“My grandmother,” Genny said with a happy smile and a soft sigh. “On our farm in Vietnam while the President waited in the kitchen and my sister Jacqui—who is so very shameless—flirted with him. Gram said I already knew who was inside of my heart and I simply decided she was right because Gram always is.”
They all turned to Beatrice. She grimaced before biting off one of the reindeer’s heads and rinsing it down with some tea, “Frank told me. I had to go and help invade Panama before I figured out he was right.”
Then they all turned back to Anne.
She bit off the gingerboy’s and then the gingergirl’s heads, eliciting a grin from Beatrice, then replied with her mouth still full, “I still don’t know squat.”
They all laughed, but Genny’s smile told her that she wasn’t fooling anyone, not even herself.
How could she not love the lonely boy turned into the magnificent man?
Chapter 5
“What do you mean you have to go?”
The days flew by as Anne settled into a lovely routine at One Observatory Circle. Her dinner with the First Family had been leaked by the First Lady’s press office and duly noted by the gossip columns. The media’s tone had shifted immediately from “Who is this tramp?” to “Is the nation’s most eligible bachelor finally off the market?” An elegant move by an elegant First Lady.
As the spotlight shifted to the Darlingtons, Ma had swung into action. She’d been very pleased for Anne—other than being a little huffy about finding out through the media rather than directly from her daughter. Anne had called her as soon as the news broke, but CNN had beat her call to Tennessee. There was little the two of them hadn’t shared over the years and her mother had been as enthusiastic as her new female friends had been after dinner that night.
Mary Annette Darlington also was the advertising and marketing specialist of the family. By day three of Anne’s affair with the Vice President, the Darlington Estate web site had shifted in tone. Family history press packets appeared, tracing their roots back to Colonial times, as did individual profiles—Anne’s cast her in an uncomfortably heroic light. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, for all of Ma Darlington’s facts were true, but they made Anne sound like so much more than she knew she was.
A week passed, and most of a second, but Cornelia Day had become no more pleasant than at their first meeting. Anne had developed some patience with her constant animosity. After all, protecting the Vice President was a concern they shared. But that one common shared goal certainly wasn’t enough to warrant a peace accord.
“Thanks, Jim,” Zack said to the Navy steward who was serving them breakfast. Short stack with coffee for her, tall stack with sausage, bacon, orange juice, and coffee for him.
“Thank you, James,” she echoed, but her heart wasn’t in it this morning.
The sunlight, for a century so carefully measured and timed by the Naval Observatory, shone down out of a clear blue sky oblivious that the USNO now supplied the nation’s time markers from an atomic clock, rather than a solar sighting.
Zack had taken her to see it one evening, a short and very chilly walk across the campus. It consisted of a dozen racks of non-descript computer equipment and a sign that said “USNO Master Clock” in bright red electronic letters. Another displayed the official time out to the kazillionths of a second. They’d also walked through the largest astronomical library in the US which was impressive and almost utterly meaningless. She’d gotten to peek through a twenty-six-inch refractor telescope, which was oddly forty-feet long and showed startling objects. Clearly the technicians were used to looking at far more strange and esoteric things than a Horsehead Nebula, so she had not delayed them long.
Zack’s Dining Room at One Observatory Circle had a long formal walnut table with elegant chairs. It could easily seat a dozen, instead the two of them sat across from each other at one end. One of the stewards, probably Sharelle for she had the best eye, had placed the flowers so that the table didn’t look empty, but rather their part of it was simply smaller. The fire snapped warm and bright in the fireplace, a simple garland draped over the mantelpiece. The room had none of the homey touches that the First Lady had placed about the White House Residence.
Despite spending nights at the heart of American national timekeeping, Anne rarely cared what time it was more accurately than morning versus afternoon. But now their time together was growing short and she was discovering that she cared very much.
“When?”
“I fly out to Italy this evening.”
“Tonight?” Anne’s heart stopped along with her fork halfway from plate to mouth.
“The Climate Conference at Courmayeur. I’ve been working on it all week,” he was looking at her in a slightly bemused way.
“Courmayeur.” By sheer force of will, Anne managed to get her fork underway again and placed the first bite of pancake in her mouth. She chewed because something was there, not because she could taste it. She’d heard, she knew, but it simply hadn’t impinged on her world until this moment.
“Italy. We’ve grown tired of the idiot rioters both for and against the environment. Rather than some major city, we’re going to meet very quietly in a tiny Italian resort.”
“You’re leaving for Italy this evening.” And what was she supposed to do? For an entire, glorious ten days, she’d done absolutely no thinking. All she’d allowed herself to do was feel.
The days had been spent touring about DC, more at the whim of the agent the Secret Service had assigned to guarding her than her own. Detra was a overtly positive, buxom blond who was immensely entertaining.
“You’re my first protectee you know. Solo I mean. I’ve been in the Protection Detail for over a year, an agent for three years since I qualified. So you shouldn’t feel worried about my being some beginner. I haven’t lost anyone yet,” she barely slowed down for a perky smile filled with perfect teeth. “What do you mean you’ve never seen the Declaration? Your file said that you were D.A.R. One of your direct relatives signed.”
