A Shade of Difference (28 page)

And there they came, the Secretary of State thought as the oaken doors swung open and the colorful trio advanced upon them, Mother Britain and her little changeling child—except that it was not quite certain, given the M’Bulu’s pleased expression and the tiniest line of tension around Kitty’s lips, who was shepherding whom. It was a tough problem for them, he thought sympathetically, forgetting for a second that it was a tough problem for his own country as well. As if to prevent any such illusory lapses, the Indian Ambassador approached and reminded him.

“Mr. Secretary,” he said with a polite hiss, “and everyone’s beloved, Mrs. Knox. How delightful to see you here at this delightful reception for our young friend.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Mr. Ambassador,” Beth said. “We were hoping you would be able to come down from the UN for the festivities.”

“I was able to get away,” Krishna Khaleel said importantly, “but only just. We had a meeting of the Asian-African states this afternoon, you know, concerning the—the unfortunate episode in South Carolina yesterday, and it lasted for some time.”

“Oh?” Orrin said. “And how does that concern the Afro-Asian states?”

“The Asian-African states are concerned by everything that touches upon the question of color. It is one of the major things that divide the world, of course. Sometimes it makes for a shade of difference in the way various states approach various matters.
Our
shade,” he said, and laughed merrily. “What a pun!”

“You slay me as always, K.K.,” the Secretary told him. “And what was the final purport of your conference?”

The Indian Ambassador looked grave.

“We were very disturbed, of course. It was even proposed by some of our hotheads, like Mali and Ghana, that we should adopt an informal resolution condemning you. But the wiser heads prevailed.”

“I know yours was one of them,” Beth said with a comfortable assurance that brought a flattered smile from the Indian Ambassador. “You lend such stability to the proceedings up there.”

“I will admit,” Krishna Khaleel said, “that it was basically my suggestion that was adopted. This was: to let it pass, in view of the quick amends, as it were, being made by the President, and by you, Orrin. I said you were obviously embarrassed by what had happened, and that, given sufficient goodwill and tolerance on all sides, everything could be straightened out to the satisfaction of all those who, appreciating honest efforts to correct wrong, as it were, would be willing to give the benefit of the doubt, as it were, to those who made the efforts. And, of course, applaud the corrections once made, as it were.”

“I appreciate that, as it were,” Orrin Knox said. “Of course, really, I don’t see where anybody at the UN has any right to be concerned about it at all. It seems to me it’s a matter between us and Terry.”

“Oh, at the UN we concern ourselves about
everything!”
K.K. said with a laugh. “You know that, Orrin.”

“I do indeed. Well, thank you, K.K., I appreciate it very much. I hope he’s happy with what we’re doing for him, even if it does make us look slightly ridiculous now, after Harley’s initial adamant stand at his press conference.”

“But that is the great charm of it, my dear friend! For many of us, it is delightful to see you slightly ridiculous. And, of course, it does you no harm, really. We admire you for having the courage to reverse an untenable position, even if under pressure, and pay proper attention to one of the world’s great young leaders.”

“One of the world’s great young leaders shouldn’t be complaining now,” the Secretary said. “I had him and the Foreign Relations Committee of the Senate and the Foreign Affairs Committee of the House to lunch at the Department this noon. And now this. And then the White House dinner. Almost everybody came to the luncheon, including Congressman Jawbone Swarthman of South Carolina, and I’m glad he did, because that kept everything extremely polite and absolutely noncontroversial. But I think it flattered Terry’s ego, which I suspect is monumental.”

“Monumental,” Krishna Khaleel agreed. “But perhaps necessary to rise to power in Africa. Things are so chaotic there.”

“What will you do when he becomes independent and drives all the Indians out of Gorotoland, K.K.?” the Secretary asked with some relish. “Give him a state dinner in New Delhi?”

“I should hope,” the Indian Ambassador said stiffly, “that he would not desire to pursue so unfriendly a course. If he does, then”—he shook his head—“who knows? I would hope we should be able to understand his motivations.”

“I’m sure that will make everything all right with your people. As long as they understand his motivations. And of course you can probably always get a loan from us to help you resettle them in India.”

