smart address； a cat。 We exchanged polite hellos。
“Well；” she said； “here we are。”
“Here we are。” We stood awkwardly； a few feet apart。 “I didn’t realize you were back working in Number Ten；” I said。
“I was only on attachment to Adam。 The king is dead；” she said； and suddenly her voice cracked。 I put my arms around her and patted her back； as if she were a child who had fallen over。 I felt the wetness of her cheek against mine。 When she pulled back； she opened her briefcase and took out a handkerchief。 “Sorry；” she said。 She blew her nose and stamped her high…heeled foot in self…reproach。 “I keep thinking I’m over it； and then I realize I’m not。 You look terrible；” she added。 “In fact； you look—”
“Like a ghost？” I said。 “Thanks。 I’ve heard it before。”
She checked herself in the mirror of her powder compact and carried out some swift repairs。 She was apprehensive； I realized。 She needed someone to accompany her； even I would do。
“Right；” she said； shutting it with a click。 “Let’s go。”
We walked up Whitehall； through the crowds of spring tourists。
“So； were you invited in the end？” she asked。
“No； I wasn’t。 Actually； I’m rather surprised that you were。”
“Oh； that’s not so odd；” she said； with an attempt at carelessness。 “She’s won； hasn’t she？ She’s the national icon。 The grieving widow。 Our very own Jackie Kennedy。 She won’t mind having me around。 I’m hardly a threat； just a trophy in the victory parade。” We crossed the road。 “Charles the First stepped out of that window to be executed；” she said； pointing。 “You’d have thought someone would have realized the association； wouldn’t you？”
“Poor staff work；” I said。 “It wouldn’t have happened when you were in charge。”
I knew it was a mistake to have come the moment we stepped inside。 Amelia had to open her briefcase for the security men。 My keys set off the metal detector and I had to be searched。 It’s come to something； I thought； standing with my hands up； having my groin felt； when you can’t even go to a drinks party without being frisked。 In the great open space of the Banqueting House； we were confronted by a roar of conversation and a wall of turned backs。 I’d made it a rule never to attend the launch parties of my own books； and now I remembered why。 A ghostwriter is about as welcome as the groom’s
unacknowledged love child at a society wedding。 I didn’t know a soul。 Deftly； I seized a couple of flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and presented one to
Amelia。
“I can’t see Ruth；” I said。
“She’ll be in the thick of it； I expect。 Your health；” she said。
We clicked glasses。 Champagne： even more pointless than white wine； in my opinion。 But there
didn’t seem to be anything else。
“It’s Ruth； actually； who is the one element missing from your book； if I had to make a criticism。”
“I know；” I said。 “I wanted to put in more about her； but she wouldn’t have it。”
“Well； it’s a pity。” Drink seemed to embolden the normally cautious Mrs。 Bly。 Or perhaps it was just that we had a bond now。 After all； we were survivors—survivors of the Langs。 At any rate； she leaned in close to me； giving me a familiar lungful of her scent。 “I adored Adam； and I think he had similar feelings for me。 But I wasn’t under any illusions： he’d never have left her。 He told me that during that last drive to the airport。 They were a complete team。 He knew perfectly well he’d have been nothing without her。 He made that absolutely clear to me。 He owed her。 She was the one who really understood power。 She was the one who originally had the contacts in the party。 In fact；she was the one who was supposed to go into parliament； did you know that？ Not him at all。 That isn’t in your book。”
“I didn’t know。”
“Adam told me about it once。 It isn’t widely known—at least I’ve never seen it written up anywhere。 But apparently his seat was originally all lined up for her； only at the last minute she stood
aside and let him have it。”
I thought of my conversation with Rycart。
“The member for Michigan；” I murmured。
“Who？”
“The sitting MP was a man called Giffen。 He was so pro…American he was known as the member
for Michigan。” Something moved uneasily inside my mind。 “Can I ask you a question？ Before Adam was killed； why were you so determined to keep that manuscript under lock and key？”
“I told you： security。”
“But there was nothing in it。 I know that better than anyone。 I’ve read every tedious word a dozen times。”
