Chapter Nine

Elizabeth

Elizabeth snatched her phone from the bedside table the moment it started to buzz. She propped herself up on one elbow and peered blearily at the screen. Russell Jackson. "Hello?" She eased the covers off and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The chill in the air tingled between her toes.

"Elizabeth. Come to the White House now." A pause. "Alone."

The word 'alone' swept through her mind like a gust of winter and cleared the billows of fog that had settled over night. She glanced over her shoulder. Henry was lying on his side, his back to her, the duvet swaddling him like a cocoon. He gave a soft sigh and snuggled deeper into their bed.

"I'm on my way." She hung up and tossed the phone onto the comforter. She washed and dressed, all the while her heart was pounding, resounding that ominous word 'alone'.

"Bess, take a seat." Conrad motioned to the sofa nearest the door in the Oval Office, then he folded his arms over his chest. He was stood in front of his desk, whilst Russell and the FBI Director were sat on the far couch.

Elizabeth lowered herself down onto the cushion, her heart thudding against her ribs. Her gaze flitted over each of them in turn. "What's this about?" she said, though from their grave faces and the fact that Russell had told her to come without Henry, part of her already knew.

Russell leant forward in his seat, his hands clasped in front of him. His gaze settled on the coffee table for a long while before rising to meet her eye. And God, there was pity there. "An employee at the hotel has come forward. He says that he served Henry and the woman in the bar, and that he saw them going up to the room."

Elizabeth's chest clenched so tight it felt as though her heart had stopped. She opened her mouth, but there were no words in her mind let alone on her tongue. How could someone say that? How, when Henry was at home? "Have you checked the security footage?" She clutched her knees, palms sweaty against the denim of her jeans. "What…what about bribes?"

The three men shared a look. God, they thought she was crazy. Was she crazy?

Jon offered her a smile, a jarring mix of self-satisfaction and sympathy. "Elizabeth—"

"Madam Secretary," Elizabeth said.

Jon paused a moment, mouth open, then continued, "Madam Secretary, you're not the first woman to be duped by a philandering husband, and you certainly won't be the last. I think it's time that we drew a line under this whole…"

"Affair?" Elizabeth said, because that's what he was going to say. His lips pursed as if trying to contain his amusement at his own little pun. "My husband isn't a philander," she said, but the conviction in her voice had gone. She looked to Conrad; one arm was still crossed over his chest, but the other had risen to rest a finger over his lips. Others might call it his 'indecisive' look, but to her it was the look that he wore when he had already made the difficult decision. "We need to do something, we need to prove that Henry didn't do this."

Conrad studied her for a moment, then looked to Jon. Jon nodded, stood up and left. Conrad settled into the empty seat. Hours could have passed in the minute that it took him to meet her eye. "Bess—" he shook his head "—I never thought that Henry was capable of this, but then again, I never thought Munsey and Juliet were capable of orchestrating a coup in Iran."

The sickening feeling wrenched at the bottom of her stomach. "You think Henry did this?" Her gaze darted between Conrad and Russell. And their faces said what their mouths wouldn't.

"Bess," Russell began, and the way he dragged out her name made her stomach twist even tighter. "If this were a court of law, no jury would say there was reasonable enough doubt to acquit him—"

"Because we haven't looked hard enough. We haven't—"

"But what we're talking about is the court of public opinion." Russell raised his voice to speak over her, and something in his eyes hardened. "The public are far quicker to judge and don't need half as much evidence to believe that something's real."

Elizabeth swallowed, and her throat stuck. "So, what are you saying?"

"It's time that we start thinking about damage limitation," Russell said. His gaze dipped as he sighed out a long breath. "The pictures haven't leaked yet, but given the note that came with them, it's reasonable to assume that whoever has copies will release them if you do make it clear that you intend to run."

"But they're fake."

"That's immaterial." Russell shook his head. Frustration? Disapproval? She couldn't tell anymore. "If those pictures come out, people won't care what's real or not, but I promise you this, it will dent your career and ruin any chances you have for the presidency. Infidelity never plays well—for either side. But…if you leave him now, there's enough time for this to all blow over before you announce."

