return to America and tell Florentyna his news, now that the appointment seemed to be official. She would be so proud of him. He decided then and there that the moment he arrived back in New York he would go straight to San Francisco and make everything up with her. It was what he had wanted to do all along and now he had an excuse. Somehow he'd force himself to like the Kane boy. He must stop referring to him as 'the Kane boy. What was his name - Richard? Yes, Richard. Abel felt a sudden rush of relief at having made the decision.
After the three men had returned to the main reception room and the ladies, Abel reached up and touched the British ambassador on the shoulder. 'I should be getting back, Your Excellency!
'Back to the Baron,' said Sir Bernard. 'Allow me to accompany you to your car, my dear fellow.'
The ambassador's wife bade him goodnight at the door.
'Goodnight, Lady Burrows, and thank you for a memorable evening.'
She smiled. 'I know I'm not meant to know, Mr. Rosnovski, but many congratulations on your appointment. You must be so proud to be returning to the land of your birth as your country's senior representative.'
'I am,' replied Abel simply.
Sir Bernard accompanied him down the marble steps of the British embassy to the waiting car. The chauffeur opened the door.
'Goodnight, Rosnovski,' said Sir Bernard, 'and good luck in Warsaw. By the way, I hope you enjoyed your first meal in the British embassy.'
'My second actually, Sir Bernard.'
'You've been before, old boy? When we checked through the guest book we couldn't find your name!
'No,' said Abel. 'Last time I had dinner in the British embassy, I ate in the kitchen. I don't think they keep a guest book down there, but the meal was the best I'd had in years!
Abel smiled as he climbed into the back of the car. He could see that Sir Bernard wasn't sure whether to believe him or not. As Abel was driven back to the Baron, his fingers tapped on the side windows, and he hummed to himself. He would have liked to have returned to America the next morning, but he couldn't cancel the invitation to dine with Fletcher Warren at the American embassy the following evening. Hardly the sort of thing a future ambassador does, old fellow, he could hear Sir Bernard saying.
Dinner with the American ambassador turned out to be another pleasant occasion. Abel was made to explain to the assembled guests how he had come to eat in the kitchens of the British embassy. When he told them the truth, they looked on in surprised admiration. He wasn't sure if many of them believed the story of how he nearly lost his hand, but they all admired the silver band, and that night, everyone called himYour Excellency.
Tle next day, Abel was up early, ready for his flight to America. The D.C.8 flew into Belgrade, where he was grounded for sixteen hours, waiting for the plane to be serviced. Something wrong with the landing gear, they told him.
He sat in the airport lounge, sipping undrinkable Yugoslavian coffee. 'rhe contrast between the British embassy and the snack bar in a communist - controlled country was not entirely lost on Abel. At last the plane took off, only to be delayed again in Amsterdam. This time they made him change planes.
When he finally arrived at Idlewild, Abel had been travelling for nearly thirty - six hours. He was so tired he could hardly walk. As he left the customs area, he suddenly found himself surrounded by newsmen, and the cameras started flashing and clicking. Immediately he smiled. The announcement must have been made, he thought. Now it's official. He stood as straight as he could and walked slowly and with dignity, disguising his limp. There was no sign of George, as the cameramen jostled each other unceremoniously to be sure of a picture.
Then he saw George standing at the edge of the crowd, looking like death. Abel's heart lurched as he passed the barrier and a ' journalist, far from asking him what it felt like to be the first Polish - American to be appointed ambassador to Warsaw, shouted : 'Do you have any answers to the charges?'
'Me cameras went on flashing and so did the questions.
'Are the accusations true, Mr. Rosnovski?'
'How much did you actually pay Congressman Osborne?,' 'Do you deny the charges?'
'Have you returned to America to face trial?'
They wrote down Abel's