Chapter Four

Elizabeth

The whir of the coffee machine drowned out the drone of the morning news, and the rich aroma wafted up to greet Elizabeth as she stepped out onto the landing. She tucked her blouse into her skirt as she made her way to the stairs, and only half succeeded in stifling a yawn. Jason was sat on the top step, his face fixed in the same frown and pout as the night before.

Elizabeth touched his shoulder, before sitting down next to him. When he continued to stare straight ahead into some unseeable distance, she bumped her elbow against his. "Want to talk?" Jason shook his head, so she tried again. "Want to come down for breakfast?"

Jason jutted his jaw to one side. "I'm waiting until he's gone."

"He," Elizabeth said, and she dragged out the word with a drawl of incredulity, "as in your father?" As in the first person to hold you, whilst nurses rushed to give me blood. As in the man who I trusted to raise my son.

Jason met her with a steely gaze. "In a strictly biological sense."

"Wow." Elizabeth suppressed a snort. Things just got Jungian. "Well, don't wait too long; you'll be late for school." She squeezed his knee, and standing up on the steps, she steadied herself against the bannister.

"I'm not going," Jason said.

Elizabeth turned back to face him. "Oh really?"

"You do realise how humiliating this is going to be when those pictures come out." Jason's expression darkened, but not enough to hide the glimmer of fear beneath. "That woman is barely older than Stevie. The press is going to tear us apart—" his eyes filled with a kind of shameful anger "—tear you apart."

And they would; they'd find all kinds of foul things to say. Call her emasculating, frigid, less than a woman. Made all the worse by the fact that they weren't true, none of this was true. "There's nothing to suggest that whoever has these images is intending to leak them."

"Yet," Jason said, and the word resounded in her mind.

"I'm going to do everything I can to make sure that doesn't happen," Elizabeth said, "and to find out what's really going on."

"Whatever." Jason stood up and trudged back down the hall to his room.

"Jason," Elizabeth called after him, but he slammed the door and the vibrations juddered through the walls.

Elizabeth took a deep breath and let it rush out. On days like this, it made her wish she had stuck to meditation.

Stevie and Alison were sat in the silence at the table. They stared down at their bowls of cereal, hunched over as if trying to block out the view of their father in the kitchen. Henry was leant back against the counter next to the sink, nursing a cup of coffee. His eyes were vacant, staring far into the distance, just as Jason's had, but he looked up and gave her a weak smile as she climbed down the last step. "Hey, babe."

"Hey, you." She patted his chest and leant in to peck his lips before going to claim her own mug of coffee. Her gaze flitted to him as she poured. The distant look had returned. "Been up long?"

"Couldn't sleep," Henry said. And she nodded; the bed had been cold when she woke. "I didn't want to keep you up."

"I got a text from Russell asking us to come in this afternoon." She stood toe to toe with him as she sipped her coffee and waited for the buzz of caffeine to hit her veins. "They're going to brief the agencies today." Henry set his mug down and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Hey—" she tapped his foot with her toes "—it's going to be okay."

He smiled, still a little grim, and nodded. "It just means more people looking at…at that. More people judging and thinking I would…" His shoulders tensed, and it tugged at her heart.

She stepped closer, nudging his feet apart so that she could fit in between. Then she slid her hands up his chest and massaged his shoulders. "I know, but we'll do it together, okay?"

"Okay." He found her waist and pulled her closer until she met his lips with a sweet kiss. "I love you."

"I like you okay too." She flashed him a smile and received a hint of one in return. It was a start. "Just try not to think about it, and I'll see you this afternoon."

The staff stood up as Elizabeth strode into the meeting room where they were holding their morning briefing. She waved them back to their seats and skirted around the edge of the table to her own chair. Within seconds, Blake had set a cup of coffee in front of her with a tentative smile. She frowned. Did he know?

