Sussex Drive: A Novel by Linda Svendsen Read Free Book Online

DISSOLUTION?”
    “I haven’t been asked yet.”
    “
Mais
—when you are?”
    “I can’t discuss it,” she said.
    René was hunting and gathering—toothbrush, razor, dental tape, and pomegranate moisturizer for alpha males—in their master bathroom. His leather toiletries kit was swollen. “The Toronto
Blob
says you will.”
    Lise perched on the edge of the tub. “Good for them.”
    “But are you going to say yes?”
    “Tune in tomorrow.” Lise pinched his closest buttock. He’d gained weight for the role of Father Benedict and his jeans were no longer lifting and separating.
    “I am disgusting,” he said.
    “Nobody will see when you’re lost in your cassock.”
    “Ah, but when it’s off—” He zipped his kit and flew from there to the master closet.
    She followed and watched as he flipped through a stack of soft Easter-pastel cardigans.
    “On Can Vox breakfast radio—”
    “Oui.”
    “—the Chief of Staff said it was a done deal.”
    “Amen.”
    “The Director of Communications also said your approval is a formality—”
    “Fini.”
    “—like the Throne Speech. The PM puts the words in your mouth—”
    “C’est tout.”
    René lifted the entire stack of sweaters and placed them beside a mound of professionally rolled yoga pants and trousers in the suitcase resting open on the Duxiana bed.
    “René,” she said patiently, “the GG usually
does
act upon the advice of the Prime Minister and Privy Council. It’s in the Letters Patent.”
    He looked her in the eyes. “She is also called upon to consult, encourage and warn.”
    She stared right back.
“Bien entendu.”
    “So are you going to grant his request? To dissolve this Parliament?”
    “That is my executive privilege, René.” She’d had it. “You’re being a big fat viceregal bore.” She knew he’d be upset at
fat
.
    “Okay,” he said. “Okay, Lise. My hope,
mon vrai espoir
, is that permission for an unnecessary election wasn’t bought.”
    “What are you talking about? How
bought
?”
    “By making them grant me a leave. For my film.”
    Lise walked out of the bedroom and slammed the door.
Vice-reine
-style.
    Ten minutes later, they bade their farewells in the Rideau Hall foyer.
    Niko was with them. Becky had expedited the Shymanski transfer, true to her word, and he already seemed to be fitting in. Niko had screened
In Bruges
with him the night before and they were quoting lines. Niko didn’t seem affected by René’s impending absence at all.
    Lise and René embraced in front of the portrait of Her Excellency Adrienne Clarkson. He held on to Lise tightly even though she was still pissed at him.
Complètement
.
    “
Va t’en,”
she whispered.
    He nudged his hip bone against her in a way that made her want to press hard back. Then he hummed a few bars of “La Vie en Rose.”
    She melted. “Phone me,” Lise coaxed.
    “Tous les jours, ma chère.”
    “Every day.”
    “No missions to Kandahar.”
    “Non.”
    “Promise?”
    “Oui.”
    “I’ll be back in November. For the hiatus.”
    “Oui.”
    “I’ll mail you my absentee ballot.”
    She shot him a look.
    René had the habit of kissing her as if they were completely alone even when they were in a crowded formal reception or a Loblaws. Particularly in a Loblaws. He could make their contact singularly urgent. He did so then. Niko broke in between them, with his body odour and acne and endearing adolescent bravado, and Lise thought,
Toute ma vie est là
.
    She caught a glimpse of Shymanski watching them, resting his back against a wall. She had the feeling he would have happily embraced them all too. He looked like a man who unfailingly called his mother; this perhaps explained his connection with Lieutenant-Colonel Aisha K., his older Afghan police partner, who had disappeared. Or died.
    Margaret Lee appeared and shook René’s hand. “Goodbye, Your Excellency,” she said. “Do break a leg.”
    “Ah, Margaret Lee,” René said, “I will miss you