Free Murder at the Watergate by Margaret Truman Page B

physical appearance or the clothing he chose to accompany it. His blue tie was stained, his fingernails less than pristine. Perhaps if his wife had lived things might have been different.
    One thing hadn’t changed about Starkgrave, however, and Elfie knew it only too well. He may have reached a point in his life where his outward appearance was that of a cartoonish character, the tottering old man dozing in his club chair while younger members waited for him to die and vacate it, but his mind was as sharp as it had ever been, and his contacts within his government—other governments, too—were vast and secure.
    Julie served their tea, and thin sandwiches of cucumber, salmon, and cheese. Starkgrave sipped noisily, sitting back and resting his cup, held in both hands, on his belly.
    “Enough about me, Elfie,” he said. “Let us hear about you and your latest Washington escapades. Your friend, Mr. Aprile, appears to be unbeatable next time round.”
    “No one is unbeatable, Laughton. He’s certainly the front-runner, but you know how fickle politics can be.”
    “Quite. Yes, yes, know it well. He seems like a decent chap, although looks can be deceiving. Is he? A decent chap?”
    “Yes. A good man. I’m very fond of him, although he does have certain views that can be—how shall I say it?—can be disconcerting at times.”
    Laughton nodded. Julie reappeared with a three-tiered silver tray of scones, clotted cream, jelly, and assorted miniature pastries. Starkgrave filled his small plate. Elfie declined with a wave of her hand.
    “You were saying?” Starkgrave said through a cream puff.
    “I was saying that the vice president holds certain views that make me uncomfortable.”
    “Oh? Domestic or foreign?”
    “A little of both, although one looms largest in my mind.”
    “Lovely pastries. From the Ritz?”
    “Pâtisserie Valerie.”
    “None better. Which of your friend’s views bothers you most?”
    “Mexico.”
    “Yes?”
    “He’s making the Mexican government’s slow progresson corruption, especially where it concerns drugs, his cause célèbre.”
    “Quite at odds with your president.”
    “Glaringly so. Of course, he’s managed to keep his disagreement with the administration’s Mexico policy—which has worked so well—pretty well under wraps, at least until now. But lately I fear his rigid views on the subject will soon become more public.”
    Starkgrave chewed his cheek and dabbed at his mouth with the linen napkin he’d spread across his stomach. “Awkward situation, I’d say,” he said. “We can’t very well have a country’s two top leaders bickering over foreign policy, can we?”
    “ ‘Awkward’ is a gentle way of putting it, Laughton. You do know of my love for Mexico and its people.”
    He maneuvered himself into a less slouched position. “Of course I do. Spending enough time there, I trust.”
    “There’s never enough time. I’m leaving for Mexico from here in a few days. Now that British Air is running direct flights from Heathrow to Mexico City, it’s almost easier going from London than the States.”
    “Yes, quite. The last time we had the pleasure of tea, Elfie, we discussed your thinly veiled aspirations to be ambassador.”
    “I remember that conversation.”
    “It was at that party given by your ambassador, Brown.”
    “Yes.”
    “Still angling for that post?”
    “Angling?” A soft laugh. “I don’t angle, Laughton. I curve. But yes, that is my goal.”
    “If Aprile is elected next November, your chances are good.”
    “What I’d like to do is improve the odds.”
    “Always a prudent approach to anything we covet. But it seems to me that Vice President Aprile’s breach with his administration on Mexico could toss the proverbial monkey wrench into things, including your things.” His raised eyebrows asked whether he was correct.
    Her nod silently affirmed.
    “I think you’d make a splendid ambassador to Mexico, certainly better than that