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“You just get better and better,” he said, placing an arm around her shoulder. “I wonder if you could do me a favor?”
“Anything, Pops.” Jessica listened to her father’s request, grinned and quietly left the table.
* * *
“What a fascinating job, being an ambassador,” said Emma as an affogato was placed in front of her.
“Especially when they give you Rome,” said Patrick Sullivan. “But I’ve often wondered what it must be like to chair a great hospital, with so many different and complex issues every day—not just the patients, doctors, nurses and—”
“The car park,” said Emma. “I could have done with your diplomatic skills when it came to that particular problem.”
“I’ve never had a car parking problem,” admitted the ambassador.
“And neither did I, until I decided to charge for parking at the infirmary, when one of the local papers launched a campaign to get me to change my mind and described me as a heartless harridan!”
“And did you change your mind?”
“Certainly not. I’d authorized over a million pounds of public money to be spent building that car park, and I didn’t expect the general public to use it for free parking whenever they wanted to go shopping. So I decided to charge the same rate as the nearest municipal car park, with concessions for hospital staff and
patients, so it would only be used by the people it had been originally intended for. Result: uproar, protest marches, burning effigies! This, despite a terminally ill patient having to be driven around in circles for over an hour because her husband was unable to find a space. And if that wasn’t enough, when I bumped into the paper’s editor and explained why it was necessary, all he said was, of course you’re right, Emma, but a good campaign always sells newspapers.”
Mr. Sullivan laughed. “On balance, I think I’ll stick to being the American ambassador in Rome.”
“Grandma,” said a youthful voice behind her. “A little memory of today.” Jessica handed her a drawing of Emma making a point to the ambassador.
“Jessica, it’s wonderful. I’ll definitely show it to the editor of my local paper, and explain why I was wagging my finger.”
* * *
“How’s Giles enjoying the Lords?” asked Harry.
“He isn’t,” said Karin. “He’d rather be back in the Commons.”
“But he’s a member of the Cabinet.”
“And he’s not sure he will be for much longer. Now the Tories have elected Margaret Thatcher as their leader, Giles feels they will have a good chance of winning the next election. And I confess I could vote for her,” whispered Karin, before she quickly added, “What’s the latest on your campaign to have Anatoly Babakov released from prison?”
“Not a lot of progress, I’m afraid. The Russians won’t even let us know if he’s still alive.”
“And how’s Mrs. Babakova bearing up?”
“She’s moved to New York and is renting a small apartment on the Lower West Side. I visit her whenever I’m in the States. Yelena remains an eternal optimist and continues to believe that they’re just about to release Anatoly. I haven’t the heart to tell her it isn’t going to happen in the foreseeable future, if ever.”
“Let me give the problem some thought,” said Karin. “After spending so many years behind the Iron Curtain, I might be able to come up with something that would irritate the Russians enough to reconsider their position.”
“You might also mention my lack of progress to your father. After all, he hates the communists every bit as much as you do,” said Harry, carefully observing how Karin reacted. But she gave nothing away.
“Good idea. I’ll discuss it with him when I next go down to Cornwall,” she said, sounding as if she meant it, although Harry doubted if she would ever raise the subject of Anatoly Babakov with her controller.
“Karin,” said Jessica, handing her a copy of the menu. “A little gift to mark our first meeting.”
“I’ll treasure it,” said Karin, giving her a warm hug.
* * *
“Do you ever hear from Gwyneth or Virginia?” asked Grace.
“Gwyneth occasionally,” said Giles. “She’s teaching English at Monmouth School, which should please you, and has recently become engaged to one of the house masters.”
