I nod, looking at the book. A first edition of Alice in Wonderland. There are other bits too. Candles, some bath stuff, lingerie. Things a boyfriend would buy for her.
And a diamond.
“I didn’t know what the fuck to buy her. Didn’t really know what the protocol was in these situations.”
Isaac laughs and moves closer. “Not sure there is one.”
“Did you get her something?” I don’t know what I want him to say. Yes, he did – which would make me feel as if we were competing. Or if he hasn’t, I’d be cross on behalf of Blair.
“Yes. Got you both something.”
I look at him and raise my brows.
“Nothing that you can’t open in front of my sister, although that would’ve been an idea.”
I laugh quietly. It’s a good response and not for the first time, I wonder if Isaac can read my mind.
“When do you go back to work?” It’s an awkward question. He’s stayed away from London since the explosion, taking time away.
Letting Goldsmith dig his own grave.
There are calls for an immediate solution, a compromise so both countries can move on, which is what Blair wants.
A ceasefire.
Peace.
But Goldsmith is determined to have more. To make a stamp on a document that seals what his predecessor didn’t achieve.
“After New Year. The agreement should be wrapped up by then.” Isaac looks at me as if he wants to ask questions but isn’t sure exactly how to phrase them.
“You make it sound final.”
“It is. As soon as it’s done I’m resigning as Goldsmith’s advisor.”
“Because you’ve made him king?” I tease him for his nickname.
“Because I’m going to run against him.”
The tape is now a complete loss. Isaac steps closer and starts to unstick me, not elaborating on what he’s just said.
“For the same party?”
He nods. “Time for a shake up. There’s an appetite for it. Others in the party have had enough of the amount of time William’s had to sort this and they can see he’s nothing more than a puppet for his father.”
“Oil.”
Isaac doesn’t say anything. His expression doesn’t change.
“I heard your father had an interest in Norway having more than a say in Scottish business.”
“You’re not wrong, but you’re not right either.” He folds the paper, then guides my fingers to hold it down while he deals with the demon tape.
“You want to explain?”
“My father’s a self-serving, egotistical, greedy bastard. Does that about cover it?” Isaac’s voice is flat. Emotionless, as if he’s reading out the shipping forecast.
“What’s his agenda?”