“We will simply continue to hope,” Krishna Khaleel said firmly, “that he does no such things. Excuse me, now; there is the Ambassador of Panama and I must say hello to him. I shall see you at the White House later, and then at the UN next week, Orrin?”

“I think I’ll stay down here for a few days, unless there’s something quite urgent to be attended to up there.”

“Oh,” the Indian Ambassador said, and a veiled expression came and went swiftly in his eyes. “Oh, I see.”

“You did say there would be nothing from the Asian-African bloc, didn’t you, Mr. Ambassador?” Beth asked. K.K. nodded.

“I did say that. And now excuse me. The Ambassador of Panama, as I said.” And with a smile and a bow he was off across the room to a little group that included Felix and Patsy Labaiya, Bob Leffingwell, LeGage Shelby, and a couple of attaches from the Embassy of Sierra Leone.

“You know what I think?” Beth said, and her husband nodded.

“You think K.K. was telling me that Felix is cooking up something and I’d better get back up there. But what can Felix possibly cook up? He’s busy with his Gorotoland resolution, and this thing will blow over shortly. Anyway, Hal’s there, and there’s nothing the UN can do. They have no jurisdiction.”

“Does that matter? I think something else, too. I think we’d better follow K.K. right over.”

“I’d rather talk to Claude and Kitty,” the Secretary said, “but I expect you’re right … Well, Felix,” he said as they arrived on the other side of the room and the group, a little self-consciously and awkwardly, opened out to include them, “I hear you’re cooking up a little surprise for us.” He was rewarded by a startled glance from the Panamanian Ambassador, but it was instantly obliterated by his usual smooth and self-contained smile.

“Washington!” he said. “How the town talks! I can’t possibly imagine what it could be.”

“Neither can I,” Orrin said with a cheerful smile, “so I thought I’d ask.” He looked candidly about the group, K.K., Patsy, Bob Leffingwell, LeGage, each presenting his own version of innocence. “Nothing?” he asked, looking from eye to eye as they all shook their heads with expressions of puzzled amusement. “Well, this new job must be making me both suspicious and gullible. I could have sworn there was something to it. But since you all reassure me, I’ll put my suspicions to bed. Bob, how have you been?”

“Very well, thank you, Orrin,” Bob Leffingwell said with just the right degree of noncommittal courtesy. Their meetings had been few since the Senate battle over his appointment as Secretary of State, and he and the man who had beaten him had not gone out of their way to make contact. Many eyes in the room were upon them, and there was no point in more than the most casual cordiality. But Orrin could not resist a dig at Patsy, who looked slightly nonplussed, for once.

“Have you signed him up to manage Ted’s campaign yet? I hear that’s in the wind, too.”

“Why,” she began hurriedly, “I don’t know what—” and then in mid-sentence decided to change course. “Why, yes,” she said with a candid smile, “we’d certainly love to have him if he’d come, but you know HOW HE IS. There are times when he’s ABSOLUTELY IMPOSSIBLE.”

“Yes, I know,” the Secretary said, and was pleased to note that this prompt agreement with its overtones of past controversy flustered her too, though Bob Leffingwell didn’t turn a hair. “Where is Ted? Did he go right back to California?”

“He’s flying out at seven-thirty,” Patsy said, and added with a satisfaction of her own, “He has a special appointment with the President at six-thirty, you know. The President asked him to stop by and discuss matters of interest to the party before he went back.”

“That’s nice,” Orrin said. “I’m glad he’s keeping in touch with us.”

“Yes,” she said, “isn’t it nice that the President feels he can rely upon HIM for advice in these difficult days.”

He laughed.

“Patsy, you’re priceless. Good luck if you decide to go with them, Bob. I intend to do everything I can to make it difficult for Ted to get the nomination, of course. Life won’t be dull.”

“I’m sure he intends to reciprocate,” Bob Leffingwell said. “It should be a lively few months.”

“I’m not worried,” Orrin said with a calm he did not entirely feel, but which he knew would irritate them and which was also politically necessary. “Felix, I’ll see you at the UN soon, I suppose. Your resolution comes up for a vote on—”

“Tuesday, isn’t it?” the Ambassador of Panama said, looking at K.K. for confirmation. “Barring,” he added with a pleasant smile, “unforeseen developments.”

