellency, it’s been lovely catching up. Must dash with memories of the exquisite gown you wore at our first meeting.”

The one plunging south of her coccyx.
“Merci.”

“Our absolute pleasure.”

“The other thing you could think about,” said Becky, “is your own reputation.” They were now upstairs in Lise’s informal family room (with the famous photo of René’s father being sworn in as the MP for Beauce by Governor General Vanier; a shot of teen-aged Lise and Solange in the
Bois de Boulogne; Brett teaching Niko to paddle) because Clark had locked himself in Lise’s office due to the Prime Minister’s demand that three venerable constitutional advisers be airlifted post-haste to Rideau Hall.