To Kiss a King - NIcole Burnham Page 0,21
were several staff members within earshot, so she spoke in a voice modulated for Karen’s ears alone. “You once told me I need a shovel to do my job. Well, this time I really need a shovel.” A little louder, for those in the hall, she said, “I need to find a spot to plant this.”
“You do have a small yard at the residence.”
“I suppose I do. It will make a nice addition.” She circled the desk until she found the card. As she pulled it from the side of the florist’s pail, she said, “Who sent it?”
“It came from the palace.”
Karen’s voice was all business, but her back was to the door and she gave Claire a wide-eyed look of fake innocence.
“What a kind welcome,” Claire said, matching Karen’s official tone. She opened the card, then started laughing. She couldn’t help it.
“Madam Ambassador?”
Claire could hardly speak. She raised a hand until she finished reading. Once she gathered herself, she said, “It’s from King Eduardo. He says this is a Banduzzi olive, which is native to San Rimini. While Banduzzi olives are prized for their oil, they’re also served as table olives once cured.”
“You’re amused by a horticultural lesson?”
“Wildly,” she said with a grin. “He also notes that an olive is a sign of peace and he would be honored if I would attend an informal dinner at the palace this Saturday. He promises to have Banduzzi olives available, should I wish to taste one. I am also invited to present my ideas on education or any other topics I might wish to discuss.”
“You’re joking.”
“I am not. I assume I’m clear on Saturday for a meeting with King Eduardo?”
Karen blinked. “Yes, of course. I’m supposed to pick up the keys to my new flat and sign the paperwork at five. I’m sure I can move it—”
“That’s all right. This looks like an invitation for one. Go get the keys to your flat.”
Karen frowned. “Are you sure? I can call King Eduardo’s office to clarify.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Karen hesitated a beat, then said, “You haven’t had the opportunity to meet him yet, but Mark Rosenburg manages the embassy’s education and culture programs. He’s in Atlanta touring Emory University and the Centers for Disease Control with a group of San Rimini’s public health students and won’t return until Monday. If King Eduardo agrees to support your program, Mark will be involved. I can’t imagine the king didn’t mean to include him.”
“I’ll contact him tonight to let him know about the invitation. Regardless of whether he was meant to be included, given the attitude of the king’s chief political advisor, we should strike while the iron’s hot. I’ll personally give Mark a full briefing when he returns, then loop him in on future meetings.”
At Karen’s nod, Claire continued, “Speaking of meetings, I want to go through today’s notes and update the calendar.”
For the next twenty minutes, they ran through summaries of the meetings Claire had attended over the course of the day, then discussed her upcoming schedule. As they spoke, the employees in the hallway gradually withdrew. Lights over desks were extinguished and computers shut down for the evening. Finally, Claire set aside her notepad and took a long drink of water. Her brain was fried. “Tell me we’re finished.”
“We are.”
“Thank goodness. Get a good night’s sleep, Karen. Tomorrow is another day.”
“Yes, and it’ll be a long one.”
Claire smiled as they both stood. “So you found a flat?”
“I did. No balcony and only this much sea view.” Karen held her hands shoulder width apart, palms facing each other. “But it’s only a fifteen-minute walk from here and the kitchen is glorious. San Rimini’s produce markets are supposed to be amazing. I plan to do a lot of cooking.”
“Funny, I plan to do a lot of eating.”
Karen’s smile widened for a moment, then her gaze went to the olive and she grew serious. No one was in earshot, but she lowered her voice anyway. “Ma’am, that was a handwritten card. From the king himself. It’s my understanding that he doesn’t do that often. I mean, he does for personal notes, but not for something like this, not anything official.”
“What are you saying?”
Karen hesitated.
“You can be frank, Karen. We’re alone.”
They’d worked together for years and Claire considered Karen a friend. Still, it took Karen several seconds to answer. “He wouldn’t have sent that card to Rich Cartwright.”
“We don’t know that.” She didn’t even need to gauge Karen’s reaction before she relented. “All right, we know that.”
“That