“Will you be coming up for it, Mr. Secretary?” LeGage asked. “I’m going back myself after the President’s dinner tonight, if there’s anything you want me to tell Hal Fry—”

“I don’t know yet whether I’ll be there or not. Nothing for Hal at the moment, but I’ll let you know if anything develops. You’ve been busy, I see—all these pickets out front. Will you picket the White House, too? That will be nice.”

“It wasn’t my doing,” LeGage said earnestly. “That was the local office’s idea.”

“Someday,” the Secretary said, “you will have to decide where your loyalties really lie, ’Gage. If you aren’t happy with U.S. policies, maybe you’d better get off the delegation.”

LeGage looked both abashed and defiant.

“Only one man can remove me,” he said sullenly, “and he hasn’t.”

“Of course not,” Patsy Labaiya said indignantly. “OF COURSE NOT. After all, isn’t this a FREE COUNTRY? Whatever do you mean, Orrin, trying to intimidate a perfectly honest expression of support for the bravest man we’ve had visit us in YEARS. You ought to be ashamed not to be speaking out for Terry yourself. My brother did.”

“Sometimes I think,” the Secretary snapped, “that your brother doesn’t do anything else but speak out for people. But I suppose it all makes for votes, and that’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

“There are times,” Patsy said angrily, “when that IS all that matters. Such as next year at the polls. YOU’LL find out.”

For a startled moment they all stood suspended, amazed by their own emotions, paralyzed by the abrupt personal turn of the conversation. Orrin and Patsy stared at one another blankly, K.K. looked terribly anxious and upset, LeGage appeared startled and alarmed. Felix had a secret little smile that did not quite conceal the wary speculation in his eyes as he looked at the Secretary, Bob Leffingwell was impassive, Beth Knox concerned. Into their tense little circle came their hostess with a no-nonsense air.

“I’ve been watching all you indignant people for several minutes,” she said cheerfully, “as has everyone else, of course, and I think it’s quite time that you broke it up and got drunk, or something. The bar’s going to close in ten minutes, and that’s fair warning to all. Felix, come talk to me about the UN, and Patsy, go and rescue Terry from the Norwegian Ambassadress. I’m sure he doesn’t want to hear any more about fishing rights in the North Sea.”

“Good for you, Kitty,” Beth said with a humorous relief as the moment broke and they scattered quickly and a little sheepishly in obedience to their hostess’ command. “I was wondering how to rescue this bull in a china shop from his indiscretions. The way to do it, obviously, was just to be a bull in a china shop oneself. Or cow, rather. But that doesn’t sound very charming, does it?” She chuckled as Kitty gave her arm an affectionate squeeze and moved off to other guests. “Come along, Mr. Secretary. You’ve spread enough diplomatic sweetness and light for one reception.”

For a moment her husband continued to look stubborn; then he grinned suddenly.

“Alas,” he said, “where is that ‘New Orrin Knox’ I’ve been reading about? Patsy sounds off and, right away, there’s the old one, snarling away. How can you stand being married to such an incorrigible?”

“It’s never bothered me in the least, except that now and again I still manage to be surprised at the inadvertent moments you choose to let it go.” She smiled. “However, I think it’s about time Patsy got told off on that subject, and who more fitting to do it?”

“That’s what I thought. It’ll be all over Washington by the time we reach the White House tonight, but who gives a damn?”

“Not you, obviously. And I don’t think it was such a bad idea to remind Felix that you can be hard to handle if pushed too far.”

“You don’t like Felix very well, do you?”

“No,” she said, looking across the room, where their hostess was now engaged in lively conversation with the Panamanian Ambassador. “And I don’t think Kitty does, either.”

Her husband grunted.

“That’s good enough for me. If you two are suspicious, there must be something wrong.”

“I can’t get it out of my head that what happened in Charleston wasn’t all coincidence. Why don’t you ask Cullee? Terry’s staying with him, and he might have an inkling.”

He nodded.

“I will, when we get to 1600.”

