Alicia nodded dutifully.
President Mendez turned to Connor and shook his hand. ‘Sorry I can’t join you. I have to get back to running the country! But I do hope all goes well during your stay with us,’ he said, shooting Connor a knowing wink.
‘Thank you, Mr President,’ Connor replied as the great man took his leave, the two agents remaining behind.
Once her father was gone, there was a moment of awkward silence. Connor exchanged a strained smile with Alicia as they each sought for something to say.
Then Alicia began. ‘So … this is the Diplomatic Reception Room.’
Her hand swept round the decorated walls.
‘Ermm … Jacqueline Kennedy had this pictorial wallpaper put up in the sixties. That’s Niagara Falls over there … New York Bay … Boston Harbor. And this old fireplace is where President F. D. Roosevelt broadcast his famous fireside chats.’
Connor nodded politely. While he’d never heard of Roosevelt or his broadcasts, he was more than happy for Alicia to take him on a guided tour, since it gave him the opportunity to get to know her. As a bodyguard, it was important to quickly assess a Principal’s character and manner so that one could work efficiently and agreeably with them.
‘In the past, this room housed a furnace and boiler,’ she explained, ‘and before that it was used by servants for polishing the silver.’
Maintaining the formality of the occasion, Alicia guided him next door to the China Room and showed him its priceless displays of ivory and burnished gold china. Next, they moved on to the Vermeil Room with its extensive collection of silver-gilt tableware; the wooden-panelled Library with its unusual lighthouse clock; and, to Connor’s great surprise, a bowling alley in the basement. Then they climbed the Grand Staircase up to the State Floor. The first point of call was the East Room – a magnificent ceremonial hall with long gilded drapes, a marble fireplace and antique glass chandeliers hanging above a Steinway grand piano. As they traipsed through the furniture displays in the Green, Blue and Red Rooms, Connor was struggling to maintain his interest. Impressive as the White House was, there was only so much antiquity and artwork he could take.
Alicia noticed his eyes glazing over and stopped talking.
‘Sorry,’ said Connor, attempting to stifle a yawn. ‘Must be jet lag.’
But, rather than take offence, Alicia grinned at him. ‘Shall we skip the boring bits?’
Connor nodded eagerly. ‘If you don’t mind.’
‘Not at all,’ she said, visibly relaxing in his presence. ‘To be honest, I hate doing these official tours. I just thought that was what you expected as an official guest.’
‘No, I’d prefer to do what you want,’ Connor replied.
‘Cool,’ said Alicia, smiling. ‘Then I hope you don’t scare easily!’
‘You mean, he could be watching us right now?’ said Connor, unnerved by Alicia’s story. The two of them had headed for the infamous Lincoln Bedroom on the second floor. He scanned the room and looked out through the window at the slowly setting sun.
Alicia nodded, her face drawn into a mask of fright. ‘Don’t you feel his presence?’ Her voice was almost a whisper, her dark eyes wide as she pointed a trembling finger towards the door. ‘I think … that’s him …’
Connor could see a faint shadow moving along the narrow gap at the foot of the wooden door. Silently, he crept across the plush emerald-green carpet. His fingers clasped the brass handle; it was cool to the touch. The movement outside ceased. With a quick twist, Connor yanked the door open and a startled Secret Service agent leapt away in shock.
‘That’s not Abraham Lincoln’s ghost!’ Connor exclaimed with a grin.
Alicia laughed as the agent recovered his wits. ‘No, but it could have been. Over the years, numerous sightings have been recorded. President Reagan’s first daughter said she saw Lincoln standing at that window peering out across the lawn. Harry Truman, the thirty-third President, once wrote in a letter that he heard footsteps up and down the hallway at night, as well as knocking on his door, when no one was there. Winston Churchill even refused to sleep in this room after coming face-to-face with Lincoln’s ghost. The White House is definitely haunted.’
‘Aren’t you scared?’ asked Connor.
‘A little,’ admitted Alicia. ‘But he’s a friendly ghost … I think.’
Connor examined a holograph copy of the Gettysburg Address, President Lincoln’s most well-known speech, displayed on a desk by the window. ‘It must be amazing to live in the White House,’ he remarked.
Alicia smiled proudly. ‘Yes, and the Mendez family are now part of its history.’
Then she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper so that the Secret Service agent wouldn’t overhear outside in the hallway. ‘But, to be honest, Connor, sometimes I hate it. It’s a museum, not a home. I’m almost too scared to touch something in case I break it! And thousands of people come through the house on tours every month. It’s not like I can leave my things anywhere I want.’
She glanced towards the agent.
‘And there’s no privacy either. A Secret Service agent is stationed in almost every room. Sometimes I think they’re the ghosts – haunting my every step.’
Connor smiled sympathetically. ‘It must be hard,’ he said. Although he realized that if anyone was a ghost, then he was – as her secret buddyguard.
‘You don’t know the half of it. It’s like living in a cross between a reform school and a convent!’ She laughed weakly at her comparison. ‘Just going to meet my friends in a coffee shop is a mission in itself. Literally anything I want to do outside the White House requires advanced planning by the Secret Service.’
Alicia sighed, then shrugged in a what-can-you-do-about-it way.
‘Sorry, you don’t want to be hearing all this,’ she said, perching herself on the end of the Lincoln bed.
‘No, it’s fine,’ replied Connor.
‘It’s just I don’t often have many people my own age around here and … you seem pretty easy to get along with. I do realize how fortunate I am. I mean, the White House has its own cinema, bowling alley and swimming pool. And I get to meet some truly amazing people – kings and queens, heads of state, famous musicians and movie stars! I have to pinch myself at times. I once even met the Dalai Lama. He told me, Happiness is not something ready made. It comes from your own actions.’ Alicia quickly cheered at the thought. ‘And there are a few rooms in the White House where I can be left alone. Come on, I’ll show you my favourite.’
She led Connor out of the Lincoln Bedroom and up the stairs to the third floor, the agent discreetly following behind. This level, as Connor already knew, was where the First Family relaxed and also where the guest bedrooms were housed, a maid having shown him to his room earlier.
As they turned left up a ramped hallway, the agent stopped shadowing them. The two of them entered the solarium, a private chill-out space with comfy sofas and glass walls that offered unbroken views of the Washington skyline.
‘Welcome to the fishbowl!’ announced Alicia. ‘This is about as free as it gets.’
Opening a patio door, she stepped out on to the rooftop terrace. She took a deep breath and opened her arms.
‘FREEDOM!’ she cried.
But Connor only saw the high stone balustrade that shielded the terrace and solarium from general view. Glancing up at the apex of the roof, he caught a brief glimpse of a black-uniformed sniper. Then he peered between the thick white pillars of the balustrade at the expanse of south lawn. From his vantage point, he could spy the Secret Service agents patrolling the grounds and the boundary fence where swarms of tourists gathered in the hope of spotting the First Family.
Connor began to understand Alicia’s plight. The White House was as much a prison as a home. No wonder she was desperate to escape the perpetual shadow of the Secret Service. She was like a bird trapped in a gilded cage.