The President’s Daughter

Epilogue

When the Gulfstream landed at Andrews, the bad weather had switched to that side of the Atlantic and, under instructions, they taxied through rain to a remote area of the base, right into an empty hangar. Two limousines waited and Teddy Grant stood beside one of them.

Kersey opened the door and Ferguson led the way down, followed by Dillon and Blake. Teddy hurried forward and took Blake’s hand. “I can’t believe it and neither can the President.” He turned to the others. “Brigadier – Mr. Dillon. A great day.”

“Well, in the end it worked, and very much thanks to you.” Ferguson shook his hand warmly.

Kersey had followed and was standing at the bottom of the ladder and Vernon and Gaunt joined him. A moment later, Marie de Brissac and Hannah Bernstein came down.

Teddy took Marie’s hand briefly, then Hannah’s. “I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to see you here. Please follow me.”

He walked toward the limousines, and Ferguson said, “A moment, if you please.” He turned to the crew. “My thanks, gentlemen. As I’ve already said, you’ve never been involved in anything more important.”

He shook hands with each of them, then walked to the limousines where the others were waiting.

“The countess is expected at the White House with Blake,” Teddy said. “I’m taking her there now. The rest of you go to the Ritz-Carlton, where three suites have been booked. Time for you to freshen up and so on, and then the President will send for you.”

“Of course,” Ferguson said. “We’ll see you later, then.”

Marie looked tired and a little bewildered. “Yes,” she said. “Later. I must see you again.”

She drove off with Teddy and Blake, and Dillon and Ferguson stood back to allow Hannah to get in the limousine first. As they drove away, Ferguson pressed the button to raise the glass divider.

“That all seemed a bit formal under the circumstances.”

“You’re missing the point, Brigadier,” Hannah said. “The President simply wants to be alone with his daughter at this moment in time.”

“Yes, I see what you mean, I suppose,” he said.

Hannah shook her head. “Men, all the same, no idea of sentiment,” and she leaned back.

In the White House, Jake Cazalet was sitting beside the fire, a prey to conflicting emotion. What would it be like? How would she react? There was a tap on the door, it opened, and Teddy entered.

“Mr. President, your daughter,” he said and stood to one side.

Cazalet got to his feet, found himself shaking, and then Marie de Brissac moved into the room and stood looking at him, but only for a moment.

“Father,” she said.

Cazalet, filled with more emotion than at any time in his life, opened his arms and she ran to him.

It was three hours later that the limousine from the White House picked up Ferguson, Dillon, and Hannah Bernstein.

“A nice trouser suit you’re wearing,” Dillon told her. “Armani, isn’t it?”

“They do have a rather splendid boutique at the hotel,” she said. “Got to look right for the White House.”

“I noticed from the functions board in the foyer that the President is entertaining the Russian Prime Minister at dinner at the Ritz-Carlton tonight,” Ferguson commented.

“Well, that’s good,” Dillon said. “Now that we’ve got her back, he can enjoy it.”

It was raining hard as the limousine moved along Constitution Avenue toward the White House, but in spite of the weather, there were TV cameras and tourists on Pennsylvania Avenue.

Ferguson lowered the glass screen. “I’m surprised, considering the rain.”

The chauffeur said, “A lot of activity with the Russian delegation. I was told to bring you to the East Entrance.”

Ferguson put the screen up again. “They would, I suppose. They use the East Entrance for special visitors who want to avoid media attention.”

The limousine drove up East Executive Avenue and stopped at the gates, where the driver spoke to the guard, who waved them through. They finally stopped and the chauffeur got out and opened the door.

“This way.”

He indicated the door, which opened at once, and Ferguson led the way in. Inside was a Marine Lieutenant in dress uniform, who snapped to attention and saluted.

“Brigadier.”

There was also Teddy Grant, who came forward smiling. “Wonderful to see you all again. If you’d follow me, the President is waiting.”

In the Oval Office, Cazalet sat behind his desk and Marie was standing beside the window with Blake Johnson. She made the first move, running to Hannah and embracing her.

Cazalet came round the desk and shook hands with the three of them. “Impossible to thank you. Blake has given me the whole story. If this was Buckingham Palace, you’d be lining up for awards, but it’s America.”

“And thank God for it,” Dillon said.

The President smiled and shook Dillon’s hand again. “You always come through, my fine Irish friend.” He turned to Ferguson. “I’ve spoken to the Prime Minister at Number Ten, given him a résumé of what happened, apologized for using you in such a cavalier way but stressed the unusual circumstances.”

“Oh dear, that could be awkward,” Ferguson said.

“Not at all. He was most understanding and looks forward to hearing about it from your own lips. Now, is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Nemesis, Mr. President?”

Cazalet shrugged. “There’s got to be a better way.”

“I agree,” Ferguson said. “So one last favor. I think we should be getting back to London as soon as possible. If we could borrow the Gulfstream?”

“Of course. No problem, is there, Teddy?”

“Not really,” Teddy said. “We’ll probably need a new crew is all. A question of them exceeding their hours in the air.”

“Take care of it.” Cazalet turned to them again. “Our sincere thanks.”

Marie kissed the Brigadier on the cheek, hugged Hannah, and stood looking at Dillon, strangely shy and apparently unable to speak but she managed.

“You are a remarkable man, Mr. Dillon.”

“It’s been said before, Countess.” He laughed out loud and Teddy opened the door for them.

Two hours later, they climbed up from Andrews out to the Atlantic and leveled off at fifty thousand. Dillon pressed the buzzer and the flight attendant came from the galley. This one was white and called Roscoe.

“I’ll have a Bushmills,” Dillon said, “a large one.”

“Coming right up, sir.”

Dillon grinned at Ferguson and Hannah. “I’ve earned it.”

For once, Hannah agreed. “Yes, I think you have, Dillon.”

Roscoe brought the Bushmills, and Dillon said, “Yes, happy endings is what I like, and I suspect Jake Cazalet is a happy-endings man at heart.”

“What on earth are you babbling about?” Ferguson demanded.

“It’s just that deep down inside, I’m an incurable romantic.”

“You?” Hannah said. “Romantic about what?”

“Oh, you know what they say. Read all about it in the papers. The great Dillon is never wrong,” and he settled back and drank his whiskey.

At the Ritz-Carlton in Washington on Massachusetts Avenue, the great and the good and the Russian Prime Minister awaited the appearance of the President of the United States. When he arrived at the front entrance, got out of the limousine and waved to the crowds, the Comtesse Marie de Brissac was at his side, wearing a simple black evening dress, a gold cross at her throat. Teddy got out of the next limousine with two Secret Service men, and ran ahead.

Cazalet smiled. “Countess?” She took his arm and they walked through the foyer and paused at the entrance to the dining room.

Teddy moved just inside. “Mr. Prime Minister, ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention.”

There was a flurry of movement as everyone rose. Teddy took a deep breath and announced in ringing tones, “The President and the President’s daughter.”