Free The Avenue of the Dead by Evelyn Anthony Page A

leading actors in the Washington play. A play without a final curtain, and for some, no safety curtain either. The actors changed but the play went on for ever. Its title was Political Power .
    â€˜Lovely,’ Davina said. ‘You’ve got a great flair, Liz. You could turn professional.’
    â€˜Not any more,’ she answered. ‘Now all I can do is hang around the house and be the perfect hostess. Being so close to the Oval Office has its disadvantages, Mousey, darling. You can’t afford to get your colours wrong.’
    â€˜You mean you were an interior decorator?’ There hadn’t been a mention of that on her file.
    Liz shrugged. ‘Not officially,’ she said. ‘I used to help people out with colours and materials. I enjoyed it.’ She seemed evasive, anxious to change the subject. She shrugged again, and there was resentment there too. ‘When Edward started climbing up the ladder, he didn’t want me mixed up in business. I might do the wrong people’s houses.’ She gave a brittle little laugh, tinkling with malice. ‘He didn’t want to deprive me of an interest, of course, but I couldn’t take fees or even presents any more, and naturally if I helped someone for nothing it would look like favouritism. Caesar’s wife. That’s what I had to be.’
    â€˜And were you?’
    The answer cracked at her like a pistol shot. ‘No. Let’s go and have lunch. We’ll take my car.’
    She was a bad driver, erratic and irritable, cursing others for her own mistakes. It was an uncomfortable journey in heavy traffic. The restaurant was in the centre of town, nestling between two gleaming office buildings. It was mock medieval, with a reproduction of the famous Lady and the Unicorn tapestry facing the entrance. There was a dimly-lit, overcrowded bar, which Liz Fleming bypassed to Davina’s relief, and a long narrow room, with oak panels and antlers and machine-made aluminium armour. It was full of people and very noisy. Heads turned as they followed the head waiter; there were waves and cries of greeting, to which Elizabeth responded. They were shown to a table in a corner near the head of the room. The air conditioning was at full pelt, keeping the atmosphere comfortable. The menu, printed on vellum and unrolled before them, was a cumbersome nuisance. Liz waved it away.
    â€˜I’ll order for us,’ she said. ‘They have some medieval crap for the out of town visitors. Do you like oysters, Mousey? Good. We’ll have the oysters Mornay to start and chicken Maryland with Creole salad. And the wine waiter, Henry, please.’ She smiled at Davina. ‘Don’t worry, you won’t be getting the old English egg and breadcrumb oven-ready version. This is the real thing and it’s delicious. I wasn’t going to insult you by suggesting steak.’
    â€˜Why not? Isn’t it good?’ The words ‘old shoe leather’ floated impishly to mind.
    â€˜Yes, it’s marvellous, if you like eating half a cow, and you get steak, steak, steak, when you first come to the States until you never want to see a piece of beef again. Now, let’s have something nice to drink, shall we – and two vodkas on the rocks while we’re waiting.’
    She disappeared behind a huge leather-bound wine list.
    Davina looked round the restaurant. She recognized one or two Republican senators, a well known political commentator with an earnest-looking young woman. And right across from her, eating a large steak, was Colin Lomax. The annoyance of seeing him there changed to a cold suspicion. James White had been typically evasive about Major Lomax. Always the half-truth behind the kindly smile, and that frostbitten heart incapable of human feeling. ‘Only in case you need a back-up. He’s a good man, he won’t get in your way. Just think of him as a sort of insurance policy.’ White had left Ivan