“This whole agency project is in their favor,” Thompson said. “Crispin, much as I hate to interrupt a fellow guest when he’s clearly having such a good time, but do you think you could broach the subject of the High Angel base to Campbell? It would sound better coming from someone with your authority.”
“Oh, bloody hell,” Crispin grumbled. He downed his sparkling gin. “Why do I come to these weekends?”
Thompson, Patricia, and Ramon watched him walk across the room to the corner beyond the piano where Campbell and Isabella were having their very public'tête-à-tête. He stopped a waiter and grabbed a glass of black velvet before breaking in. Isabel welcomed the Senator with a fast flutter of her eyelashes.
“A lovely girl,” Ramon said. “You’re very lucky.”
“I know,” Patricia said. “But I’m old and boring, so I don’t suppose I’ll have her for long. Once the novelty of being so close to the future President wears off, she’ll move on. I did when I was that age.”
“I don’t even remember being that age anymore,” Thompson said. “And not from erasing the memories, either. They just fade after so much time.”
“To forgotten youth,” Patricia said, and raised her glass. “May we always be reminded by envying those who have it.”
“Amen.” Ramon touched his glass to hers, then with Thompson. They all drank the toast.
“If you are right about Chairwoman Gall being reluctant,” Thompson said to Ramon, “may we presume upon you to broach the subject with her?”
“I’d sooner put my cock in a food processor and switch it to puree.”
“You were married to my sister. How difficult can this be?”
Ramon put his head back and laughed. “Ah, I’d forgotten what this family was like.” He clicked his fingers at a waiter, who hurried over with some canapés. “All right, I might stop by at High Angel after this weekend. But I’m still not convinced that this agency is in the full interests of the African caucus.”
Thompson’s good humor never faltered. “Then I’m sure we’ll manage to find something that will convince you before you leave.”
They went through to the main dining room for the evening meal. Justine had arranged the seating as best she could given the state of play so far. Not that she expected much maneuvering during the meal, but the options were open. This time she wound up next to Campbell, though she frowned when she saw Isabel seating herself beside Ramon, who appeared more than happy with the arrangement. Isabel had taken Gerhard’s seat, leaving the DRNG Senator to sit next to Patricia, who Justine had wanted to place with Rafael. The Halgarths had done remarkably little in the way of negotiations so far. She knew Larry had talked to her father that morning, offering provisional support for the agency, but that was all. No doubt their cards would be on the table by tomorrow.
Text rolled down her virtual vision. YOUR EX IS BEING A PAIN, Thompson sent.
DON’T MAKE IT SO PERSONAL, she shot back. WHAT DOES HE WANT?
I’VE NO IDEA. I THOUGHT WE’D GOT HIM WITH THE HIGH ANGEL ASSEMBLY PLATFORM CONTRACTS. NOW HE’S SEEN HOW EVERYONE IS LINING UP BEHIND THE AGENCY, HE’S ANGLING FOR MORE.
I ALWAYS KNEW HE’D MAKE A GOOD POLITICIAN ONE DAY, YOU AND GORE NEVER BELIEVED ME. WE’RE PLAYING OUR HAND TOO OPENLY. IT LEAVES US VULNERABLE TO THOSE WE NEED TO ALLY.
YOU’LL HAVE TO BRING HIM BACK IN.
I’LL DO WHAT I CAN, BUT I’M MORE CONCERNED ABOUT THE HALGARTHS.
THEY’RE SOLID.
CARE TO BET ON THAT?
When the meal was over and the party had broken up, Gore went back to the study. With his latest retrosequenced modifications he needed at most three hours out of every twenty-four to sleep, and often managed on a lot less. As he prowled along the ceiling-high bookshelves he smelled the others as they went back to the lodges in the garden. Isabella, with her residual scents of the many men who for one reason or another had brushed up close against her that evening, herself redolent with the delicate smell of lily and orchid from the daubs of perfume on her neck. Her aroma stretched thin as she hurried across the grass, avoiding the paths, moving away from Patricia’s metallic tang. Ramon DB’s mélange of cologne and alcohol-laced perspiration awaited her, the two merging together as his lodge door closed behind her. Their combined odor built up heavily within the tight confines of the master bedroom, saliva pheromones and the sugar acid whiff of champagne mingled with it.
Behind Gore’s impassive gold face there was a stirring of amusement as the hot stench of sex began to gush out from their bodies. While in Patricia’s bedroom there was only the overpowering smell of pine soap as she drew her bath. No alcohol, no bitter salts of disappointment prickling her skin. She was content.
So Isabella was the go-between, the one who would bind Ramon back into the deal, making him the promises her mistress had preauthorized to secure his vote. And of course, she had a passing resemblance to Justine. A seduction of both mind and body. Poor, lucky Ramon.