Her mother was from Georgia which had been one of the original states, and had brought her membership as a Daughter of the American Revolution across state lines to Johnny Darlington’s farm, along with her accent. No one could ever tell whether mother or daughter had answered the phone, not even Daniel, which had led to some spectacular opportunities to give him lectures throughout the years.
“That’s huge,” Detra had proclaimed. “Let’s go find it!” And they’d be off.
Evenings had been spent with Zack. She’d dined twice more at the White House, once with the First Family and once with just Daniel, Alice, and Zack in the upstairs kitchen. They’d attended a holiday concert of Handel’s Messiah in the National Cathedral. It was one of the most moving things she ever heard; the space itself was beautiful enough to be a religious experience even without the music.
And there’d been a “strictly social” dinner at the Speaker’s house in Georgetown. Even though Zack and the Speaker were from different parties, it was clear they were quite good friends. And the Speaker’s wife had made no attempt to disguise her joy at the social coup of being the first to host Anne Darlington.
Anne had been to far too many formal dinners to disappoint and had forced herself to purchase a second dress for the occasion.
Now, whether her reputation thrived or crashed and burned, Mrs. Speaker would gain bragging rights in either direction. Ultimately, despite the circumstances, she’d found herself liking the Speaker’s wife.
That had left only a few evenings at One Observatory Circle. The second night she’d worried about how to discretely move her meager belongings from the White House to the Vice President’s without imposing. Zack had solved that by simply asking if she wanted to pack her bags after the First Family’s dinner.
It was the nights that were so new to her. They soon felt as if she’d never been an
ywhere else. Anne had never lived with a man before. Stayed with them on occasion, but there was no doubt that she and the Vice President were living together. When you were handing off the toothpaste tube while brushing your teeth together in the same bathroom, there was no avoiding the fact.
And tonight she’d be living…where?
“I was rather hoping you could come with me, unless you have somewhere else you have to be.”
“Italy?” Anne knew she was being thick headed, but couldn’t seem to shake it off. She’d had her morning coffee. Goodness, she’d had amazing wake-up sex and a beautiful man to scrub her back in the shower, though he’d insisted on washing her hair each morning which took forever to dry. But he enjoyed it so much, she hadn’t had the heart to use a shower cap.
Still, her mind was having trouble keeping up with the new play that had just been called. “Italy,” she repeated once more.
“Uh-huh,” Zack was clearly enjoying the moment, grinning at her over a sip of his orange juice.
She took a deep breath and held it. Not that she was all that great at doing so for very long, but she’d always told herself that if you couldn’t make a decision in the amount of time she could hold her breath, then it wasn’t time to make it.
Did she want to be with Zack? More than any man in her past…or that she could imagine in her future, but she couldn’t hold her breath long enough to think out the consequences of that one.
Did she want to travel to Italy? She loved Italy.
Did she want to travel to Italy with the Vice President? That answer was far less clear.
She could see in his eyes that there was more than merely the travel. It was the quiet of the man facing the boy’s rail yard picture.
If she traveled with him, she would be labeled “mistress.” They both knew that.
If she traveled with him, it would mean far more was happening between them than an incredibly pleasant affair. It meant they were lovers who were…
Anne was running out of air. She needed time on that last point but that quiet in his eyes worried her. She didn’t want to hurt Zack’s feelings either. To cover the small gasp to refill her aching lungs, she reached out with a fork and snagged one of his link sausages and bit off the end.
“Well, Mr. Vice President,” even in the most intimate moments, she had yet to wholly drop the honorific, “that doesn’t strike me as much closer to the North Pole.”
“Actually, Expedition Leader, Courmayeur is well north of DC. I checked for you. It is almost four hundred miles farther north.”
“So is the state of Maine. I’ll have to inspect my expedition supplies and get back to you.” She could see the hurt on his features and she reached across to take his hand for a moment.
He squeezed it very hard as if holding on for dear life.
She felt much the same way. “Just give me a few hours. I remember you mentioning this, but I never thought I’d go along.”
He nodded and managed to dredge up an easy smile for her, but she could see that it cost him to do so. She almost said yes right then, but that was the happy mistress’ answer, not the lovers’. And definitely not the—
Anne chopped off that thought hard, though it wasn’t far away. If she was ever going to spend her life with a man, it would be someone like Zachary Thomas. Just like him. But she didn’t want merely to be some man’s wife no matter who he was.
She did her best to return his smile and could only hope that he didn’t see what it cost her.
# # #
They rode to the White House together in silence, where Cornelia eyed her coolly as the Vice President disappeared into his first meeting. Every single agency in DC wanted input on what he was going to say at the upcoming conference.
When the US had announced that they were sending the VP, it had forced all of the other countries attending to step up their game. Second- or third-level department heads were being replaced by vice-ministers, and even undersecretaries were completely passé. Now it would be a conference of people who could actually make decisions.