Amelia glanced around。 We were still on the fringe of the party。 Nobody was paying us any attention。
“Between you and me；” she said quietly； “weweren’t the ones who were concerned。 Apparently； it was the Americans。 I was told they passed the word to MI5 that there might be something early on in the manuscript that was a potential threat to national security。”
“How did they know that？”
“Who’s to say？ All I can tell you is that immediately after Mike died； they requested we take
special care to ensure the book wasn’t circulated until they’d had a chance to clear it。”
“And did they？”
“I’ve no idea。”
I thought again of my meeting with Rycart。 What was it he claimed McAra had said to him on the
telephone； just before he died？“The key to everything is in Lang’s autobiography—it’s all there at the beginning。”
Did that mean their conversation had been bugged？
I sensed that something important had just changed—that some part of my solar system had tilted in its orbit—but I couldn’t quite grasp what it was。 I needed to get ae and think things through。 But already I was aware that the acoustics of the party had changed。 The roar of talk was dwindling。 People were shushing one another。 A man bellowed pompously； “Be quiet！” and I turned around。 At the side of the room； opposite the big windows； not very far from where we were standing； Ruth Lang was waiting patiently on a platform； holding a microphone。
“Thank you；” she said。 “Thank you very much。 And good evening。” She paused； and a great stillness spread across three hundred people。 She took a breath。 There was a catch in her throat。 “I miss Adam all the time。 But never more than tonight。 Not just because we’re meeting to launch his wonderful book； and he should be here to share the joy of his life story with us； but because he was so brilliant at making speeches； and I’m so terrible。”
I was surprised at how professionally she delivered the last line； how she built the emotional tension and then punctured it。 There was a release of laughter。 She seemed much more confident in public than I remembered her； as if Lang’s absence had given her room to grow。
“Therefore；” she continued； “you’ll be relieved to hear I’m not going to make a speech。 I’d just like to thank a few people。 I’d like to thank Marty Rhinehart and John Maddox for not only being marvelous publishers； but also being great friends。 I’d like to thank Sidney Kroll for his wit and his wise counsel。 And in case this sounds as though the only people involved in the memoirs of a British prime minister are Americans； I’d also like to thank in particular； and especially； Mike McAra； who tragically also can’t be with us。 Mike； you are in our thoughts。”
The great hall rang with a rumble of “hear hear。”
“And now；” said Ruth； “may I propose a toast to the one we really need to thank？” She raised her glass of macrobiotic orange juice； or whatever it was。 “To the memory of a great man and a great patriot； a great father and a wonderful husband—to Adam Lang！”
“To Adam Lang！” we all boomed in unison； and then we clapped； and went on clapping； redoubling the volume； while Ruth nodded graciously to all corners of the hall； including ours； at which point she saw me and blinked； then recovered； smiled； and hoisted her glass to me in salute。
She left the platform quickly。
“The merry widow；” hissed Amelia。 “Death becomes her； don’t you think？ She’s blossoming by the day。”
“I have a feeling she’s coming over；” I said。
“Shit；” said Amelia； draining her glass； “in that case I’m getting out of here。 Would you like me to take you to dinner？”
“Amelia Bly； are you asking me on adate ？”
“I’ll meet you outside in ten minutes。 Freddy！” she called。 “Nice to see you。”
Even as she moved away to talk to someone else； the crowd before me seemed to part； and Ruth emerged； looking very different from the last time I had seen her： glossy haired； smooth skinned； slimmed by grief； and designer clad in something black and silky。 Sid Kroll was just behind her。
“Hello； you；” she said。
She took my hands in hers and mwah…mwahed me； not kissing me but brushing her thick helmet of hair briefly against each of my cheeks。
“Hello； Ruth。 Hello； Sid。”
I nodded to him。 He winked。
“I was told you couldn’t stand these kinds of parties；” she said； still holding my hands and fixing