The Loo Sanction by Trevanian Page B

he had to keep her to the lee of trouble.
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    Luncheon at the Embassy was, as always, both vigorously animated and abysmally dull. Jonathan considered his attendance at such functions the price he had to pay for their lavish support of his stay in England, but he made it a practice to be dull company, talking to as few people as possible. It was in this mood that he carried his glass of American champagne away toward the social paregoric of an untrafficked corner. But it was not sufficiently insulated.
    â€œAh! There you are, Jonathan!”
    It was fforbes-Ffitch, whom Jonathan seemed fated to encounter at every function.
    â€œListen, Jonathan. I’ve just been in a corner with the Cultural Attaché, and he gives his support to this idea of mine to send you off for a few lectures in Sweden. The American image isn’t particularly bright there just now, what with the Southeast Asia business and all. Could be an excellent thing, jointly sponsored by the USIS and the Royal College. Sound enticing?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œOh. Oh, I see.”
    â€œI told you the other evening I wasn’t interested.”
    â€œWell, I thought you might just be playing hard to get.”
    Jonathan looked at him with fatigue in his eyes. “Don’t rush at it, f-F. You’ll make it. With your hustle and ambition, I have no doubt you’ll be Minister of Education before you’re through. But don’t climb on my back.”
    fforbes-Ffitch smiled wanly. “Always straight from the shoulder, aren’t you? Well, you can’t blame a fellow for trying.”
    Jonathan looked at him with heavy-lidded silence.
    â€œQuite,” f-F said perkily. “But you will honor your commitment to lecture for us at the Royal College this afternoon, I hope.”
    â€œCertainly. But your people have been remiss in their communications.”
    â€œOh? How so?”
    â€œNo one has told me the topic of my lecture. But don’t rush. It’s still an hour away.”
    fforbes-Ffitch frowned heavily and importantly. “I am sorry, Jonathan. My staff has been undergoing a shake-up. Heads rolling left and right. But I’ve not put together a trim ship yet. In any department I run, this kind of incompetence is simply not on.” He touched Jonathan’s shoulder with a finger. “I’ll make a call and sort it out. Right now.”
    Jonathan nodded and winked. “Good show.”
    fforbes-Ffitch turned and left the reception room with an efficient bustle, and Jonathan was in the act of retreating into another low-traffic corner when he was intercepted by the host, the Senior Man Present. He was typical of American Embassy leadership—a central casting type with wavy gray hair, a hearty handshake, and an ability to say the obvious with a tone of trembling sincerity. Like most of his ilk, his qualifications for statesmanship were based upon an ability to get the vote out of some Spokane or other, or to contribute lavishly to campaign funds.
    â€œWell, how’s it been going, Dr. Hemlock?” the Senior Man Present asked, pulling Jonathan’s hand. “We don’t see enough of you at these affairs.”
    â€œThat’s odd. I have quite the opposite impression.”
    â€œYes,” the Senior Man Present laughed, not quite understanding, “yes, I imagine that’s true. It’s always like that, though, really. Even when it doesn’t appear to be. That’s one of the things you learn in my line of work.”
    Jonathan agreed that it probably was.
    â€œSay,” the SMP asked with a show of offhandedness, “you’re out in the wind of public opinion. What kind of ground swells do you get concerning the American elections?”
    â€œNone. People don’t talk to me about it because they know I wouldn’t be interested.”
    â€œYes.” The SMP nodded with profound understanding.