Page 112 of Never
He laughed, and for a moment she felt close to him again. Then he folded the newspaper and stood up. ‘I’d better put on my tie.’
‘Enjoy your board meeting.’
He kissed her forehead. ‘Good luck with North Africa.’ He went out.
Pauline returned to the West Wing but instead of going to the Oval Office she made her way to the press office. A dozen or so people, mostly quite young, sat at workstations, reading or keying. There were television screens around the walls, all showing different news shows. Copies of the morning’s papers were scattered everywhere.
Sandip Chakraborty had a desk in the middle of the room, which he preferred to a private office: he liked to be in the thick of things. He stood up as soon as Pauline entered. He was wearing his trademark suit-and-sneakers.
‘The trouble in Chad,’ she said to him. ‘Has that story had any traction?’
‘Until a few minutes ago, no, Madam President,’ Sandip said. ‘But James Moore just commented on NBC. He said you should not send American troops to intervene.’
‘We already have a counterterrorism force of a couple of thousand soldiers there.’
‘But he doesn’t know things like that.’
‘Anyway, on a scale of one to ten?’
‘It just went up from one to two.’
Pauline nodded. ‘Talk to Chester Jackson, please,’ she said. ‘Agree a short statement pointing out that we already have troops in Chad and other North African countries combating Islamic State in the Greater Sahara.’
‘Perhaps hinting at Moore’s ignorance? “Mr Moore doesn’t seem to realize…” That sort of thing?’
Pauline thought for a moment. She did not really like that kind of sniping in politics. ‘No, I don’t want Chess to come on like a smartass. Aim for the tone of one who patiently and kindly explains simple facts.’
‘Got it.’
‘Thank you, Sandip.’
‘Thank you, Madam President.’
She went to the Oval Office.
She met with the Treasury Secretary, spent an hour with the visiting Norwegian prime minister, and received a delegation of dairy farmers. She had her lunch on a tray in the Study: cold poached salmon with a salad. While eating her lunch she read a briefing note on the water shortage in California.
Next was her phone call with the president of France. Chess came to the Oval Office and sat with her, listening on an earpiece. Gus and several others were listening in remotely. There were also interpreters at each end, in case of need, although Pauline and President Pelletier normally got by without them.
Georges Pelletier had a relaxed, easy-going manner, but when push came to shove he would ask himself what was in France’s interests and do it ruthlessly, so there was no guarantee that Pauline would get her way.
Pauline began by saying: ‘Bonjour, Monsieur le President. Comment ça va, mon ami?’
The French president replied in perfect colloquial English. ‘Madam President, it’s very kind of you to pretend to speak French, and you know how much we appreciate it, but in the end it’s easier if we both speak English.’
Pauline laughed. Pelletier could be charming even when he was scoring a point. She said: ‘In any language, it’s a pleasure to talk to you.’
‘And for me.’
She pictured him in the Élysée Palace, sitting at the vast President’s Desk in the gilded Salon Doré, looking as if he was born there, elegant in a cashmere suit. She said: ‘It’s one o’clock in the afternoon here in Washington, so it must be seven in the evening in Paris. I guess you’re drinking champagne.’
‘My first glass of the day, obviously.’
‘Salut, then.’
‘Cheers.’
‘I’m calling about Chad.’
