Secrets Of A Good Girl. Jen Safrey
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to stay, of course. It’s not necessary for me to leave now. Never mind, I’ll just be in my office.”
“That’s right. According to my calculations, you’ve only put in a thirteen-hour day.”
The shock of earlier events slowed Cassidy’s ability to recognize the joke. She had turned all the way around to leave before she realized it, and then she turned back to the ambassador, who was fixing her with a shrewd look.
“Actually,” he said, “I very highly recommend you do leave. Your day started before dawn. Anyone else would be long gone.” He smiled again. “Anyone but the determined Ms. Maxwell.”
Cassidy relaxed a bit.
Ambassador Cole was an admirable figure, both politically and as one of London’s most eligible bachelors. His wife had died of breast cancer seven years prior, and Cassidy, who had been a junior staffer then, had sadly watched his heart breaking, along with the rest of the embassy. After that, the ambassador had dedicated his whole waking life to his work, and established himself as an influential voice for the United States in Great Britain. About a year ago, he had become fodder for tabloid speculation after he was seen with a stunning middle-aged blonde at an opera opening. The blonde turned out to be only a cousin, but society reporters persisted in their interest in the attractive politician, making it obvious they felt they’d kept their respectable distance long enough.
Alan Cole had short, graying-brown hair and deep laugh lines around his mouth and eyes. His smile was bright white and frequent. His racquetball habit—or, Cassidy often teased him, his racquetball obsession—kept his physical form trim, and his taste in suits was impeccable, assisted by the best tailors in the city. Despite being in his mid-fifties, he’d unwittingly made BBC News fans out of many young twentysomething women who might have instead been watching “Coupling” or “EastEnders.”
The well-spoken and persuasive ambassador continually made an impression on world leaders and pundits alike, and after marveling at his obvious charisma for years, Cassidy was amazed when he took notice of her abilities and eventually promoted her to the position of his closest assistant. She strongly felt that one of her greatest professional achievements was earning his respect, and one of her most rewarding personal achievements was that he treated her like a member of his family.
Which was why she was one of the very small handful privy to the existence of his new girlfriend, a lovely watercolor artist who lived in Brighton, near the ambassador’s summer cottage.
“And if I’m not mistaken,” the ambassador now added meaningfully, “I often encourage you to leave at a decent hour, but you never do. I’m quite surprised at your sudden reasonable behavior.”
Cassidy wasn’t sure what to say. It had been bad enough that Eric Barnes had showed up after ten years to kiss her at the entrance to the U.S. embassy. She didn’t want to call any more attention to herself. And she knew if she made something up, the man in front of her would not be fooled.
“I hope it’s because you’d like some extra time to get ready for the party tonight,” he said.
Cassidy was relieved at the out he’d accidentally given her. “Actually, yes. I was thinking of getting my hair done.”
“Brilliant. I worry about you sometimes, Cassidy. Don’t get me wrong. You’re one of my best assets here, and I certainly wouldn’t want you not to be, but you’re maybe a bit too much of a—workaholic?”
Cassidy had to laugh. “You’re telling me I’m a workaholic?”
“Okay, okay. I admit that is the pot calling the kettle…et cetera. But once in a while—” he paused to sigh significantly “—I see you flying around here, and I wonder if…you’re trying to prove something. I hope it’s not to me. You know I’m confident in your abilities.”
“I know, Ambassador, and I’m appreciative—”
He cut her off. “Don’t be. You earned it. But—” He paused, watching her for a sign to stop. Cassidy carefully kept her expression neutral, so he went on. “Maybe you’re trying to prove something to yourself.”
Cassidy blinked but didn’t answer.
“I know what it looks like, you know,” the ambassador said. “When Natalie died, I pushed myself and pushed myself, determined to prove to myself that I could go on, that I could handle life. You know what? It turned out I was right. I was capable of handling it, but I really didn’t need to make my own life so frenetic to learn that lesson. It only made things harder.”
Cassidy still didn’t say anything.
“I want you to know that you can talk to me. If you need anything, if you ever need a day or a week off, just say the word. We’d have a tough time without you, but we’d manage for your sake.”
“I don’t understand why this is coming up now,” Cassidy said slowly, realizing that her mind had been screaming the same thing earlier when Eric appeared out of nowhere. Why now? Why now? Can’t you leave me alone…
“Like I said, I have worried about you at times in the past. It’s the expression on your face sometimes, a clenched-jawed, gritty look. I saw it again a little earlier today. I’m glad you’re knocking off early. I want you to have fun.”
Cassidy nodded.
“I mean it. Don’t have little chats with the kitchen staff about the pâté, don’t make sure all the serving trays are full, don’t go into the bathroom to check the toilet paper supply.”
Cassidy raised a brow.
“You didn’t know I’m aware you do that, did you?” The ambassador laughed. “If you don’t have fun tonight, you’re fired. And that’s that.”
Cassidy smiled, the first genuine one she’d squeezed out in the last few hours. She knew Ambassador Cole’s mind was weighed down with very serious things these days, not the least of which was his recent Northern Ireland peace initiative. He had other things to occupy him other than the mental state of his assistant, but here he was, insisting on addressing it.
She wasn’t sure how she would oblige him, however. Considering the day’s events, fun was the last thing she’d be capable of. She felt her smile fade.
“Yes, sir,” she said, and turned to go.
“Cassidy?”
She stopped.
“Are you all right?”
Tears threatened and she tilted her head up to the ceiling to try to make them fall back into the corners of her eyes. “You just asked me that, Ambassador.”
“Not quite. I implied it, but that makes it easy for you to avoid answering, and I’d quite like it if you did.”
Cassidy kept her back to her boss, because she didn’t tell lies often and she was about to tell the biggest one ever. She squared her shoulders and brought her head down again. “I’m the same as yesterday. Just fine.”
He didn’t respond, so she added, with purposeful good cheer, “But I appreciate your concern. I’ll see you this evening.”
“Goodbye, Cassidy.”
His words were simple but Cassidy recognized the tone. It was the pensive, analytical one he used when asked on television about things such as his opinion on America’s foreign policies. He would answer clearly but his tone always implied hours of previous contemplation.
Cassidy left the room before the ambassador could contemplate her and her problems any longer.
Cassidy hoisted her weighty leather briefcase more securely onto her slight shoulder, pushed open the front doors and commenced a brisk pace. If fleeing the embassy at a run wouldn’t have aroused certain suspicion, Cassidy might have done so—just flung her bag and three-inch-heeled boots onto the grass and sprinted off as fast as her black cashmere socks would allow. But she knew that subtle was better. The conversation