Jack Higgins - The White House Connection

'You look okay to me, Lady Helen.'

'All the world and his wife will be there tonight, Hedley.'

'Including Cohan?'

She smiled. 'I must look my best. Now go and get ready. I'll be with you in a quarter of an hour.'

The Forum for Irish Peace in the Dorchester ballroom was a splendid black tie affair. The Prime Minister had not yet arrived, but several members of the Cabinet had. The guest list certainly included the great and the good, and Dillon, surprised as always at the people pulled in for such a thing, reached for a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. He was wearing an evening suit with raw silk lapels.

Hannah, in a dull red silk suit by Versace, said, 'Take it easy, Dillon, it's a long night ahead.'

'You look grand, girl,' he told her. 'Fit for a three-page spread in Vogue magazine.'

'Flattery really will get you nowhere.'

'I know, and isn't that the terrible shame?'

Ferguson approached. 'Everything all right?'

'Jesus, Brigadier,' Dillon said. 'When I was a wee boy in Belfast , my grandmother would take me to the lounge in the old Grand Central for afternoon tea. The grandeur of it. She loved that. The head waiter wore a dinner suit just like yours.'

'Sticks and stones, Dillon,' Ferguson said. 'And my patience, as usual, is wearing dangerously thin.' He frowned. 'Good God, it's Lady Helen Lang,' and he turned from Dillon as she came through the crowd.

They embraced. 'So nice to see you, Charles.' She turned and saw Dillon. 'Why, it's Mr Dillon, isn't it?'

Dillon took her hand. 'A great pleasure to meet you again, Lady Helen.'

'I couldn't resist coming. I live in South Audley Street just round the corner. Terribly convenient. Every time I feel like a cocktail, I walk down to the Piano Bar.'

At that moment, there was a buzz over by the main door. Hannah appeared. 'The Prime Minister, Brigadier.'

Ferguson said, 'So sorry, Helen.' He nodded to Dillon. 'Get Lady Helen another glass of champagne, there's a good chap. With me, Chief Inspector.'

They walked away. Lady Helen said, 'You sometimes appear to be on the dangerous edge of things, Mr Dillon.'

'How very astute.' He grabbed two glasses from a passing tray and gave her one. 'There you are.' He glanced around. 'A grand bunch of people.'

'Who you despise totally.'

He raised his glass. 'To you, Lady Helen, and me, the only two people in a world gone mad.'

She smiled as she returned his toast, and for some reason, he was aware of a coldness, a terrible unease. Now why should that be?

'Forum for Irish peace.' He shook his head. 'Seven hundred years coming and too late for some.' He took a deep breath. 'God save us, but I'm sorry.'

'Ah, you're thinking of my son,' she smiled, very calm. 'If you work for Charles, you'll know my background, but as a great writer once said, the past is a foreign country, Mr Dillon. No, we should never dwell on the past. We must manage with what we've got.'

'A thought,' Dillon said. 'But not much of a comfort.'

At that moment, an ageing lady approached. 'My dear Helen, so nice to see you.'

They touched cheeks and Helen Lang said, 'You two won't know each other. The Duchess of Stevely, Sean Dillon.'

'A considerable pleasure.' Dillon kissed her hand.

'Oh, I do like the Irish,' the Duchess said. 'Such rogues. Are you a rogue, Mr Dillon?'

Helen said, 'Well, he works for Charles Ferguson.'

'There you are then,' the Duchess said.

'I'll love you and leave you.' Dillon withdrew.

He saw Ferguson talking to a Cabinet minister, Hannah waiting discreetly close at hand. She came across to him.

' Cohan just came in. He's talking to the American Ambassador in the corner over there. It's difficult to keep track in a crowd like this.'

'Girl, dear, whatever else, no one is going to do anything very dramatic to him at an affair like this.'

'You think he's going to be all right?' She shook her head. 'The Brigadier seems so certain.'

'He's older than you are, that means he's got it right more often. On the other hand, how often has he been wrong?'

'I'd rather it didn't happen on our patch if it is going to happen,' she said.

At that moment, there was a flurry of movement at the entrance and the Prime Minister came in with a small entourage.

'Come on,' Hannah said, and moved through the crowd to Ferguson, Dillon at her back.

The three of them stood together, watching the Prime Minister's progress as he shook the occasional hand or paused for a few words. Finally, he reached the American Ambassador, Cohan still with him. There were smiles all round. In fact, it was the first time Dillon had seen the Senator smiling.

'He seems happy enough now,' Ferguson said.

'For the moment, sir,' Hannah observed. 'Only for the moment.'

The emcee, resplendent in a scarlet coat, called, 'Ladies and Gentlemen, the Prime Minister.'

All conversation died instantly as the Prime Minister moved to the microphone. 'Your Grace, my lords, ladies and gentlemen. We live in exciting times. Peace in Ireland is literally within our grasp and what I want to say to you is this

He finished to considerable applause and was away in an instant, glad-handing his way to the door with his people.

'Now what, sir?' Hannah asked.

'From the look of that splendid buffet, I'd say eating time is here,' Ferguson told her. 'So let's get to it.'

'What about Cohan, sir?'

'You two take turns dogging his footsteps.'

'Although if anything was going to happen, it wouldn't happen here?' Dillon said. 'Is that your drift?'

'Exactly.'

Hannah said, 'I'm not so hungry, so I'll take first watch.'

'As you like, my dear. I see he's still with the American Ambassador.'

She turned and started to push her way through the crowd.

Cohan stood with the Ambassador and a number of people in the corner, which was some sort of protection against the crowd. He was drinking too much and sweating, all down to stress, of course. He felt awful and the truth was he was frightened. He hadn't said a word to the Ambassador about his present situation. After all, how could he? He'd noticed Ferguson, Dillon and Hannah Bernstein earlier and in a sense, their presence made things worse. He reached for another glass of champagne, as a waiter hovered and jolted a rather pleasant-looking woman standing close by.

'I'm terribly sorry.'

'That's quite all right,' Helen Lang told him.

At that moment, Cohan saw Hannah Bernstein pushing her way through the crowd and was conscious of immense irritation. Why in the hell wouldn't they leave him alone?

The Ambassador put a hand on his shoulder. 'Are you okay, Michael? You're sweating.'

'Oh, sure,' Cohan said. 'I started a cold on the flight over.' Suddenly, he realized that, for the moment at least, he had to get out of there. 'I'll just run up to my suite and swallow some aspirin.'

Helen Lang, close enough to hear, turned at once and worked her way through the crowd. She paused at the door to check in her purse for the passkey that Hedley had given her, then walked out.

Cohan finished his champagne, saw Hannah standing close by at one of the bars, a glass in her hand, and his irritation turned to anger. He started to push through the crowd, reached the ballroom entrance, paused briefly to check behind him, aware that she also was on the move, then made for the men's room and went in. It was busy enough for him to have to wait. He really was sweating now, and found himself checking faces in the mirror. He clashed water on his face, took a hand towel from the attendant and dried himself.

There were several men going out together in a rather boisterous crowd. He moved out behind them, was aware of Hannah Bernstein glancing the other way towards the ballroom. He took his chance, dashed away and made it to the lounge. His irritation was immediately eased. It was as if he'd won a victory, small perhaps, but a victory. He reached the foyer, went to the elevators and punched the button.