"Late night?" Jay asked from across the table. He flicked through the pages of the binder set out in front of him, pausing to wet his thumb when the sheets slipped from his grasp.

"Long night," Elizabeth said, and she pulled her own binder towards her.

"Well, I'm afraid it's going to be a long day too."

Elizabeth's stomach clenched. Why could they never greet her with good news?

Kat set her hands on the desk, fingers spread, palms arched. She looked straight at Elizabeth. "The Russians have decided to shut down our embassy in Moscow and are expelling all of our staff in retaliation for the closure of the Seattle consulate."

"What?" The words rang through her mind. "You can't be serious. Well of course you're serious, but that kind of escalation is totally unwarranted." Though when had that ever stopped the Russians before? They were like coiled springs, just waiting for the slightest prod to set them off.

"Salnikov is desperate to prove that he's being tough on America," Jay said, and he leant forward. With his elbows resting atop the binder, he held his pen between both hands. "I guess he's no longer happy tearing you apart on his chat show and wants people to see that he's a man of action."

"I'll show him action," Elizabeth muttered. "Blake." Blake's gaze snapped up from the laptop in the corner. "Summon the Russian ambassador. We need to have a word."

"Yes, ma'am."

When the staff meeting had concluded, Elizabeth retreated to her office. Daisy followed, her heels tapping against the floor. The door shut, and Daisy stepped forward, her hands clutched in front of her, as Elizabeth sank down onto the couch.

"Ma'am, I just wanted to check in…"

Elizabeth rested her elbows against her knees, her hands folded beneath her chin. "The photos." She clicked her tongue. "They're fakes—" disbelief flashed across Daisy's face long before she could conceal it "—you don't have to believe me; no one else does."

"I—" Daisy floundered.

Elizabeth held up one hand. "The security services are looking into the matter, but in the meantime, I'd appreciate it if you kept this to yourself and if you hear anything at all—if the media even hint at it—let me know immediately."

Daisy's lips pressed into a firm line. She nodded. "Yes, ma'am." She turned, as if to head back to the door, but then hesitated. "And if there's anything else I can do to help…"

"Thank you, Daisy."

Once Daisy had left, she settled back against the cushions and tossed her glasses down onto the seat next to her. But no matter how she sat, she couldn't get comfortable. Just like The Princess and the Pea; the story she had read to Stevie and Alison when they were little girls. Only her discomfort didn't make her fit to marry a prince, it just served as a reminder that her own prince was being painted as a troll.

What was worse? People thinking that her husband had had an affair, or people thinking she was too gullible to see the truth? There were always signs; a hint of perfume, odd phone calls, a smudge of lipstick, barriers coming up. If there had been any signs with Henry, she would have been the first to notice them. Right?

Staffers flurried through the corridors of the White House, alive with the swish of paperwork and quick-paced chatter. Elizabeth slipped her hand into Henry's and linked her fingers through his whilst they drifted along in a claustrophobic silence. Henry's jaw was tense, his shoulders were tense, everything was tense. He looked ready to snap.

She opened her mouth, about to tell him it would be okay, everything would be okay, but then she closed it again, and pursed her lips.

"Bess, Henry." Russell led them into the Oval Office, and as they entered, Elizabeth squeezed Henry's hand one last time, then she let go. She directed Henry to take a seat at the end of the nearest couch, then she perched against the armrest.

Conrad was sat behind his desk, leant right back in his chair with his elbows resting against the arms. Stood in front of the desk were Ephraim Ware; the Director of the DSS, Mark Greyling; and a slim-built man with wiry glasses and dark hair just beginning to fade into grey. The man looked familiar, but Elizabeth couldn't place a title or a name. They all turned to Elizabeth and Henry as they entered.

"Bess, Henry." Conrad nodded to them. Then he gestured to the dark-haired man. "I don't think you've met our new FBI Director, Jon Smythe."