Anne didn’t know why she was hesitating here in Zack’s outer office.
Apparently Cornelia didn’t either. She slowly melted from cold to curious, without quite looking up from her desk.
Anne kept looking over her shoulder, as it felt like there was another person in the room. In a way, there was. Someone had decorated the VP’s office into a full Victorian-style Christmas. It was the happy-ever-after of Scrooge; the party that Mr. Fezziwig would have thrown in Scrooge’s youth. Garlands and a wreath sported bows in period fabrics. Some fine weavings—clearly museum pieces—had been hung on the walls. And a girl-mannequin in full attire stood looking out the window at the EEOB across the street. She was complete with a Christmas basket and, Anne peeked beneath the bright cloth, a—she tapped it with a fingernail—plastic figgy pudding.
Beyond the window, another light snow was falling on DC. Mid-December had not eased off from the chill and bluster that had begun the month which still made the parka her coat of choice.
“Is there something I can do for you, Ms. Darlington?” Cornelia was as polite as could be, a dangerous sound. How little would it take for her to maneuver Anne’s reputation right into the mud or… But she hadn’t. Instead she had kept the Vice President right on schedule and prepared him for the upcoming trip.
“Was it your idea?” Anne wasn’t quite sure where the question had come from.
“The Victorian décor? No way.” It was the one hint Anne had heard of her California background—an accent and speech pattern otherwise very well hidden.
“No. Sending the Vice President to the climate conference. It’s brilliant actually,” and it was more brilliant each time she thought about it.
“No. It was the Vice President’s. Many have labeled it political as the President is already well into his second term, but he doesn’t care about how it looks. He cares about the results.” Cornelia’s voice had once again grown haughty.
But Anne could only nod. That fit the man she knew. The Coloradan who had complained about the failing snow on the ski areas in the same breath as the raging wildfires across his home state and others. President. Somehow she hadn’t thought about Zachary Thomas being the next obvious candidate. An immensely popular one even without the climate conference.
“Sorry,” Cornelia offered in a contrite voice. “You bring out the nasty in me. I don’t even know why.”
Anne looked at her in surprise. “I thought that was obvious. Either you love him yourself or you are convinced that I’m not good enough for him. You won’t find me arguing on either point.”
“You are wrong. You are very good for him. That is the problem.”
Anne decided that sitting down would be a good idea at that moment. Suddenly she was the shortest one in the room, both the mannequin and the seated Cornelia towered above her. “How is that a problem?”
Cornelia didn’t fuss with her pen or straighten her notepad. Instead she simply folded her hands atop her desk and looked at Anne with a forthrightness unbecoming to a Southerner.
“Already he depends on you. I often hear him discussing ideas in meetings that are unusual for him. You make a thoughtful man think even more deeply.”
Anne could only blink in surprise. She and Zack often spoke about whatever he was reading; over a meal, riding in the motorcade, or curled up together. It gave them something to talk about other than themselves. But that she was affecting his decisions was another new idea in an already busy morning.
“When I joined him, I had a terrible crush on him. I was fresh out of college at twenty—three year program; an overachiever and valedictorian like yourself. But he was already thirty. I knew I had a choice: take a chance that he would have me and perhaps ruin his career with my youth, or work for a man I respect immensely. I chose the latter.”
Anne still was u
nable to move under the steady weight of Cornelia’s gaze.
“You are much nearer his age and I can see how you are changing him for the better. He is different with you than any other woman and if you suddenly decide to go, the effect could be devastating—not only on the news cycle, but on him as well. He’s never taken anyone to see the Conservatory for Christmas before. It is something that he does every year and for some reason it is very private to him. Yet he took you. I don’t know whether or not to trust you, Ms. Darlington.”
Anne knew the reason behind Zack’s privacy and once again hurt for the lonely boy alone each Christmas, journeying to watch the model trains. She was also in awe that he had shared it with her. Had she returned the favor? Anne had shared her body and her joy with him, but she hadn’t shared but a glimpse of her own inner turmoil. It had taken her a decade of chafing at the bit before she’d known that the farm was no longer for her. She had come to DC more as a declaration to herself than to Daniel that she was moving on.
But she didn’t know to where.
“Would it make you feel any better, Ms. Day, that I don’t trust myself either?”
She tipped her head in thought, a long elegant gesture. For the first time Anne could see the nerves behind the careful façade. Cornelia presented the DC shark to the world, but there was someone softer inside and it made Anne feel more kindly toward her.
“I’ll make you a deal, Cornelia.”
The woman arched a single eyebrow at her.
“I’ll make sure that you’re the third to know if I turn out to be trustworthy, next in line after the Vice President.”
“And who before that?” her tone turned suspicious.
“Me.”
Cornelia actually laughed, a wholly unexpected sound that lightened her face. For an instant a much younger girl showed through.
She reached across the desk and offered a firm handclasp which Anne returned in surprise.
“I may like you yet, Ms. Darlington.”
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