Page 44 of Shall We Tell the President? (Kane & Abel 3)

Elizabeth was wearing the red silk shirt and black skirt in which he had first seen her. She greeted him with a cascade of words.

“I don’t understand what’s been going on. My father called earlier and told me you tried to save Senator Harrison’s life. What were you doing there anyway? My father is very upset about the shooting. Why have you been following him around? Was he in any danger?”

Mark looked at her squarely. “No, he wasn’t involved in any way so let’s try and start over again.”

Still she didn’t understand.

When they arrived at the Rive Gauche, the maître d’ welcomed them with open arms.

“Good evening, Mr. Andrews, how nice to see you again. I don’t remember your booking a table.”

“No, it’s in my name. Dr. Dexter,” said Elizabeth.

“Oh, yes, Doctor, of course. Will you come this way?”

They had baked clams, and, at last, a steak with no fancy trimmings and two bottles of wine.

Mark sang most of the way home. When they arrived, he took her firmly by the hand and led her into the darkened living room.

“I’m going to seduce you. No coffee, no brandy, no music, just straightforward seduction.”

“I should be so lucky.”

They fell on the couch.

“You’re too drunk,” Elizabeth added.

“Wait and see.” He kissed her fully on the lips for a long time and started to unbutton her shirt.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like some coffee?” she asked.

“Yes, quite sure,” he said as he pulled the shirt slowly free from her skirt and felt her back, his other hand moving on to her leg.

“What about some music?” she said lightly. “Something special.” Elizabeth touched the start button on the hi-fi. It was Sinatra again, but this time it was the right song:

Is it an earthquake or simply a shock

Is it the real turtle soup or merely the mock,

Is it a cocktail, this feeling of joy,

Or is what I feel—the real—McCoy?

Is it for all time or simply a lark,

Is it Granada I see or only Asbury Park,

Is it a fancy not worth thinking of,

Or is it at … long … last … love?

She settled back into Mark’s arms.

He unzipped her skirt. Her legs were slender and beautiful in the dim light. He caressed her gently.

“Are you going to tell me the truth about today, Mark?”

“Afterwards, darling.”

“When you’ve had your way with me,” she said.

He slipped his shirt off. Elizabeth stared at the bandage on his shoulder.

“Is that where you were wounded in the line of duty?”

“No, that’s where my last lover bit me.”

“She must have had more time than I did.”

They moved closer together.

He took the phone off the hook—not tonight, Julius.

“I can’t get through, sir,” Elliott said, “just a continual busy signal.”

“Try again, try again. I’m sure he’s there.”

“Shall I go through the operator?”

“Yes, yes,” said the Director testily.

The Director waited, tapping his fingers on the Queen Anne desk, staring at the red stain and wondering how it had got there.

“The operator says the phone is off the hook, sir. Shall I ask her to bleep him; that’ll certainly get his attention.”

“No, Elliott, just leave it and go home. I’ll have to call him in the morning.”

“Yes, sir. Good night, sir.”

He’ll have to go—back to Idaho or wherever he came from, thought the Director, as he switched off the lights and made his own way home.

Friday morning

11 March

7:00 A.M.

Mark woke first; perhaps because he was in a strange bed. He turned over and looked at Elizabeth. She never wore make-up and was just as beautiful in the morning as she was on the other side of a dinner table. Her dark hair curled in towards the nape of her neck and he stroked the soft strands gently. She stirred, rolled over, and kissed him.

“Go and brush your teeth.”

“What a romantic way to start the day,” he said.

“I’ll be awake by the time you get back.” She groaned a little and stretched.

Mark picked up the Pepsodent—that was one thing that would have to change, he preferred Macleans—and tried to figure out which part of the bathroom he was going to be able to fit his things into. When he returned, he noticed the phone was still off the hook. He looked at his watch: 7:05. He climbed back into bed. Elizabeth slipped out.

“Only be a minute,” she said.

It was never like this in the movies, thought Mark.

She returned and lay down beside him. After a moment she said, “Your chin is hurting my face. You’re

not as clean-shaven as you were the first time.”

“I shaved very carefully that first evening,” said Mark. “Funny, I was never so sure of anything. Didn’t happen quite the way I intended.”

“What did you intend?”

“It was never like this in the movies.” This time he stated the sentiments clearly. “Do you know what the Frenchman said when accused of raping a dead woman?”

“No.”

“I didn’t realize she was dead; I thought she was English.”

After she had proved she wasn’t English Elizabeth asked Mark what he would like for breakfast.

After Mark had told her, he disappeared into the shower.

Mark turned on the shower, getting the temperature just right.

“Disappointing, I thought we would take a bath together,” said Elizabeth.

“I never bathe with the domestic staff. Just give me a call when breakfast is ready,” Mark replied from under the shower and started to sing “At Long Last Love” in several different keys.

A slim arm appeared through the falling water and turned off the hot water tap. The singing stopped abruptly. Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen.

Mark dressed quickly and put the phone back on the hook. It rang almost immediately. Elizabeth appeared in a brief slip.

Mark wanted to go back to bed.

She picked up the phone. “Good morning. Yes, he’s here. It’s for you. A jealous lover, I shouldn’t wonder.”

She put on a dress and returned to the kitchen.

“Mark Andrews.”

“Good morning, Mark.”

“Oh, good morning, sir.”

“I’ve been trying to get you since eight o’clock last night.”

“Oh, really, sir. I thought I was on vacation. If you look in the official book in the WFO, I think you’ll find I’ve signed out.”

“Yes, Mark, but you are going to have to interrupt that vacation because the President wants to see you.”

“The President, sir?”

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