Jon stepped forward, hand outstretched, lips drawn into a taut smile that looked more like a grimace, as if someone had dug a needle into the sole of his foot. "Nice to meet you, Madam Secretary." He shook Elizabeth's hand, his grip weak. There was a slight pause before he nodded to Henry. "Dr McCord." Then he retreated a few paces, bringing himself in line with the couch opposite.

"I've brought everyone up to speed," Conrad said. "Ephraim?"

Ephraim began to speak, and as he did, he kept twisting round, one minute facing Conrad, the next Elizabeth. "The photos may very well be fake," he said. And Henry's hand brushed against Elizabeth's thigh. She caught his fingers and clung to them, taking as much support from him as he did from her. Ephraim continued, "With recent advances in artificial intelligence, it's becoming easier for people to create photos—and even videos—that it's nigh on impossible to distinguish from the real thing." He shook his head to himself, teeth clenched. "It's an issue that we're becoming increasingly concerned about."

Conrad pinched his bottom lip. His expression had darkened, like thunderclouds rolling in over the plains. "A new age of propaganda."

"Is there any way to prove that they're fake?" Elizabeth asked. She tangled her fingers through Henry's. If they could just show, conclusively, that the images were fraudulent, this might all go away. Unless, of course, someone decided to leak them anyway…

Ephraim's lips drew into a bleak line. "At the end of the day, it comes down to the pattern of pixels." He shrugged. "What's to say which have come from the real world and which have been pasted together on a computer screen?"

Elizabeth's chest deflated. "What about the security log?" She looked to Mark Greyling, a balding man, wide and tall, whose eyebrows more than made up for the waning hair on his head.

"The security log doesn't have any record of anyone being at the residence last night," Mark said, "but I'm going to check with the agents on duty." He looked to Henry. "Did you speak to anyone on the way in?"

Henry looked up at Elizabeth before shaking his head. "Elizabeth was at the office, so there weren't many agents there. One of the newer recruits was near the door, but I didn't speak to him…I don't know if he saw me or not."

Mark's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, then he turned back to Elizabeth. "Our agents go through rigorous training—"

"But everyone has a bad day, right?" Elizabeth flashed him a smile that made her cheeks ache. Why were they all so reluctant to believe Henry?

Mark gave a half shrug. "As I said, I'll speak to the agents on duty. And I'd like to arrange to do a full sweep of your house in the next few days. We check it pretty regularly, but I think we should do a more in-depth search." His chest swelled as he took a deep breath, and his gaze dipped to the floor. "I have to say though, I don't think we'll be able to help with this matter."

Elizabeth's heart sank, but she kept her smile fixed in place and squeezed Henry's hand. They would find another way.

Stood next to the couch opposite, the new FBI director shifted his weight from one foot to the other and hugged his chest. His gaze was as harsh as the lights that detectives shone on suspects in those tacky cop shows that the kids watched sometimes, when they had flicked through every single channel and found nothing else on.

Conrad tapped the arm of his chair, the fingers of his other hand resting against his lips. He raised his eyebrows at the FBI director. "Any thoughts, Jon?"

"Frankly—" Jon drew out the word, and it prickled over Elizabeth's skin "—I think this is a domestic issue and a waste of resources." Tension radiated from Henry, a flush of heat that washed over Elizabeth and spread into the room, but the director didn't seem to notice, or perhaps he just didn't care. He continued. "With all due respect, Madam Secretary, if we investigated every case of a husband dipping his wick in another candle—"

Elizabeth's pulse pounded through her ears, and her whole body throbbed with each beat. It felt like streams of lava had replaced the blood in her veins. But before she could say anything, Henry shot up from the couch, fists clenched. "Hey!" And he lunged at Jon. Jon must have noticed the tension then, for he jumped backwards, the slimy smile wiped from his face.

