Shall We Tell the President by Jeffrey Archer

Author:Jeffrey Archer [Archer, Jeffrey]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, General
ISBN: 9781743290200
Publisher: Pan
Published: 2003-09-01T01:15:00+00:00

'Good evening, Madam President.'

'Hello, lovely lady.'

She looks beautiful in that blue dress. Fantastic creature. How could I have any suspicions about her?

'Hello, Mark.'

‘That's a terrific dress you're wearing.'

'Thank you. Would you like to come in for a minute?'

'No, I think we'd better go, I'm double-​parked.'

'Fine, I'll just grab my coat.'

Open car door for her. Why didn't I just take her by the hand into the bedroom and make mad passionate love to her? I would have happily settled for a sandwich. That way we could do what we both want to do and save a lot of time and trouble.

'Did you have a good day?'

'Very busy. How about you, Mark?'

Oh, managed to think about you for a few hours while I got some work done, but it wasn't easy. 'Busy as all hell. I wasn't sure I was going to be able to make it.'

Start car, right on M Street to Wisconsin. No parking spaces. Past Roy Rogers' Family Restaurant, let's just get some chicken legs and head back home, 'Aah, success.'

Hell, where did that Volkswagen come from?

'What lousy luck. You'll find another one.'

'Yes, but four hundred yards away from the restaurant.'

'The walk will do us good.'

Did the roses come? I'll put that florist's girl in jail in the morning if she forgot to send them.

'Oh, Mark, how thoughtless of me not to mention it before; thank you for those glorious roses. Are you the white one? And the Shakespeare?'

'Think nothing of it, lovely lady.'

Liar. So you liked the Shakespeare, but what was your answer to the Cole Porter? Enter supersmooth French restaurant. Rive Gauche. Gauche is right. A Fed in a place like this? Bet it'll cost an arm and a leg. Full of snotty waiters with their hands out. What the hell, it's only money.

'Did you know that this place is responsible for making Washington the French-​restaurant capital of America?'

Trying to impress her with a little inside dope.

'No, why?'

'Well, the owner keeps bringing his chefs over from France. One by one they quit and go off to start their own restaurants.'

'You G-​men really do carry around a store of useless information.'

Look for the maitre d'.

'Table in the name of Andrews.'

'Good evening, Mr Andrews. How nice to see you.'

Damn man's never seen me before and probably will never see me again. Which table is he going to give me? Not too bad. She might even believe I've been here before- Slip him a five-​dollar bill.

'Thank you, sir. Enjoy your dinner.'

They settled back in the deep red leather chairs. The restaurant was crowded.

'Good evening. Would you care for an aperitif, sir?'

'What will you have, Elizabeth?'

'Campari and soda, please.'

'One Campari and soda and I'll have a spritzer.'

Glance at menu. Chef Michel Laudier. The restaurant motto: Fluctuat nee mergitur. Oh, I'll mergitur, all right, cover charges, service charges. Ouch. And she has no way of knowing. This is one of those sexy places where the man is given a menu with the prices.

'I'll have a first course, but only if you'll join me.

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