Claire was used to most Americans having that image in their heads when a new acquaintance heard her job title. They had the idea that she was a forger of relationships. Or that she was the person who took the fall whenever a scandal erupted abroad.
Both of those facts were true.
They didn’t grasp that she served as the public face of a large team of talented individuals who represented their nation and its interests in a particular country. A success wasn’t her success, it was the team’s success. And that team had several divisions: a political team, an economic team, a culture and education team. There were military experts and agricultural experts. An entire section was dedicated to helping U.S. citizens who encountered difficulties while abroad, whether that difficulty was as simple as a lost passport or as complex as being arraigned on criminal charges.
The success of an ambassador—and, therefore, of the mission—was all about the team. While some embassy staff changed with the election of a new president, others were part of an embassy’s fabric and stayed for years. Richard Cartwright had assured her that the embassy in San Rimini possessed a solid staff. More and more, however, she’d come to believe that Richard had undersold them.
The embassy’s staff was first rate.
Mark Rosenburg was one of those skilled staff members. Tonight, she’d discovered how astute and dedicated he was. He also had a sense of humor. She’d invited Mark and four additional members of his team to her home for a working dinner, during which they’d discussed the embassy’s ongoing cultural exchange programs. She’d warned them that while the house had a table, chairs, and other furniture that came with the property, her dishes and flatware were still in boxes and it would be pizza night and casual.
Mark had offered to pick up pizza from a place called Pizzeria Fassina on his way. He’d arrived with his briefing notes, two large pizzas, enough salad to feed an army, and a caddy filled with napkins and flatware. “I brought these from home,” he said, indicating the caddy as he’d set it on her table. “That way, we can eat salad with our pizza. But my wife wants it all back. Bummer, because I hate this pattern.”
Claire had eyed it all and said, “We’ll ensure she gets back every single fork. But I don’t recall ordering salad.”
“That’s because you’re new to town. You’ll learn. If you order pizza from Fassina, you have to get the salad.”
“Noted.”
They’d spent the evening reviewing the embassy’s current cultural exchange programs, then discussed a few ideas that had been tried in the past, but failed for one reason or another. Then she’d asked for everyone’s thoughts on future programs or one-time events. Claire learned that the trip to Emory and the Centers for Disease Control was the result of Mark’s initiative. After touring the University of San Rimini’s School of Public Health and learning about their research the previous year, he’d made phone calls to Emory University and the CDC to propose a week-long exchange. The graduate students who’d participated had returned to San Rimini full of ideas. Students from Emory had learned about San Rimini’s methods for handling emergency health situations and found ways to improve protocols in the United States.
It was exactly the type of program Claire wanted the embassy staff to pursue.
It had been a relaxing evening, particularly for a working dinner. There was an energy in the room Claire loved. Jokes were told, proposals batted around, and compliments paid, giving her the opportunity to learn more about the personalities of those on the staff. It was the type of atmosphere that could only come from having skilled people working on projects that spoke to their passions.
Delicious pizza and a spectacular salad capped it.
Afterward, Mark had stayed to help her clean. They’d hand washed the flatware and returned each piece to the caddy despite his protestations. “If you told my wife that it was irreparably damaged by some fault in your dishwasher, she’d believe you. Then I could buy something new. Something that doesn’t look like it belonged to her great-grandmother Matilda.”
“Did it?”
“No. We registered for it when we got married.”
“So you were part of the decision?”
“Let’s say that the wedding registry was my first diplomatic mission.”
Claire had grinned. “But you’re grumbling about it how many years later?”
“Six years, and never within earshot of my wife.” He paused, then asked, “What’s the lifespan of flatware?”
“Mark? Stick a fork in it.”
They’d had a good laugh. Then she’d broached the subject of her Uganda initiative. She’d updated Mark on her meeting with the king as soon as Mark had returned from Atlanta and asked him to think about approaches for the four parliament members King Eduardo had mentioned.
At first, he’d been surprised at Eduardo’s hesitancy, but when she’d told him about the Strada project, Mark had leaned back in his chair and whistled. “There’s been talk for a year or two that King Eduardo would be the one to spearhead the project. Then we heard that members of his staff planned to meet last week with key interest groups from the Central Business District. Now that we know he’s invested in making the changes, it puts a new spin on things. He’ll be cautious.”
Claire had nodded and they’d agreed to speak more tonight, after Mark had a chance to regroup from his trip.
As they crushed the empty pizza boxes, Mark said, “Sonia Selvaggi will be the toughest nut to crack. I’ve never met her, but I know her reputation. She’s a former prosecutor and spent the first part of her career sending criminals to jail. Since she’s been elected to parliament, she’s voted for stricter punishments for a range of crimes and is the type to see evil everywhere. It’s understandable, given that she’s had dealings with some nasty people. As far as your program goes, she’ll see the upside—that more education tends to drive down the crime rate—but she’ll have concerns about teacher safety. She’ll want to know how the teachers who work in these programs are protected when they’re in rural villages. What access do they have to emergency services? What is their living situation? How does it vary from village to village? Who checks in on them?”