Elizabeth darted between them. She faced Henry, and placed one hand on his chest, her fingers forming a star. Just the touch of her fingertips stalled him, but his heart still hammered beneath, and every strike—every ember of rage—coursed through her too. With the slightest pressure, she urged him back a step. As much as she would love to hit the guy, fighting wasn't the answer. She kept her hand against Henry's chest as she turned to face Jon.

Jon's shoulders had rounded forward, like a dog cowering from its master. And he was right to cower; if Elizabeth hadn't been in the room, nothing would have stopped her husband. She glared at the FBI director. "Next time you think to start a sentence by saying 'with all due respect', I suggest that you shut your mouth, or believe me when I say, I will shut it for you."

"She's got a mean right hook, Jon." Russell's voice drawled from the edge of the room.

Jon held up his hands. "Look, I'm just saying, it's not my job to hold together your fairytale romance at the taxpayer's expense."

Christ, this guy just didn't know when to stop. "My husband is not having an affair." She delivered each word deliberately. "And regardless of what you believe, someone has sent these pictures to myself—and to the president—as a threat. Now, I understand that dealing with such threats is your job. If you don't find that to your taste, I'd be perfectly willing to recommend any number of candidates as your replacement."

The obsequious smile returned, and Jon's gaze flickered to Conrad, as if to verify just how much sway Elizabeth had. But Conrad's expression remained impassive, waiting to see how this all played out.

"I've obviously touched a nerve," Jon said, and Elizabeth almost snorted. No kidding, Jon. "President Dalton has asked the FBI to investigate, and we will. All I ask of you, Madam Secretary, is to keep your mind open to all possibilities, including the very likely possibility that your husband has a bit on the side."

Henry's chest surged beneath her touch. She increased the pressure, pushing him back. Perhaps bringing Henry to the meeting was a mistake, but he had the right to know what was being discussed, had the right to defend himself, though preferably not with his fists.

Conrad raised his eyebrows at the FBI director. "That's enough, Jon. I think you've made your point more than clear."

"Sir." Jon bowed.

"If that's all, sir," Elizabeth said, "I need to get back to the office." It wasn't a lie, but more than that, if they didn't leave soon, she would say something she would regret. Or perhaps wouldn't regret, but it certainly wouldn't be pleasant.

Conrad nodded. "See you later, Bess. Henry."

Henry

Blood scorched Henry's veins. The moment that they stepped out of the Oval Office he stormed down the corridor. The wallpaper pulsed like strobing lights. He ducked into one of the vacant meeting rooms, with its elegant walnut table and lines of brown leather seats. He seized one of the chairs and threw it to the floor with a crash. How could all these people just stand there, with their smug smiles and judgemental looks, and condemn him without a shred of proof? What happened to trust? What happened to truth? What happened to justice?

With his pulse still blaring, he kicked the upturned chair and then sank to the floor, his knees bent, his head in his hands.

"Well, at least we know where Jason gets his temper from."

He looked up at Elizabeth's voice. She was leant in the doorway, her arms folded loosely over stomach. She offered him a small smile, but with the rage still burning, he couldn't muster anything in return. His gaze fell back to the floor, and he dug his fingernails into his temples, as though the slight sting might soothe his nerves. "I'm telling you, if you hadn't stepped between me and that…" his jaw clenched. Many words sprung to mind, but none quite summed up his loathing towards the FBI director.

"I know," Elizabeth said. She slipped into the room and pushed the door to behind her, then kicked off her heels and sat down next to him. Her fingertips trailed up and down his spine, stopping now and then to work the knots from his muscles until they yielded and his body relaxed into her touch. "I could punch him too. But that won't get us anywhere."

"It would make me feel better though." He turned towards her and caught the glimmer of her smile.

"For a little while." She turned her attention to his lower back, drawing circles that started out small but grew wider and wider with each turn. "Things will work out, Henry."

"What if they don't?" Her touch stilled for a moment, and then started again, now moving in the opposite direction. "Somebody has already gone to all this trouble; what else might they do?" He looked to the floor again, and shook his head to himself. "It feels like I'm in The Trial. Guilt is assumed, and the rules of the court are unknown."

