I felt my face grow hot. Worse, I was speechless.

Mrs. Campbell must have sensed my surprised amazement. Without waiting for me to reply, she turned her back to me again and grabbed a stack of white bowls in the cabinets. “You can use these,” she said setting them on the table between us. “Like I said, I had dining places set out earlier. We can serve ourselves family style. After all, we are practically family. I’ve known Treyton since before he was born.”

One of her assistants peeked around the door to let Mrs. Campbell know that Blanchard had arrived. I secretly hoped Bindy wasn’t with him. If Mrs. Campbell was looking to share memories with an old friend, the last thing she needed at the table tonight was an ambitious political emissary who giggled whenever she got nervous.

IN FAIRLY SHORT ORDER I GOT ONE OF THE Campbell ’s favorite dinners started. Nothing fancy, a simple breaded lemon chicken served over angel hair pasta, with capers. The pre-course salad would be served with Bucky’s newest dressing. I’d pre-tested it myself and pronounced it wonderful. Dessert would be simple, too. Fresh sorbet, in hollowed-out oranges, waited in the freezer for a whipped cream and peppermint leaf garnish. The preparation took some effort, but I wanted to bring a touch of cheer to what promised to be a difficult evening.

I was so immersed in preparation that I didn’t notice Bindy until she called my name.

Startled, I glanced up, hoping as I reacted that my disappointment didn’t show.

“This is nice,” she said, walking into the kitchen. “I’ve never been in this room before.” She carried a plate, silverware, napkin, and crystal water glass. In addition, she held a diplomatic pouch under her arm.

“What’s going on?”

The disappointment on her face told the story before she could. “Treyton asked if I minded excusing myself.” She flushed. “How embarrassing. We thought this was supposed to be a real dinner, downstairs, with a few other people. I guess I should’ve…” She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter now, does it? I’m here. I’m stuck till it’s time to leave. Do you mind if I sit in here with you?”

She arranged her place settings on the table, as though preparing to be served. With care, she placed the package on the chair next to hers. “That’s for later,” she said cryptically.

I’d planned to clean up as soon as dinner was served, and then beat a path back downstairs. My estimated ten o’clock departure was looking ever more unlikely. “Sure,” I lied. “Have you eaten?”

She shook her head.

“Well, I’ve prepared plenty,” I said. “Let me just take care of them first, okay?”

If I’d expected an offer of help, I was mistaken. But in truth, I was glad. Preparing a dinner for this small group wouldn’t be difficult, and I’d rather do it myself than have to coach an amateur. Bindy sat at the table, watching me work, occasionally asking a question about preparation or presentation.

She had the good sense to speak in a whisper. Since we could hear most of the conversation going on in the next room, it stood to reason they would be able to hear us, too.

I wheeled out the salad, dressing, and bread, feeling more like I was serving my mother and nana at home than the president of the United States, his wife, and their guest. Meals in this home were usually served by tuxedoed butlers, amid much pomp and circumstance. Right now, in my tunic and apron, I felt positively slovenly.

“Good evening, Mr. President, Senator Blanchard,” I said, nodding to each of them and to Mrs. Campbell. The president greeted me by name and Blanchard smiled. I saw in him what most voters must have seen. He exuded charm and confidence-so much so that it almost seemed as if he had the power to dispel the house’s sad pall.

I set the food items on the table. “I’ll be in the next room, if you need anything.”

Having gone silent when I entered, they started conversation start right up again as I crossed the threshold into the adjacent kitchen.

“I know the timing is terrible,” Senator Blanchard said, “but this is the situation we’re faced with. This was brought on by our fathers. It’s unfortunate that we’re required to deal with their shortsightedness. Especially at a time like this.”

Bindy made a face that let me know she was as uncomfortable as I. “Salad?” I whispered.

She nodded, so I set one in front of her and used the remaining time to finish preparing the entrée. As she ate, I couldn’t help listening to the terse conversation in the next room.

“My wife has shown me the corporation’s financials,” President Campbell said. “Based on the company’s projected growth, I don’t understand why any of you want to sell right now.”

“I beg your pardon, sir,” Blanchard said, “but I believe my analysts have a better grip on the company’s financials than either you or I could hope to have. We are, after all, in the business of serving our country rather than wizards in the financial world.”

“Still,” President Campbell said, “when Sean took a look at the books-”

“Your nephew would have advised you to sell, too.”

“No,” Mrs. Campbell said. “He advised me against selling.”

I heard a chair scrape backward and I could picture Blanchard’s reaction. As I poured sauce over the chicken breasts, I fought to tune out Bindy’s mouth sounds and listen in to Blanchard’s reply.

“You must be mistaken.”

“I am not.” A clink of silverware. I could imagine Mrs. Campbell sitting up straighter. “Don’t you remember? I told you on Thursday.” Her voice faltered. “Before we learned… before…”

“I truly am sorry to bring up such a difficult subject at a time like this,” Blanchard said again. “But I can’t imagine such a fine young man giving you bad advice.”

Whispered: “Ollie?”

I turned. Bindy held up her glass. “Do you have anything stronger than water?”

I pulled open the refrigerator door, wondering why she didn’t get it herself. Then again, she might not feel comfortable puttering around in someone else’s kitchen, especially one in the White House. “Orange juice, milk, iced tea…”

“Iced tea, thanks.”

As I served her, I listened again to the conversation in the other room. Bindy’s body language suggested she was eager to keep me from hearing what was going on, so I strove for nonchalance, moving with care, trying to make as little noise as possible. Not that it mattered. The adjacent room’s conversation came through loud and clear.

“No, I don’t believe this is our fathers’ fault,” Mrs. Campbell was saying. “I believe they wanted to ensure their children’s security. And my father would not have wanted me to sell out at the first opportunity after his death.”

Blanchard spoke so quietly I almost couldn’t make out his words. “But you must understand that my father, Nick’s father, and Helen’s all died years ago. We couldn’t move on this business venture until… well, until you inherited your share. This can hardly be considered too quick of a decision.”

“It is for me.”

“But don’t you see? That’s the problem. Our fathers believed-erroneously, I might add-that the four of us needed to reach a decision unanimously. If they hadn’t put that codicil in their agreement, I can guarantee Helen would have sold out within a year of her father’s death. She’s been waiting ten years for her portion of the proceeds.”

The president chimed in. “What I don’t understand is why the need to sell? None of you is destitute; you don’t need the funds to survive. Why the rush?”

I carried a platter of succulent chicken breasts and steaming pasta into the dining room. As I set the dish down, I wanted to ask if there was anything else the diners required, but Blanchard was talking, so I held my tongue.

“It’s Volkov,” he said. Then, with a pointed look at me, he stopped talking and took a drink of water.