He did not have the brains to entertain several options and weigh their pros and cons. All he could do was think of something aggressive and then say it.
But Pauline did not have an alternative to his proposal, she only had the hope of one. ‘You’ll see,’ she said with more confidence than she felt; and she moved on.
As she reached the steps she met Lateef Salah, the Egyptian ambassador, a small man with bright eyes and a black moustache. He was not much taller than Pauline. In his tuxedo he made her think of a chirpy blackbird. She liked his energy. ‘Faisal showed me the French announcement,’ he said without preamble. ‘This is an important step.’
‘I agree,’ Pauline said.
‘It’s very late in Cairo now, but the foreign minister is still awake, and I talked to him a few moments ago.’ He looked pleased with himself.
‘Good for you! What did the foreign minister say?’
‘We will agree to the demilitarized zone. We were only waiting for French confirmation.’
Pauline hid her exultation. She wanted to kiss Lateef. ‘That’s wonderful news, ambassador. Thank you for letting me know so quickly. I may mention your announcement in my speech, if you don’t mind.’
‘We would be glad, thank you, Madam President.’
The millionaire’s wife in the turquoise silk caught her eye. Pauline nodded to indicate that she was ready. The woman made a short speech of welcome then introduced her, and Pauline moved to the lectern as the audience applauded. She took a printed copy of her speech from her clutch bag and unfolded it, not because she needed it, but so that she could do something theatrical with it later.
She spoke about the achievements of the literacy charities and the work that remained to be done by them and the federal government, but at the back of her mind was Chad. She wanted to trumpet her achievement, acknowledge the role played by ambassadors, and put James Moore down without seeming vindictive. She would have liked an hour to work on the speech, but this was too good an opportunity to miss, so she would improvise.
She said everything necessary about literacy, then spoke about the diplomats. At this point she ostentatiously folded up her speech and put it away, so that they knew she was going off script. She leaned forward, lowered her voice, and spoke in a more intimate tone, and the place went quiet. ‘I want to tell you about something important, an agreement that will save lives, that was achieved today by the Washington diplomatic corps – in fact, by some of the people in this room. You’ve heard on the news about border tensions between Chad and Sudan, you know there has already been loss of life, and you’re aware of the danger that escalation will draw the armies of other nations into the conflict. But today our French and Egyptian friends, with help and encouragement from the Saudis and from the White House, have agreed a demilitarized zone twenty kilometres wide along the border, in a first step towards easing the tension and reducing the risk of further casualties.’
She paused to let them digest that, then went on: ‘This is how we work for a peaceful world.’ She tried a little joke. ‘Diplomats do it quietly.’ There was a small appreciative laugh. ‘Our weapons are forethought and sincerity. And so to finish, as well as thanking our wonderful literacy charities, I’d like to ask you to thank the Washington diplomats, the quiet negotiators who save lives. Let’s give them a round of applause.’
A great cheer went up. Pauline clapped and the audience followed suit. She looked around, catching the eyes of one ambassador after another, nodding special acknowledgement to Lateef and Giselle and Faisal; then she came down from the podium and was escorted by the Secret Service through the crowd, getting out of the door before the applause began to fade.
Gus was right behind her. ‘Brilliant,’ he enthused. ‘I’ll call Sandip and give him the details, if you like. He should press-release this right away.’
‘Good. Do it, please.’
‘I have to go back inside,’ Gus said ruefully. ‘Only the privileged few get to avoid the chilli-glazed salmon. But I’ll drop by the Oval Office later, if that’s okay?’
‘Of course.’
When she got into the car Gerry was already there. ‘Well done,’ he said. ‘It went well.’
‘The DMZ should be on tomorrow’s front pages.’
‘And people will realize that while Moore is shooting off his mouth you’re actually solving problems.’
She smiled ruefully. ‘That might be too much to hope for.’
At the White House they went straight to the Residence and entered the Dining Room. Pippa was already at the table. Looking at their clothes, she said: ‘There was no need to dress formally just for me, but all the same I appreciate the gesture.’
Pauline laughed happily. This was the Pippa she liked best, smart-funny rather than smart-sulky. They ate steak with a rocket salad and had a light-hearted conversation. Then Pippa returned to her homework, Gerry went to watch golf on TV, and Pauline asked for her coffee to be served in the small Study next to the Oval Office.
This was a more private space, and people did not walk in without permission. For the next two hours she was mostly undisturbed. She worked her way through a stack of reports and memoranda. Gus came in at ten thirty, having escaped from the ball. He had changed out of his tux, and looked relaxed and almost cuddly in a dark-blue cashmere sweater and jeans. She pushed aside her briefings with relief, glad to have someone with whom to chew over the day’s events. ‘How was the rest of the ball?’ she said.
‘The auction did well,’ Gus said. ‘Someone paid twenty-five thousand dollars for a bottle of wine.’
She smiled. ‘Who could ever drink it?’
‘They loved your speech – they talked about it all evening.’
‘Good.’ Pauline was glad, but she had been preaching to the converted. Few of the people at the Diplomats’ Ball would vote for James Moore. His supporters belonged in a different stratum of American society. ‘Let’s see how it plays in the tabloids.’ She turned on the TV. ‘In a few minutes there’ll be reviews of the first editions on the news channels.’ She muted a sports report.
Gus said: ‘How was the rest of your evening?’
‘Nice. Pippa was in a happy frame of mind for a change, and then I had a few quiet hours for reading. With all the information I have to digest, I wish I had a bigger brain.’
Gus laughed. ‘I know that feeling. My head needs one of the RAM upgrades you can get for your laptop.’
The newspaper review began, and Pauline turned up the volume.
The front page of the New York Mail made her heart stop.
The headline read:
PIPPA THE POTHEAD
Pauline said: ‘Oh, no! No!’
The anchor said: ‘The president’s daughter, Pippa Green, aged fourteen, is in trouble for smoking pot at a party in the home of a fellow pupil at her elite private high school.’
Pauline was stunned. She stared at the screen, mouth open in bewilderment, both hands held against her cheeks, hardly able to believe this was real.
The front page filled the screen. There was a faked colour photo of Pauline and Pippa together: Pauline was looking furious and Pippa wore an old T-shirt and needed to wash her hair. The two images came from different shots that had been melded to show a scene that had never happened, with Pauline apparently berating her drug-addicted daughter.
Shock was replaced by rage. Pauline stood up, yelling at the TV: ‘You fucking shits!’ she screamed. ‘She’s a child!’
The door opened and an anxious Secret Service agent looked in. Gus waved him away.