There was a pause. He sensed the smile that tugged at Elizabeth's lips more than he saw it; it was like the feeling when a ray of sunlight diffuses through a room. "Wow," she said, voice deadpan. "Kafka references? It must be bad." Then the ray flourished into a beam.

Henry chuckled. And he wrapped his arm around her, drawing her close until she rested her head against his neck. The wisps of her hair tickled, and he filled his lungs with her scent; a hint of blossom and the warmth of citrus; a single breath could carry him home. "You do believe me, don't you?" he said. He wouldn't be surprised if she had doubts, especially when everyone else was so quick to denounce him.

"You're still breathing, aren't you?" She twisted so that she could see his face, then she cupped his cheek, her eyes locked on his. Blue like the ocean; it was a cliché, but he hadn't found another way to describe how they sparkled like sunlight on water, or how they possessed such depth, or how he would give everything he had to drown in them. "We'll get through this, Henry. I promise." Then she leant in and brushed her lips over his, more of a touch than a kiss, until he cradled her head in his hand and pulled her in for more.

When she drew back, she kept her lips close, so that her breath tingled over his skin. "I'll see you this evening, okay?" She nuzzled her nose against his. "I love you."

Jason

The sound of the front door slamming interrupted the tap, tap, tap as Jason pounded the keyboard of his laptop. His hands stilled. He unhooked the headphones from around his neck and set them down on the desk, then snuck out onto the landing. The air was thick from the heat of the radiators, and the acrid smell of overcooked garlic lingered from his reheated lunch.

"Anyone home?"

He froze at his father's voice. One hand found the wall and steadied him, as a cool sweat prickled over his skin. He padded along the carpet to the top of the stairs and began to creep down the steps. Each foot was placed with tentative precision, lest the wood creak beneath him and give him away.

His father had disappeared into the kitchen. Jason continued down the stairs and had almost made it to the bottom, when there was a sound like keys scraping against the countertop and the crescendo of footsteps stomping towards him. His heartbeat quickened, matching the footfall thud for thud. He glanced back up the stairs, and then down into the siting room, before he darted down the final steps and ducked beneath the piano. He crawled backwards until he was hidden beneath the strings—so, the instrument had a practical use at last.

His father strode through the living room, sailing past Jason, and headed straight for the front door. He pocketed his house keys, and then he was gone. But going where? He had only just got home.

Jason scrambled out from beneath the piano and grabbed his trainers from the closet. He tugged them on, pulled the hood of his sweater up, and then followed. His mother might not believe the photos sent by some anonymous source, but she would have to believe whatever he uncovered.

Jason kept his distance as his father walked down the street. He stuck close to the cars and the trees that lined the avenue, poised to dart between the bumpers or behind a trunk at the slightest indication that he had been made. But his father didn't look back once. He barely turned his head even when he went to cross the road. Perhaps his mother had been telling the truth when she said that their father wasn't working for intelligence. If he couldn't even tell when he was being tailed, catching him in the act would be easier than Jason thought.

Elizabeth

The house was buzzing with the beat of music when Elizabeth got home that evening. It shook through the house, pulsed through her feet, and jarred her nerves. How long would it be before their neighbours asked them to move out this time?

Cartons of Chinese takeaway littered the countertop in the kitchen, and the smell of five-spice and sesame oil infused the air. Elizabeth peered into the boxes, and her heart sank a little. No one had said that becoming Secretary of State would mean living off her family's leftovers.

Henry called through from the den. "I've saved you some over here." And he beckoned for her to join him on the couch. There was a separate pile of cartons on the coffee table. Elizabeth hovered over them as she searched for the pork dumplings. "I'm afraid we've now descended into placing separate orders," Henry said. "Apparently the kids can't bear for my food to be delivered at the same time as theirs."