It was good information to have before making an approach. Mark had insights on the other parliament members Eduardo mentioned, plus a fifth, who could often be swayed on matters regarding educational programs outside the country. “You’ll want that vote for insurance,” he told her.
Then he surprised her by saying, “You must have made quite the impression. It took Ambassador Cartwright a solid two months before he had a private audience with King Eduardo following the presentation of credentials. When he did, it was a half-hour meeting in the palace office with the king’s senior staff present. They eventually had dinners together and even met once or twice informally, but it took a long time.”
Mark’s tone was even as he spoke, but Claire felt the undercurrent. Mark wondered if there was something else going on, but didn’t want to ask.
“I imagine the king’s relationship with Ambassador Cartwright paved the way for me,” she said as Mark wiped the table and she tackled the countertop.
“Perhaps, though you clearly did something right the night of the credentials ceremony. The purpose of Saturday night’s dinner was for you to request a favor, not the other way around, and the invitation came from the king personally.”
She paused and leaned one hip against the counter. “What are you saying, Mark?”
“I’m saying that you’re more—” He hesitated, searching for the proper word, then settled on, “personable than Richard Cartwright in the eyes of the palace. Well, in the eyes of one particular person in the palace.”
“And?”
“And, Madam Ambassador, you’re handling it well so far.”
She gave him a smile that let him know she understood his concern, as well as his reluctance to be more specific with his new boss. “Thank you, Mark. Noted.”
“Noted.” He grinned and returned a towel t
o the rack. “Like ordering salad at Pizzeria Fassina?”
“Exactly. I’m getting to know the lay of the land.”
When they finished talking and he was ready to leave, she walked him to the door, wished him goodnight, then returned to the kitchen for a cup of tea. She usually did some reading before bed, but tonight her brain was worn out. Instead, she decided to sort through a box or two of her belongings and put things away.
“Eventually, every one of you will get unpacked,” she said aloud to the stack of boxes sitting inside the kitchen.
She was trying to decide which box to tackle when she spied Mark’s flatware caddy on the counter. Before she could pull up his number, she heard the distinctive buzz of the outer security gate. She went to the door and hit the button for the intercom. Sure enough, Mark had driven less than a block when he realized he’d left the flatware behind.
“I must still be tired from the trip to Atlanta,” Mark said, a sheepish note in his voice as he climbed the front stairs to retrieve the caddy from Claire. “Glad I remembered before I got home. My wife would’ve thought I did it on purpose.”
“When I meet her, I’ll be sure to tell her that you did.”
He laughed at that. As he backed down the front stairs, he added, “Let’s hope I don’t get a block away and realize I left a fork inside one of the pizza boxes.”
“If so, I’ll know you did that on purpose, because I counted them as they went back in the container.”
She waved, then closed the door again.
Not five minutes later, the gate buzzed again. Claire stifled a laugh. She eyeballed the kitchen counter, but saw nothing. She returned to the front door, scanning the house as she went, then hit the button for the intercom.
“I told you, Mark, stick a fork in it.”
“This is not Mark. I am here on behalf of King Eduardo.”
She hesitated. “Excuse me?”
“I am here on behalf of King Eduardo with an invitation, Madam Ambassador.”
She frowned. This wasn’t right. If anyone from the palace needed her, they’d have communicated via the embassy. She’d have received a call, not a visitor at her gate.
It had to be Mark, giving her grief about the impression she’d made on the king. She appreciated his sense of humor, but this was pushing too hard on the issue.
“Mark, if you don’t go home, I’ll tell your wife you hid a spoon under the sofa cushion.”
Silence came over the line. She waited. Finally, she said, “Mark?”
“Madam Ambassador, this is Miroslav Vulin. I am here on behalf of King Eduardo. I escorted you from your vehicle to the residence the night you dined with His Highness. I understand that this is irregular. If you would care to call the palace’s main security office and ask for the chief of operations, you will be connected to Chiara Ascardi. She can verify my identity and current location. Once she does, I would appreciate it if you could come to the gate. I will wait.”
The line clicked off.
Claire stepped back from the intercom. She wasn’t caught off guard very often, but the quiet confidence in the masculine voice left her rattled.
She moved back into the house. A number of security cameras covered the exterior of the home and she could view the feed from a computer that was hidden in a closet near the front door. She’d listened carefully as the embassy’s security team had instructed her on how to move from one screen to another, changing the view, but she hadn’t had the opportunity to practice. It took her several seconds to pull up a visual of the front gate.
A dark car idled at the curb. Between the car and the gate stood a boulder of a man in a crisp suit.
She closed her eyes. It was the man who’d walked her to King Eduardo’s apartment the night they’d had dinner together.
What had she said to him? To stick a fork in it?
She certainly didn’t need to call the palace and ask for his location.
