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Her phone rang. It was Sandip. He skipped the preliminaries and got right to the point. ‘Madam President, may I suggest how we might respond to the story in tomorrow’sNew York Mail?’

‘We should say very little. I’m not going to discuss my daughter with those jackals.’

‘Exactly. I propose the following: “This is a private matter and the White House has no comment to make.” What do you think?’

‘Perfect,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Sandip.’

She saw that Gus was smouldering. He had not erupted suddenly, as she had, but instead burned under the surface, but now he was about to burst into flame. ‘What do these motherfuckers want?’ he said.

She was mildly startled. In the high-tension zone of the West Wing people were allowed to use profanity, but she did not think she had ever heard him use that particular swear word.

He went on: ‘You do something constructive, instead of shooting off your mouth, and they ignore that and target your kid. Sometimes I think we deserve to have an asshole like Moore for president.’

Pauline smiled. His anger heartened her. As he showed his rage, she was able to become more rational. ‘Democracy is a terrible way to run a country, isn’t it?’ she said.

He knew that saying, and he delivered the punch line: ‘But all the other ways are worse.’

‘And if you expect gratitude, you shouldn’t be in politics.’ Suddenly Pauline was tired. She stood up and went to the door.

Gus also stood. ‘What you did today was a small masterpiece of diplomacy.’

‘I’m pleased, regardless of what the media say.’

‘I hope you know how much I admire you. I’ve watched you for three years. Time and time again you’ve come up with the solution, the right approach, the telling phrase. I realized some time ago that I have the privilege of working with genius.’

Pauline stood with her hand on the doorknob. ‘I never did anything on my own,’ she said. ‘We’re part of a good team, Gus. I’m lucky to have you and your intelligence and friendship to support me.’

He had not finished. Emotions chased one another across his face until she lost track. Then he said: ‘On my side, it’s a little more than friendship.’

What did that mean? She stared at him, confused. What amounted to more than friendship? An answer came to the edge of her consciousness but she could not accept it.

Gus said: ‘I shouldn’t have said that. Please forget it.’

She looked at him for a long moment, not knowing what to say or do. Finally, she just said: ‘Okay.’

She hesitated a moment longer, then went out.

She walked quickly back to the Residence, followed by her Secret Service detail, thinking about Gus. His statement had sounded like a confession of love. But that was ridiculous.

Gerry had retired and the bedroom door was closed, so she went to the Lincoln Room again. She was glad to be alone. She had a lot to think about.

She brooded, planning her conversation with Pippa as she moved mechanically through the bedtime chores that required no thought: brushing her teeth, taking off her make-up, putting her jewellery in its box. She hung up her dress and dropped her tights into the laundry hamper.

She set the alarm for six o’clock, a full hour before Pippa would wake. They would talk for as long as necessary. If Pippa did not make it to school tomorrow no one would mind.

Pauline put on a nightdress then went to the window and looked out over the South Lawn to the Washington Monument. She thought about George Washington, the first person to have the job she now held. There had been no White House when he was inaugurated. He had never had children, and in any case, the newspapers of that time were not interested in the behaviour of their leaders’ offspring: they had more important things to say.

It was raining. There was a night-time vigil on Constitution Avenue, a protest against the killing of a black man by a white cop, and the demonstrators stood in the rain with hats and umbrellas. Gus was black. He had grandsons; one day they would have to be told that they were in special danger from the police, and needed to obey strict rules to stay safe: no running in the street, no shouting, rules that did not apply to white kids. It made no difference that Gus held one of the highest offices in the land, and dedicated his intelligence and wisdom to his country; he was defined by his race just the same. Pauline wondered how long it would be before that kind of injustice disappeared from America.

She slipped between cold sheets. She turned out the light but did not close her eyes. She had had two shocks. She was beginning to know what to say to Pippa, but she had no idea how to handle Gus.

The trouble was, they had a history.

Gus had been foreign policy advisor to her presidential campaign. For a year they had been on the road together, days of intense work and nights of not enough sleep. They had become close.

And there was more. It was not much, but she had not forgotten, and she felt sure he had not either.

It had happened at the height of the campaign, when Pauline was looking like a winner. They had come back from a hugely successful rally, thousands of people cheering in a baseball stadium and a brilliant speech by her. Still on a high, they had got into a slow elevator in a tall hotel and found themselves alone. He had put his arms around her and she had tilted her face and they had kissed passionately, their mouths open, their hands all over one another, until the elevator had stopped and the doors had opened and they had turned in different directions and gone to their rooms without saying a word.