Sarah Truman had noted her president’s every word. She had been living in London for two years. In that time she had seen much more of Britain’s prime minister than of her own country’s leader. It was inevitable that she would compare the two, and it was hardly a fair contest. Unlike William Davies, the leader of the free world was a very impressive man.
John Knowles certainly impressed Sarah. He seemed to have it all, she thought. Tall, athletic and handsome. A Hollywood president. Because of this he was sometimes underestimated, which was a mistake that was never made twice. Knowles’ intellect exceeded even his looks, making him more than a match for any political challenger.
Sarah glanced across to Maguire. She was confident that her cameraman had the shot. That trust was well placed. Maguire had a clear view of the stage with no obstructions. Other camera crews had been less fortunate. Or maybe they just were not as good. Either way, the best footage would today come from Jack Maguire’s lens.
Sarah had no doubt that it would. She counted herself lucky to be partnered with such a respected talent so early in her career. She was genuinely grateful for Maguire’s guidance. But they were friends and so it could remain unspoken. Instead Sarah concentrated on the stage. On the close of Knowles’ speech. As always, both his words and his delivery were faultless:
‘. . . no greater friend and closer ally than Great Britain. It is a relationship that has stood the test of history and of adversity, and I could not be happier to pay tribute to the men and women who have stood beside my own nation in these troubled times. Ladies and gentlemen, we are here today to thank those among us – and those who have tragically left us – for a sustained heroism unmatched since the time of the Greatest Generation. I give you a group that can be summed up in a single word. I give you “heroes”.’
The crowd erupted at that final word. Knowles had judged his audience perfectly. He always did. The people reacted just as he had intended. The sound of their cheers was deafening. Disorientating, even. Sarah could feel her head begin to spin as she scribbled into her notepad.
The noise continued for what seemed like minutes. It was all Sarah could do to keep her attention on her notes. Only when the intensity began to lessen did she regain some concentration. It was a temporary relief.
In just moments a fresh injection of energy shot through the audience. Just as suddenly as the first. Sarah glanced up from the page. Towards the stage. Looking for the cause.
President Knowles had taken his seat. His retreat had left the podium free, but the space was not vacant for long. Sarah watched as former US President Howard Thompson joined Sir Neil Matthewson – the Secretary of State for Northern Ireland and Britain’s most popular politician – as together they approached the centre of the stage.
The reception the two men received was as enthusiastic as it had been for Knowles. It had been almost four years since Thompson’s time in the White House. Somehow he remained as popular as ever. Matthewson was just as well loved. So it was no surprise that they were greeted so warmly. Or that the dead-eyed reaction of a single man in the crowd would go unnoticed until it was too late.