The Trade by Shirley Palmer

Author:Shirley Palmer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MIRA Books
Published: 2013-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 19

“Mr. Broagan would like to see you.” The man nodded toward Nate Broagan seated between the former First Lady and the senior senator from California at a table set close enough to the dance floor for it to be a step away and far enough from the orchestra to make conversation possible.

Broagan caught Matt’s eye, raised a hand and beckoned.

Matt felt himself breathe again. “Please tell Mr. Broagan I’ll be right there.”

He made a detour, explained where he was going to Susan, and shook his head when she asked what Nate wanted.

“I don’t know. I’ll tell you when I get back.”

A minute later, he was standing by the side of a former president of the United States. Not a man he’d voted for, or admired when he was in office, but still, a man who had been President of the United States. He thought of what a kick it would be for his dad when he told him.

“Mr. Broagan, good evening. You wanted to see me?”

Broagan looked up. “Ah, there you are. Mr. President, this young man is Matt Lowell.”

Matt found himself shaking hands first with the president, then with the senior senator from California, who, rumor had it, was sounding out support for her own run for the presidency in the next election. He knew the mayor from dealings with the city, nodded and smiled, greeting him by name. He nodded to the other women as he was introduced and wondered again what he was doing there, nodding and smiling at presidents and senators.

Nate pushed back his chair and started to struggle to his feet. Matt hurried to help. Nate leaned heavily on Matt’s arm, nodding toward an opening at the back of the tent. When they were a few feet from the table, Matt said softly, “Jake’s outside, Mr. Broagan. Shall I send someone for him?”

“If I needed Jake, I would have sent for Jake. Through that door and across the lawn is my office. The Kings are playing tonight at Atlanta. I want to know the score. Now, I’m going to smile and wave, and you’re just going to keep going, otherwise we’ll never get out of here. Understand?”

Matt smothered an urge to laugh. He followed Broagan’s instructions, watching a master at work as people called greetings, received in return a smile, a wave, a word. They traversed the length of the tent without stopping, Matt motioned to a waiter to hold open the canvas “door,” and they were outside in minutes.

As soon as the canvas fell back into place behind them, Broagan’s step faltered, and the fingers clutching Matt’s arm trembled. He took a breath and Matt could hear the wheeze in his lungs. The air was fragrant with a trace of wood smoke, but it had turned very chill, Thanksgiving was only a couple of weeks away. Matt realized again how frail the old man was.

“Are you all right, Mr. Broagan?”

“Of course I’m all right,” the old man snapped. “Just across the path there.”

His

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