“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 recognize 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 percent 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 bilclass="underline" 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.”
The driver laughed; the Director had obviously had a good dinner, which was more than he had.
Elizabeth brought the coffee in and sat down by him.
Only the brave deserve the fair. Lift arm casually, place at the back of the couch, touch her hair lightly.
Elizabeth rose. “Oh, I nearly forgot. Would you like a brandy?”
No, I don’t want a brandy. I want you to come back.
“No, thank you.”
She settled back into Mark’s shoulder.
Can’t kiss her while she’s got the coffee cup in her hand. Ah, she’s put the cup down. Hell, she’s up again.
“Let’s have some music.”
No thank you.
“Great idea.”
“How about ‘In Memory of Sinatra’?”
“Great.”
“...This time we almost made the pieces fit... didn’t we... gal?”
It’s got to be absolutely the wrong song. Ah, she’s back. Try the kiss again. Damn, still more coffee. The cup’s down at last. Gentle. Yes, very nice. Christ, she’s beautiful. Long kiss — are her eyes open? — no, closed. She’s enjoying it — good — longer and even better.
“Would you like some more coffee, Mark?”
No no no no no no no.
“No, thank you.”
Another long kiss. Start moving hand across back — I’ve been this far before with her — can’t possibly be any objection — move hand to leg — pause — what fabulous legs and she’s got two of them. Take hand off leg and concentrate on kissing.
“Mark, there’s something I have to tell you.”
Oh, Christ! It’s the wrong time of the month. That’s all I need now.
“Uh-mh?”
“I adore you.”
“I adore you too, darling.”
He unzipped her skirt, and began to caress her gently.
She began to move her hand up his leg.
Heaven is about to happen.
Ring, ring, ring, ring.
Jee-sus!
“It’s for you, Mark.”
“Andrews?”
“Sir.”
“Julius.”
Shit.
“I’m coming.”
Tuesday morning
8 March
1:00 A.M.
The man standing at the corner of the churchyard was trying to keep warm in the chill of the early March morning by slapping himself on the back. He had once seen Gene Hackman do it in a movie and it had worked. It wasn’t working. Perhaps he needed the big Warner Brothers arc light Hackman had had to help him. He considered the matter, while he continued slapping.