“The United Kingdom,” Nigel began in that clipped, deliberate cadence of his, “places great value on the so-called special relationship between our two great nations.It is a bond forged in blood, sustained by mutual respect, and—until very recently—above the sort of cavalier recklessness demonstrated by your Mr.Henley.”
I kept my expression neutral, though inside I was composing a strongly worded letter to Henley that would make his ears bleed.
Nigel continued, pacing now, hands clasped behind his back like a headmaster addressing a failing student.“To suggest—even in jest—that the United States has contingency plans for a hypothetical Scottish secession is not merely indiscreet, it is reckless.The Scottish question is a matter of great sensitivity.Your government’s official position is one of neutrality.I trust that remains the case?”
“Absolutely,” I said, my jaw tight.“The United States does not take sides on the internal constitutional arrangements of our closest ally.”
Nigel’s lips thinned, which I was beginning to understand was as close to a smile as the man ever got.“Good.Then I shall expect a formal statement to that effect by end of business today.And the officer in question?”
“Will be dealt with internally,” I said, keeping my voice firm.“You have my word.”
“As I was saying,” he intoned, “such indiscretions jeopardise trust.The Foreign Office expects a thorough reprimand, and assurances that this sort of… flippancy will never occur again.”
“Of course,” I said firmly, locking my expression into business mode.“The officer will be reprimanded immediately, and I will do whatever it takes to ensure this stays out of the American press.You have my word, Mr.Thorne.”
His lips thinned, and he gave me a curt nod.“See that you do.You are, after all, in charge of this mission now.It is your responsibility to keep your diplomats in line.”
With that, he turned on his heel and stalked out, his aide scurrying after him like a nervous cocker spaniel.
The door clicked shut behind them, and for a few moments Paula and I just sat there, staring at each other in utter silence.
Then it happened: the dam broke, and laughter bubbled out of me so hard and fast it was practically a cackle.Paula clutched the arm of her chair like she was holding on for dear life, and her face went red with relief.
“Oh my God,” I wheezed, pressing a hand over my chest.“Was that—did that really just happen?”
Paula nodded, eyes wide, still fighting to catch her breath.“Bryce, I swear to you, if he’d been any colder, we’d all have frozen solid right here in your office.Forget global warming—just put Nigel Thorne in charge of the thermostat.”
I doubled over laughing again.My nerves had been strung so tight while he was in here that now the release left me practically dizzy.
“No wonder we cracked up like that,” I said between gasps.“It’s not because he was intentionally funny, it’s because we survived.”
Paula leaned back in her chair, blowing out a long breath.“Honestly, you handled him brilliantly.But tell me—have you ever watchedThe Crown?”
I blinked at her, still grinning.“Of course.I binged it on the plane ride from Sydney to D.C.before I flew out here.It was either that or rewatchParks and Recfor the millionth time.”
“Well,” Paula said, her lips twitching mischievously, “Nigel Thorne is just like Tommy Lascelles, Queen Elizabeth’s private secretary.In the flesh.Same posture, same holier-than-thou vibe, same way of making you feel like you’re five years old and have just knocked over the royal teapot.”
That set me off again, but Paula wasn’t finished.She straightened in her seat, folded her hands primly in her lap, and pitched her voice into this perfectly imperious register.
“‘Ambassador Lewis,’” she intoned in a low, frostbitten British accent, “‘the special relationship is not some trifle to be frittered away on careless words and ill-considered remarks.It is a sacred trust, upon which the fate of two nations rests.Do kindly remember that the next time one of your people takes it upon themselves to wax lyrical about Calton Hill.’”
Her delivery was so perfect—stiff-backed, eyes narrowed in disapproval, chin tilted just a hair too high—that I nearly fell out of my chair.
“Oh my God, stop!”I cried, covering my face with my hands.“That’s exactly him!If you keep this up, I’ll never be able to look at him again without thinking ofThe Crown.”
“Which is precisely why we can never do this again,” Paula said, her voice returning to normal, though her eyes were still sparkling.“Mark my words, the next time you’re in a meeting with him, you’ll be picturing me as Tommy Lascelles and you’ll lose it.”
I groaned dramatically and leaned back in my chair.“And then it’ll be my diplomatic career down the drain, because I couldn’t stop laughing at Nigel bloody Thorne.”
As if on cue, my intercom buzzed.I shot Paula a look—half suspicion, half dread—and pressed the button.“Yes?”
“Ambassador,” my secretary’s pleasant voice came through, “Mr.Chris Tennant is on the line.He asked me to remind you of your appointment this evening at Clarence Atelier.”
“Tell Mr.Tennant I’ll be there,” I said, trying to keep my tone dignified, but probably failing.“Thank you.”
The line clicked off, and Paula cocked one perfectly arched brow at me.“You’re actually looking forward to a fitting, aren’t you?”
“Don’t sound so shocked,” I said, smirking.“Occasionally I do wear clothes that aren’t off the rack.”
