Act III

[lolitics_meme]

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fill! A Parliament of Owls (11/?)

[anonymous]

David started dicing the shallots for the entree. For dessert, he think he could finally share the chocolate coins, perhaps the final touch on sorbets. He had saved a few sticks of vanilla just for the occasion. As triumphs go, it would just be just the first taste.

Nick had not failed them. Furthermore, he had found George. It was a beautiful Friday afternoon. His friends will be back in a couple of hours. By the time of the session next week, any criticism would seem petty. He had saved Britain. The Liberal Conservatives had saved Britain. In a nation rich of history, their chapter would be memorable.

Neither Nick nor George hadn't even seen how Big Society has been realised here, albeit on a Britain reduced in size. Nonetheless, the principles were working beautifully.

-=-=

There were speeches, of course. George didn't quite want to leave the lectern. until Nick grabbed his wrist and George was going with him before his mind caught up to his body. The disconnect was starting to worry him.

But Nick Clegg had never been a difficult man in company. He could even be amusing, as long as the topic stayed away from politics. Being on a plane with Nick Clegg was not difficult. The man spent most of the time asleep when George refused to answer any of his questions.

It wasn't that George didn't want to answer them, but he had a question of his own that had Nick close off, nodding vaguely, and clearly casting about for another topic.

More than anyone, George knew that oftentimes it wasn't what you said or you did, but how it looked that was important. They were in the same boat (rather, plane) and sharing it with the strangely silent European press was still better than sharing with Peter Mandelson, of all people. He was glad Nick got rid of him.

They landed in Paris and George wanted to go shopping. He didn't say it aloud, but Nick was meeting the French president in the morning so he said he thought he should see David's family, would Nick come along?

It wasn't obvious, but the corner of Nick, mouth, always sensitive to his moods, would drop at every mention of David's name. George had noted it and found the fact curious. And as expected, Nick declined the invitation, but then he asked, out of the blue, whether George would be meeting any Russian oligarchs he made on his "tour".

The man now sleeping beside him looked even thinner than he remembered, time had sharpened the angles of his face, giving him an almost vulpine look, but the man still had no subtlety.

Hurt, resentful, George merely narrowed his eyes at him. It was a final ploy. He remained silent, watched Nick fell sleep, and divulged nothing to the whispered questions of the press though he chatted amiably with them- the variety of voices and accents diffusing Mandelson's voice in his head.

He asked them for the names of good Parisian tailors and found himself wandering the streets of Paris at night as he waited for his suit to be made. He refused to sleep and it was convenient that Paris would keep him company. It had just rained. The air was humid and hot. The lights from the Arc de Triomphe glittered a little distance away and everywhere, lights puddled in cobblestones.

A man had been trailing him. George had no watch; he made to step inside a cafe when he realised that the man following had quickened his step. Heavy with dread, he turned.

It was a gypsy, a beggar, the sort you see all over Europe working alone or in groups with complicated schemes, and he was asking for money.

"Rien," He said automatically, reaching his pocket. The expression that overcame his face must have been sufficiently deterring because the man moved away without another word.

George turned toward the lamp post. There were things in his pocket: small, round, and flat. He brought them out. The gold and silver foil shone beneath the light, stamped with the head of Elizabeth II, slightly misshapen in the heat, dark liquid was seeping through the edges, smelling cloyingly sweet. Early in the government, the same week he found Byrne's note, his aides had received the package of chocolate coins, and a letter which they told him was generally supportive.

But this was Mandelson, mocking him, and who else could have placed them in his trousers?