Page 24 of Never

‘We could propose a resolution at the United Nations.’

Milt said scornfully: ‘The UN! That won’t do any good.’

‘It would put the spotlight on China. The debate on its own might constrain them.’

Milt raised his hands in surrender. ‘All right. We’d be using the UN to draw attention to what the Chinese are up to. That’s how I’ll spin it.’

Gus said: ‘There’s no point in proposing a Security Council resolution – the Chinese would just veto it – so I presume we’re talking about a General Assembly resolution.’

‘Yes,’ said Pauline, ‘but we won’t just propose it. We should drum up support all around the world. US ambassadors should lobby their host governments to back the resolution – but quietly, not to forewarn the Chinese of how serious we are.’

Milt said: ‘I still don’t think it will change Chinese behaviour.’

‘Then we can follow up with sanctions. But first things first. We need Chess in the loop.’ Chester Jackson was the Secretary of State. His office was a mile away in the State Department building. ‘Jacqueline, arrange a meeting and we’ll kick this around some more.’

Lizzie looked in. ‘Madam President, the First Gentleman has returned to the Residence.’

‘Thank you.’ Pauline was still not used to her husband being referred to as the First Gentleman – it sounded comical. She stood up, and the others did the same. ‘Thanks, everybody.’

She left the Oval Office by the door that gave onto the West Colonnade. Trailed by two Secret Service men and the army captain with the atomic football, she walked around two sides of the Rose Garden and entered the Residence.

It was a beautiful building, fabulously decorated and expensively maintained, but it would never feel like a home. She thought regretfully of the Capitol Hill town house she had left behind, a narrow red-brick Victorian with small, cosy rooms full of pictures and books. It had had well-worn couches with bright cushions, a huge comfortable bed, and an out-of-date kitchen in which Pauline knew exactly where everything was kept. There had been bicycles in the hall, tennis rackets in the laundry, and a bottle of ketchup on the sideboard in the dining room. Sometimes she wished she had never left.

She ran up the stairs without pausing for breath. At fifty she was still nimble. She went past the formal first floor and reached the family quarters on the second floor.

From the landing she looked into the East Sitting Hall, everyone’s favourite place to hang out. She could see her husband sitting by the big arched window that looked over the East Wing to 15th Street NW and the Old Ebbitt Grill. She walked along the short corridor into the small room, then sat on the yellow velvet couch beside him and kissed his cheek.

Gerry Green was ten years older than Pauline. He was tall, with silver hair and blue eyes, and he wore a conventional dark-grey suit with a button-down shirt and a tie with a quiet pattern. He bought all his clothes at Brooks Brothers, although he could have afforded flying to London to order suits in Savile Row.

Pauline had met him when she was at Yale Law School and he had been a guest lecturer, speaking on the subject of law as a business. He had been in his early thirties, and already successful, and the women in the class thought he was hot. But it was another fifteen years before she saw him again. By that time she was a congresswoman and he was senior partner in his firm.

They had dated, gone to bed together, and taken a holiday in Paris. Their courtship had been exciting and romantic, but even then Pauline had known they had a friendship rather than a grand passion. Gerry was a good lover, but she had never wanted to tear his clothes off with her teeth. He was handsome and intelligent and witty, and she married him for all those reasons and because she did not want to be lonely.

When Pauline was elected president he had retired from practice and had become head of a national charity, the American Foundation for the Education of Women and Girls, an unpaid part-time job that allowed him to play his role as the nation’s First Gentleman.

They had one child, Pippa, fourteen. She had always gone happily to school and been an A student, so they had been startled when the principal had asked them to come to the school to discuss Pippa’s behaviour.

Pauline and Gerry had speculated about what the problem could be. Remembering herself at fourteen, Pauline guessed Pippa might have been caught kissing a tenth-grade boy behind the gym. In any event it was not likely to be serious, she thought.

Pauline could not possibly go. It would have made the papers. Then Pippa’s problems, no matter how commonplace, would have been front-page news, and the poor girl would have been in the national spotlight. Pauline’s dearest wish was a wonderful future for her child, and she knew the White House was an unnatural environment in which to grow up. She was determined to shield Pippa from the most bruising attentions of the media. So Gerry had quietly gone alone, this afternoon, and now Pauline was anxious to find out what had happened.

‘I’ve never met Ms Judd,’ Pauline said. ‘What’s she like?’

‘Smart and warm-hearted,’ Gerry said. ‘Just the combination you want in a school principal.’

‘How old?’

‘Early forties.’

‘What did she have to say?’

‘She likes Pippa and thinks our daughter is a bright student and a valuable member of the school community. I felt quite proud.’

Pauline wanted to say,Cut to the chase.But she knew Gerry would make his report in a thorough and logical way, starting at the beginning. Three decades as a lawyer had taught him to value clarity above everything else. Pauline controlled her impatience.

He went on: ‘Pippa has always been interested in history, studying in depth and contributing to class discussions. But lately her contributions have been disruptive.’

‘Oh, God,’ Pauline groaned. This was beginning to sound ominously familiar.