Elizabeth's head swam. "Leave him?"

"Those pictures are leverage," Russell said. "The only way to get rid of that leverage is to take control of the narrative." He made a gesture with his hands, as if spinning the air into yarn. "You found out your husband was having an affair, you pulled yourself together and you divorced him." His hands stopped.

"But he isn't—"

"That doesn't matter!" Russell's voice rocketed, and Elizabeth flinched. "What part of this don't you get? It's not about truth, politics isn't about truth; it's about optics."

Elizabeth clutched her hands in her lap, and she leant forward until her body was almost folded over on itself. Winded. "So, you're saying the only way to spin this is to publicly accuse my husband of something he hasn't done, leave him, tear apart my family…" She shook her head, and the stripes on the wall lurched, as if she were stuck inside a zoetrope. "There has to be another way."

Russell looked to Conrad, and Conrad gave the slightest of nods. Russell turned back to her. "You can negate the leverage all together."

"How?" Elizabeth's heart pounded.

Russell shrugged. "Quit."

The breaks creaked as the car pulled to a stop outside the house. One of the DS agents opened the door for Elizabeth, and she climbed out and offered him a weak smile. "Thanks…" but his name escaped her, she and Henry just called him 'the new guy'.

It was midmorning, but the sunlight was weak, and there was a bite to the air. Elizabeth hugged her cardigan around her and hid her hands in the sleeves. She had made it halfway to the porch when she stopped.

"Ma'am?" The new guy had been following her. "Everything okay?"

"I don't know," Elizabeth said softly, more to herself than to him, and she shook her head.

The front door opened, and there was Henry; wearing jeans, a storm grey pullover, and a warm smile. His smile faded when he saw her face though. He pulled the door to behind him and stepped out onto the path. "Babe, what's wrong?"

Someone said they saw you taking that woman up to a hotel room. The words were there but she couldn't bring herself to say them. "Henry." She swallowed, her throat thick. She forced herself to meet his eye. "Did you go to that hotel? Did you meet that woman? Did you have an affair?"

"No, no and no," Henry said. He took hold of her upper arms and stared down into her eyes. His own eyes held so much fear and hurt and love, but more than that, truth. He had lied to her in the past, small things, and she had always known. Surely she would know this time too.

"Okay," she said. She gave a firm nod. "I'm going to quit."

"Wait…what?"

She told him about the meeting, about what Russell had said. Leverage, optics, controlling the narrative. "When it comes down to it, unless I can prove that you didn't do this, unless I can get rid of those pictures, I only have one choice: divorce you, or quit."

Henry clutched her arms. He shook his head, so adamant. "You don't have to quit."

"Henry…" His name dragged into a sigh. "It's just a matter of time." She held onto his waist, but for once his warmth brought no comfort. "Right now it's about the election, but next it will be one of my policies. So long as those pictures are out there, I'm under someone's thumb. And if—" she shook her head and her hair fell into her face "—when they come out, my career will be over anyway."

Henry's jaw clenched, and the muscles twitched. He looked past her for a long moment before locking his eyes on hers. His throat bobbed. His eyes glistened. "Then I'll leave." His hands fell away from her arms, and the air grew bitter without his touch.

Oh, Henry. Elizabeth's heart sank, and her grip on his waist tightened. "And how will that help?"

"Your career will be safe," Henry said, "even if the pictures come out. Leverage gone." His mouth drew into a tight pout, decision made.

"But then I won't have you," Elizabeth said. She stepped closer, bringing her body flush to his, and as she stroked the hair at the side of his head, she peered up into his eyes. "Don't you get it? I love my job, but no where near as much as I love you." She rested her forehead against his chest and breathed in the scent of home. "Remember what I said when I started this job? I'll quit in a heartbeat if anything comes between us, if anything threatens what we have." And there they were. No more Madam Secretary. Certainly never Madam President. Just Henry and Elizabeth.

"You don't have to," Henry said, and he wrapped his arms around her.

"Yes," she said, and she lifted her head from his chest, "I do."