SIXTY

After holing out on the last green, Franklin and the prime minister crossed the wide driveway dividing the golf course from the veranda at the southwest corner of the mansion, climbed the short steps to the veranda, and sat together at a large round table under a bright red umbrella. At six-thirty, the sun was low in the sky and the evening unusually cool. One of the assistant housekeepers hurried up. Franklin asked for a gin and tonic. With work still to do tonight, Nakamura wanted a soft drink.

“You have a beautiful home,” Nakamura told him in English. Educated at Oxford, the prime minister’s accent was decidedly British. “But your golf course is too tough for me.”

Franklin forced a laugh. “For both of us today, I’m afraid.”

They fell silent as the housekeeper came back with their drinks, but they began to chat when she went away. Golf talk—this shot and that shot, the joy of the good ones. Ten minutes later Franklin glanced at his watch.

“We better change out of our golf shoes,” he said. “The president will be here shortly.”

Nakamura nodded. They rose and went together to the locker room off the veranda and changed shoes. On the way back out, Franklin heard Marine One landing on the roof of the mansion.

“That’s him now,” he told Nakamura. “We’ll wait for him in my study.”

He led the way through the veranda to the wide doors leading into the study, which looked out over the golf course. They moved past a half-dozen Secret Service agents and Japanese bodyguards standing at the doors as they went through into the study. Franklin almost bumped into Grace Woods as she was coming out.

“Sorry, Mr. Franklin,” she said. “I was just delivering the wreath.”

She glanced back toward the interior of the study. Franklin followed her eyes to the red and white flowers woven into the wreath hanging on a tripod near the fireplace, the banner welcoming Nakamura.

“I hope that’s where you wanted it,” she said.

He looked at her. Where he wanted it? Why was she bothering him with details he didn’t give a damn about? Before he could tell her that, Nakamura was standing at the wreath, bending to smell the carnations, turning to Grace and smiling.

“They’re beautiful. Thank you so much for bringing them.”

Grace smiled as well. “You are most welcome, Mr. Prime Minister.” She turned and left the study.

“Let’s sit, shall we?” Franklin said to Nakamura. He motioned toward the green leather couch and chairs near the fireplace. “Why don’t you take the chair nearest the wreath. The president can sit in the other one when he gets here.”

Nakamura did so. Franklin sat on the couch. He stared at the prime minister and felt his shoulders tighten. He glanced at his watch. The president would be here in a few minutes. Franklin would be told to disappear while the two leaders talked. His back teeth began to grind. He wouldn’t even be in the room when the two of them fucked away everything he’d spent his life to build.