Mary sat there listening, gritting her teeth.
“You’re an amateur, Mrs. Ashley. If someone wanted to pay you off, they should have made you ambassador to Iceland.”
Mary lost control. She sprang to her feet and slapped him hard across the face.
Mike Slade sighed. “You’re never stuck for an answer, are you?”
16
The invitation read: “The Ambassador of the Socialist Republic of Romania requests your presence for cocktails and dinner at the Embassy, 1607 23rd Street, N.W., at 7:30 P.M., Black Tie, RSVP 555-6593.”
Mary thought of the last time she had visited that embassy and what a fool she had made of herself. Well, that won’t happen again. I’m past all that. I’m part of the Washington scene now.
She put on one of the new outfits she had bought, a black cut-velvet evening dress with long sleeves. She wore black silk high-heeled pumps, and a simple pearl necklace.
Beth said, “You look prettier than Madonna.”
Mary hugged her. “I’m overwhelmed. You two have dinner in the dining room downstairs and then you may come up and watch television. I’ll be home early. Tomorrow we’re all going to visit President Washington’s home at Mount Vernon.”
“Have a good time, Mom.”
The telephone rang. It was the desk clerk. “Madam Ambassador, Mr. Stickley is waiting for you in the lobby.”
I wish I could have gone alone, Mary thought. I don’t need him or anyone else to keep me out of trouble.
The Romanian embassy looked completely different from the last time Mary had seen it. There was a festive air about it that had been totally missing on her first visit. They were greeted at the door by Gabriel Stoica, the deputy chief of mission.
“Good evening, Mr. Stickley. How nice to see you.”
James Stickley nodded toward Mary. “May I present our ambassador to your country?”
There was no flicker of recognition on Stoica’s face. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Madam Ambassador. Please follow me.”
As they walked down the hallway, Mary noticed that all the rooms were brightly lighted and well heated. From upstairs she could hear the strains of a small orchestra. There were vases of flowers everywhere.
Ambassador Corbescue was talking to a group of people when he saw James Stickley and Mary Ashley approach.
“Ah, good evening, Mr. Stickley.”
“Good evening, Ambassador. May I present the United States ambassador to Romania?”
Corbescue looked at Mary and said tonelessly, “I am happy to meet you.”
Mary waited for the twinkle in his eye. It never came.
There were a hundred people at dinner. The men wore dinner jackets and the women were beautifully gowned in dresses by Givenchy, Oscar de la Renta, and Louis Estevēs. The large table Mary had seen upstairs on her earlier visit had been augmented by half a dozen smaller tables around it. Liveried butlers circled the room with trays of champagne.
“Would you like a drink?” Stickley asked.
“No, thank you,” Mary said. “I don’t drink.”
“Really? That’s a pity.”
She looked at him, puzzled. “Why?”
“Because it’s part of the job. At every diplomatic dinner party you attend, there will be toasts. If you don’t drink, you’ll offend your host. You have to take a sip now and then.”
“I’ll remember,” Mary said.
She looked across the room, and there was Mike Slade. She did not recognize him for a moment. He was wearing a dinner jacket, and she had to admit that he was not unattractive in evening clothes. His arm was draped over a voluptuous blonde who was about to fall out of her dress. Cheap, Mary thought. Just his taste. I wonder how many girl friends he has waiting for him in Bucharest?
Mary remembered Mike’s words: You’re an amateur, Mrs. Ashley. If someone wanted to pay you off, he should have made you ambassador to Iceland. The bastard.
As Mary watched, Colonel McKinney, in full dress uniform, walked up to Mike. Mike excused himself from the blonde and walked over to a corner with the colonel. I’m going to have to watch them both, Mary thought.
A servant was passing by with champagne. “I think I will have a glass,” Mary said.