‘Leave it to me.’
She entered the ballroom and declined a glass of champagne. There was an atmosphere of warm bodies, fishy canapés, and empty wine bottles. She was welcomed by the chair of one of the charities, a millionaire’s wife in a turquoise silk sheath and impossibly high heels. Then Pauline was on the merry-go-round. She asked bright questions about literacy and showed interest in the answers. She was introduced to the main sponsor of the ball, the CEO of a huge paper-manufacturing company, and she asked how the business was doing. The Bosnian ambassador buttonholed her and begged for help dealing with unexploded landmines, of which his country had eighty thousand. Pauline was sympathetic, but the landmines had not been put there by Americans and she did not plan to spend taxpayers’ money removing them. She was not a Republican for nothing.
She was charming and interested with everyone, and managed to conceal how impatient she was to get on with her priorities.
She was approached by the French ambassador, Giselle de Perrin, a thin woman of sixty-something in a black dress. What would the news from Paris be? President Pelletier could make or break this deal.
Madame de Perrin shook Pauline’s hand and said: ‘Madam President, I spoke to Monsieur Pelletier an hour ago. He asked me to give you this.’ She took a folded paper from her clutch bag. ‘He said you would be pleased.’
Pauline eagerly unfolded the single sheet. It was a press release from the élysée Palace, with one paragraph highlighted and translated into English:
The government of France, concerned about tensions on the Chad–Sudan border, will immediately send one thousand troops to Chad to reinforce its existing mission there. Initially, French forces will remain at least ten kilometres from the border, hoping that forces on the other side will reciprocate, thereby creating a twenty-kilometre separation between the armies, for the avoidance of accidental provocation.
Pauline was delighted. ‘Thank you for this, ambassador,’ she said. ‘It’s very helpful.’
‘You’re welcome,’ the ambassador said. ‘France is always pleased to assist our American allies.’
That wasn’t true, Pauline thought, but she kept smiling.
Her attention was drawn away as Milton Lapierre appeared. Oh, shit, she thought, I don’t need this now. She had not expected him to be here – there was no reason for it. He had resigned, and Pauline had nominated a replacement vice-president, who was now going through the process of being approved by both houses of Congress. But the story of his affair with sixteen-year-old Rita Cross had not yet hit the media, and she guessed he was trying to maintain a pretence that everything was all right.
Milt did not look good. He had a whisky glass in his hand and he seemed to have sipped quite a lot from it. His tuxedo was expensive, but his cummerbund was slipping and his bow tie was loose.
Pauline’s bodyguards came closer.
Pauline had learned early in her career to remain cool during embarrassing encounters. ‘Good evening, Milt,’ she said. She recalled that he had been made a director of a lobbying firm, and she said: ‘Congratulations on your appointment to the board of Riley Hobcraft Partners.’
‘Thank you, Madam President. You did your best to ruin my life, but you didn’t quite succeed.’
Pauline was startled by the intensity of his hatred. ‘Ruin your life?’ she said with what she hoped was a friendly smile. ‘Better people than you and me have been fired and got over it.’
He lowered his voice. ‘She left me,’ he said.
Pauline could not feel sorry for him. ‘It’s for the best,’ she said. ‘Best for her and best for you.’
‘You know nothing about it,’ he hissed.
Gus stepped in and put a protective arm between Pauline and Milt. ‘Here’s his excellency Prince Faisal,’ he said, and with a light touch he turned her around so that her back was to Milt. She heard one of her bodyguards distracting Milt by saying pleasantly: ‘Good to see you again, Mr Vice-President, I hope you’re well.’
Pauline smiled at Faisal, a middle-aged man with a grey beard and a wary expression. ‘Good evening, Prince Faisal,’ she said. ‘I talked to the president of Egypt, but he wouldn’t make any promises.’
‘That’s what they said to us. Our foreign minister likes the idea of a demilitarized zone between Chad and Sudan, and he immediately called Cairo. But the Egyptians only said they would think about it.’
Pauline had the French note in her hand. ‘Look at this,’ she said.