But later at the White House, in the most hurried of murmured conversations as the guests went into the East Room for the concert after dinner, the Congressman proved both evasive and uneasy. This was not like Cullee, and the Secretary puzzled over it for some time—until he heard from him much later that night in a call at home, in fact.

And now, Terry told himself with a mounting excitement, he was coming to the climax of his visit to the great United States. He had shown them up in the eyes of all the world, and here they were honoring him with a state dinner at the White House, just as he had demanded. Their bumbling President had insulted him, and he had taken his vengeance in a way from which they would not soon recover in the minds and hearts of all the earth’s colored peoples. Now they were humbling themselves before him, the M’Bulu of Mbuele, the heir to Gorotoland, because they had no choice. Ah, you are proud, he told them fiercely inside his mind as the Embassy limousine with its standards fluttering slowed for the West Gate, carefully found its way through several hundred DEFY picketers with placards waving, and turned into the long curving drive to the White House portico: but I am prouder. And I have made you do as I said; I, Terry.

“This is such a lovely house,” said Kitty beside him. “I always so enjoy coming here.”

“Yes,” he said, looking with an exaggerated approval at the Marines in dress uniform who lined the drive, rigid at attention at regular intervals. He gave a patronizing little laugh. “They do things well on their formal occasions. But, of course, not as well as you. No one does them as well as you.”

“Thanks, old boy,” Lord Maudulayne said. “It’s always nice to have your commendation, no matter how minor the point. It’s so rare that it’s doubly appreciated. We must bring you up the Mall with the Queen behind the Horse Guards and the Household Cavalry, next time you’re in London.”

“You may, at that,” the M’Bulu said cheerfully. “You just may, at that.”

“Everything’s going very well for you, isn’t it,” the British Ambassador said. “Good show all around. U.K. on the run, U.S. in wild confusion, UN bowing and scraping—the world’s going well for Terry. Right?”

“I cannot complain about it. But should it not go well for one, when one has justice on one’s side?”

“It should,” Lord Maudulayne agreed with a dryness that was not lost upon his companion. “It should.”

“Possibly there are varying degrees of justice,” the M’Bulu said quickly. “Possibly there is more on one side than on the other.”

“There’s hardly time to get into a philosophic discussion of that right now, old fellow,” the Ambassador said as the car rolled to a gentle halt and one of the President’s military aides stepped smartly down the steps to open the door. “Even if we could possibly compose our differing points of view, which I doubt. Here we are. Enjoy your glory.”

“I shall,” Terrible Terry said with a rather savage smile. “You may be sure I shall.”

“You know,” the President said in a puzzled tone as he finished knotting his white tie in the master bedroom on the third floor, “that Ted Jason’s an odd fellow. I don’t know why he wanted to come and see me. I couldn’t very well refuse when he asked, but it was a very peculiar conversation.”

“What’s that, dear?” Lucille said politely from the bathroom, and he raised his voice and repeated, “A very odd conversation!”

“Yes, it is,” she said pleasantly. “You seem to be talking to yourself. I can’t get the drift of it.”

“Well, come out here,” he said, rather more loudly than he intended, “and perhaps you will. I said it was an odd conversation I had with Ted Jason. Governor Jason. Governor—”

“I know,” she said, bustling into the room as she always did, plump and pink and soft and cuddlesome. (“I
do
love Mrs. H.,” one society reporter had recently cooed to another just before they proceeded to rip Mrs. H. to tatters. “She always looks like a marshmallow dipped in peppermint sauce. So
sweet.”
There had been a knowing laugh and they had plunged at once into a savage dissection of the First Lady.) “I know exactly who Governor Jason is, dear, so don’t shout. He has an odd family, too.”

“He may be the next President of the United States, so perhaps you should be more respectful.”

“I know who the next President of the United States is going to be,” she said comfortably. “Here, do let me straighten that tie; you can never seem to get it quite at the right angle.”

“And who’s that?” he demanded, submitting patiently.

“You,” she said, pushing and tugging and patting and whisking with little clucking noises of dismay and finally of approval. “I’ve never had the slightest doubt of it.”

“Ha!” he said with a scornful snort. “You haven’t?”