The Ambassador's Wife Read Free Page B

Cressie onto her hip. Downstairs, Negasi rushes to take the baby, enfolding her in a patchouli- and perspiration-scented embrace. Miranda had initially felt uneasy about asking their housekeeper to look after her daughter—it wasn’t part of her job description, after all—but Negasi adores the child, often prying her from her mother’s arms to rock her, singing in her lilting Amharic. When Miranda tracks her down in the kitchen to retrieve Cressida, Negasi pleads for a few more minutes.
    The men are lined up in the hall with their black cases. “We can’t thank you enough for putting up with us, Miranda,” says Mick.
    â€œAny longer and Ali here might have gone native,” adds Gazza.
    â€œYou’re welcome anytime.” The bland words of diplomacy slip off her tongue so easily now, though this time she means it.
    â€œI hope we won’t have reason to come back anytime soon. Though we may not be able to keep Alastair away.”
    Miranda stays in the doorway as Finn walks the men down the garden path. Bashir and Yusef emerge from either side of the front steps to escort them, their eyes scanning the surrounding rooftops. The rest of the team waits in the armored cars, already humming in the drive. Finn jogs back to kiss her one last time (surprising Yusef, who has to leap out of the front seat and jog back with him). “See you tonight.”
    â€œAt an undetermined time?”
    â€œAs usual.”
    Finn cannot ever call her from work to say what time he is coming home. They have to assume that all their phones are tapped, and thus it would be dangerous to disclose the ambassador’s whereabouts. Sometimes Finn calls to say he will be late, but never exactly
how
late. “Dinner or no dinner?” she asks. “Dinner,” he always replies. Though it isn’t unusual for Finn to have dinner at 10:00 p.m. This didn’t used to bother her, but since the most recent attack on the US embassy she finds herself unable to focus on her work after 6:00 p.m., when the sun plunges behind the minarets. Her ears strain for the roar of his convoy as she prowls the upstairs, peering out of each of their dozens of windows in turn, seeing nothing but the night.
    â€œHave a happy day, sweetheart. And don’t forget, the bug men are coming this morning!” he whispers, before jogging back down the path and climbing into his forest-green Toyota Land Cruiser. She had almost forgotten. Two Brits are coming this morning to sweep the house for electronic bugs. “Seriously?” she had said when Finn told her. “How would bugs have gotten in?”
    Just about anyone in this country is bribable, Finn had said. Even their own staff members could be persuaded to settle a bug into a potted plant if it meant feeding their family back in Ethiopia for a month. This had startled Miranda. She couldn’t imagine anyone more loyal than Negasi. Or Teru. Or even Desta. Could they really soeasily be bribed? Then again, she probably also couldn’t conceive of the poverty of their families back in Ethiopia. Betraying an employer might feel fairly minor next to keeping a small child alive. “But we’ve been here three years!” she’d exclaimed. “The Mazrooqis might already know our darkest secrets.”
    â€œIt’s not routine,” he said. “But with the increased security concerns, we want to make sure we are crossing all of our T’s. Chances are, though, your secrets remain dark.”
    The bug men arrive at 8:00 a.m., half an hour after Finn’s convoy pulls out of the gates. Miranda is in the kitchen discussing the evening’s menu with Teru when she hears the growl of their armored car. Cressie sits in the middle of the metal counter waving a wooden spoon, occasionally whacking a cookbook. Miranda leaves her there with Teru to run to greet the men, pulling the door to the kitchen shut behind her; the staff are to be kept away