Page 5 of The Senator's Wife

Sloane gave Anne a broad smile. “We’ll have to get together soon. I adore the dress, and I want to hear more about your trip to France.” Anne’s red one-shoulder Givenchy gown complemented her dark complexion and brought out the rich brown of her eyes. She had become so glamorous during her first two years in the White House.

Greetings finished, Whit and Sloane entered the elegant State Dining Room. In the centers of ten round tables covered in sky-blue cloths sat lush mounds of white roses in crystal bowls, since blue and white were the official colors of the visiting country. They were perfectly paired with the splendid Kailua Blue Obama china. The overall effect was stunning. Soon Anne would be unveiling her own china pattern, a tradition for all first ladies. She had confided to Sloane that the only complete sets of china were those dating from the Reagan administration to the present, because cups and dishes had broken over the years, rendering sets incomplete.

Whit held out Sloane’s chair, and once seated, she gazed directly across the room at Healy’s 1869 portrait of Abraham Lincoln, who bore an inward-looking smile. Anne knew the portrait was one of Sloane’s favorites and had deliberately seated her across from it. The diffused lighting and candlelight made the room seem to glow with a romantic old-world feel. Sloane picked up the embossed dinner menu with the gold presidential seal and read:

First Course

STUFFED GRAPE LEAVES

SPINACH AND GOAT CHEESE WRAPPED IN PHYLLO

Second Course

GREEK VILLAGE SALAD

Main Course

RACK OF SPRING LAMB

ROASTED COURGETTES WITH LEMON

DIJON GLAZED CARROTS

Dessert

GREEK HONEY BALLS (LOUKOUMADES)

VANILLA ICE CREAM WITH TANGERINES

But by the time all the guests were seated, and the president stood to give the toast, Sloane’s hip was aching so badly she wondered if she could last through the other toasts, much less dinner. However, she gamely raised her glass of sparkling wine and took a small sip. Champagne wasn’t served at the White House—only American wines.

The evening dragged on, with Sloane feeling worse every minute. Seated next to Greece’s representative to the United Nations, she tried her best to keep up her end of the conversation, but with great difficulty, longing instead to get out of these clothes and into her comfortable bed. Inhaling a deep breath, she turned to him.

“Greece is such a beautiful country. My first husband and I honeymooned there on the island of Corfu.”

“Did you swim in the Channel of Love?” he asked, a mischievous gleam in his eye.

Sloane laughed. “Of course! How could we resist, when we heard that all couples who swim there remain in love forever?” She glanced at Whit across the table and was relieved to see him deep in conversation. “Anyhow,” she said, quickly changing the topic. “Of all the places I’ve traveled, I find Greece one of the most spectacular.”

He smiled at her. “Oh, it’s so nice to hear that you appreciate thebeauty of my country. My family is from Samos. I moved to Athens after university, and now, of course, my wife and I live most of the year in New York, but we make sure to get back to the island every summer.”

Delighted by her dinner companion, Sloane felt her mood lift. She was momentarily thrown back into the past, when Robert was still alive. Images of their time together in that magical land flooded her mind. She and the diplomat spent the next half hour discussing Greek literature, and for a while Sloane was able to push her pain to the back of her mind.

But then her thoughts were interrupted by Madelyn Sawyer’s laughter. She and her husband, Fred Sawyer, paunchy and balding, were seated several tables away. Eighty-year-old Fred, a real estate developer and billionaire many times over, was one of Whit’s key backers. It was clear to everyone in town that Madelyn’s marriage was born of something other than love, but she’d turned herself into a political force to be reckoned with. Sloane understood that Whit needed to maintain a professional relationship with both of them so they would continue to lend their valuable support and finance to his campaigns. Sloane watched as Madelyn threw back her head, her thick black hair swaying, as she entertained everyone at her table, all of whom seemed entranced by whatever she’d said. Sloane grudgingly admitted that Madelyn was witty and fun, a welcome and sought-after addition to any gathering. Her eyes met Madelyn’s from across the room, and Madelyn narrowed hers. She licked her lips, and then turned back to her dinner companion.

Sloane’s hip began to throb again. When finally the plate of Greek desserts was placed in front of her, she closed her eyes to center herself, saying a silent thanks that the evening was soon coming to an end. When the dishes were cleared away, Whit rose. She stood up to follow him, but the first lady walked over to her.

“Are you all right?” Anne rested her hand on Sloane’s forearm.

“I’m not feeling very well. I’m not up to staying for the dancing.”

“Can I get you something? Would you like to go upstairs and rest for a bit?”

“No, no. We’ll just go home. Thank you, though.”

“I worry about you.” Anne’s face was filled with concern. “Is everything okay?”

Sloane sighed. “Everything’s fine. I just need to get this hip surgery behind me.”

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