She went to the door, strode down the stairs, and opened the gate herself rather than push the lock release as she had for Mark.
“Madam Ambassador,” Miroslav said, “that was a very quick phone call.”
“I didn’t need to call. My apologies, Miroslav. I was entertaining this evening and thought that a guest had returned.”
The big man’s brow furrowed. “And you wanted him to, ah, stick a fork in it? I have not heard that expression, but must assume it is not an expression of welcome.”
“It was a joke.”
At his silence, she prodded, “You said that you’re here on behalf of King Eduardo. What may I do for you?”
“If you would oblige me and get in the rear seat, everything can be explained.”
She didn’t bother to hide her astonishment. “You want me to get into a car? Right now? I don’t believe the embassy’s security team would be happy with me if I did that.”
“This is San Rimini and I work for His Highness. I assure you, you are perfectly safe.”
She glanced up and down the street. The houses, most of which were behind gates similar to hers, were well-lit and occupied, but the sidewalk was silent. It was rare not to see anyone strolling home from dinner at one of the nearby restaurants or walking their dog along the tree-lined street following a long workday.
The combination of utter stillness that surrounded them and the idling car’s high shine and tinted windows made her feel like she had stepped onto a movie set in the middle of the scene where bad things happened to the trusting heroine.
“Where is it you wish to go?” she asked. “If there’s something you need to tell me, why can’t you say it here?”
Miroslav reached for the door handle. “Please, Madam Ambassador.”
She took a step backward, but stopped when she spied a pair of shiny black shoes and knees clad in dark slacks. Then King Eduardo leaned forward enough for her to see his face in the shadows of the rear seat.
“We don’t need to go anywhere, Madam Ambassador,” he said softly. “But if you have a moment, I would like a word.”
Chapter 10
He’d gone about this all wrong.
Then again, Eduardo wasn’t sure how else he could have done it. The biggest downside of his position was the utter lack of privacy. He couldn’t exactly call the embassy and ask for the ambassador’s personal number. Not without several members of Claire’s staff—and his—finding out. Since Claire was both new to the country and a diplomat, he assumed it would be next to impossible for even his tech experts to track down her number. Nor did he have the option of grabbing a set of car keys, strolling out of the palace, and driving to the ambassador’s residence like a normal person.
Involving Miroslav—and only Miroslav—was the most discreet approach he could conceive. Even so, Eduardo had the bone deep feeling he’d made an error.
Claire looked from Eduardo to Miroslav, then her gaze swept the street once more, as if gauging whether or not this was a prank. Finally, she moved forward and slid onto the seat beside him. Once Miroslav closed the door, she turned so she faced him. “Your Highness, forgive me. I didn’t realize you were, well, here. I’d invited several staff members to the residence for a working dinner and they just left. When Miroslav rang, I thought one of them had come back.”
“Miroslav parked down the street when he saw a car about to pull away from the curb in front of your house,” he admitted. “We waited until he left and were about to take his spot when he returned.”
“Mark Rosenburg. He forgot his flatware.”
Eduardo blinked. “Flatware?”
“Mine isn’t unpacked, so he brought some with him.”
“I see.” He didn’t, but he wasn’t sure it was important.
He’d rehearsed a half-dozen ways to do this in the car on the way here, but words failed him now. In the confines of the rear seat, Claire became flesh and blood rather than the woman who’d occupied his thoughts for the past several days. There were details—the silver bracelet at her wrist, the light scent of her per
fume, the fact she’d dressed down from her office look by removing a jacket and rolling up the sleeves of her pink blouse—that didn’t enter his mind when he daydreamed about her, and those details had him tongue-tied.
He was far more used to having others tongue-tied in his presence. He didn’t like the sensation.
Worse, Claire was looking at him in expectation while Miroslav stood outside the car with his hands resting at his hips, monitoring the street as if he thought an assassin might leap from behind one of the trees at any moment.
If any of the neighbors stepped out to walk a dog or smoke a cigarette, Miroslav would scare them to death, even though the locals knew the residence was that of the U.S. Ambassador and subject to security monitoring.
The man had a gift for intimidation.
“I assume you have a purpose for this visit, Your Highness?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t wait to hear the cloak and dagger reason.” Her smile was wide and her voice light, but her eyes held a hint of trepidation. “I hope you aren’t here to renegotiate our deal. I have a meeting with Franco Galli on Monday. I’d hate to believe it’s for naught.”
“No. This is not in regard to our deal. Though when I told my staff about the deal at our Monday status meeting, I feared a rebellion.”
“Sergio Ribisi?”
“And my press secretary. And a few others.” Sergio had called in two other political consultants when Eduardo told his senior staff what had transpired at dinner. They’d come to the conclusion that the deal wouldn’t matter, as Claire was unlikely to find support. Then his brain replayed what she’d just said. “You have a meeting with Franco Galli? Already?”
To Kiss a King (Royal Scandals: San Rimini Book 6) Page 10