Elizabeth stopped her search and turned to look at him, her eyebrows raised a fraction. "What?" She scoffed. "Please tell me you're kidding."

Henry shrugged, as though it didn't bother him, but his shoulders were tense and there was a flicker of hurt in his eyes. That pain radiated from him and ached through her, and it felt for a moment as though she were the one who had been falsely accused.

"Right." She straightened up and stepped towards the stairs. This was getting beyond a joke. But Henry's hand darted out and caught her wrist. His fingers pressed against her pulse, and it throbbed beneath his touch.

"Babe, just leave them." He tugged at her hand, and she let him pull her down onto the couch. She sat with her body turned towards him, one leg folded in front of her. He squeezed her calf. "Until we have proof, they're not going to listen anyway."

"But they shouldn't treat you like this." She slipped her fingers through his. No one should treat him like this.

"Hey—" Henry gave her a taut smile "—as long as I'm persona non grata, we get the downstairs to ourselves. So it has some advantages." His smile softened, and it reached his eyes now, crinkling their edges and lighting them up with a dark glimmer.

Her pulsed quickened, and no sooner had her own smile blossomed than he cupped her cheek and drew her in for a kiss. The taste of sweet and sour sauce and the bitterness of beer overwhelmed her; they could have been living in their first apartment together all over again. He sucked on her lower lip, and as her lips parted, he shifted his weight over her and lowered her down onto the couch.

She nestled back against the cushions, relishing the warmth of his body pressed against hers; their own little cocoon, safe from the rest of the world. She slid her hands up his chest and tangled her fingers through his hair, letting her nails scrape over his scalp. He moaned into their kiss, and it buzzed through her. He teased up the hem of her shirt, his fingers dancing over her skin, but before she had the chance to reciprocate, his caress was met by a growl from her stomach. She sighed. So much for taking advantage of the situation.

His lips curled into a smile against hers, and then the smile turned into a soft chuckle. He pulled back slightly and nipped at the corners of her lips. "Hungry?"

She shrugged as she toyed with the strands at the nape of his neck. "A girl's gotta eat."

He stroked the wisps of hair back from her face and tucked them behind her ear. Then he looked down at her, with such sincerity and awe. "You know I love you, only you." He touched his lips to hers, his breath hot against her face. "I'd never give up what we have."

She brushed her thumb along his jaw. "I know. And I love you too."

He pulled her back up to sitting, and as she ate, she curled up against his side. One of his arms wrapped around her shoulders, keeping her close to his chest, whilst the other held his bottle of beer against the armrest. The television was on the background, some cooking show that they watched occasionally, but neither of them were really watching it now so much as staring through it.

"There was no milk in the fridge when I got home," Henry said. Elizabeth looked up at him as she used her tongue to clean pieces of food from between her teeth. Where exactly was this conversation going? "So I went out to the store to get some more." He glanced down at her. "Jason followed me."

Elizabeth pushed away from him so that she could see his face properly. She frowned. "Followed as in tailed?"

Henry nodded. Then he laughed. "He was so bad. He didn't even bother to walk on the opposite side of the street."

"Well at least he won't take up the family business," Elizabeth said. Just the thought of any of her kids becoming spies made her mind prickle; especially after some of the ops she had lived through. "Did you say anything?" She took another bite of dumpling, then discarded the second half in the box.

Henry shook his head. "If that's what he needs to do to, let him get on with it. The worst that will happen is that he realises just how mundane my everyday life is—" he caught her eye "—except for when I'm with you—" she arched her eyebrows; nice save "—and at least I'll always have an alibi."

"You don't think he's taking it a bit far?" Elizabeth said. Playing loud music and locking himself in his room, well that was just being a teenager, but tracking his father's every move…

"I can live with it."

"Maybe we should set up a clandestine meeting of our own." She chucked the carton onto the coffee table and wiped down her hands. "That'll soon scare him off."