least resistance. It’s really not worth the political fuss. And this kind of bungling doesn’t happen too often.”
“ It could happen to anybody,” Laura Mitchell offered in a charitable vein. “I’ve seen one of the fancier caterers in Washington stumble over the wife of the British Ambassador. Anybody can spill a tray.”
“ But not everyone has to act boorish,” Caine replied with a friendly eye to Laura Mitchell.
“ I agree,” Carruthers interjected. “Our maintenance people are just not the types to interact with Washington society. They don’t display the social graces. It takes special training and sensitivity,” he explained in undisguised frustration.
“ Our night crews should stick to taking care of the Smithsonian buildings. There’s plenty of work and satisfaction for all of them. Those who end up catering events like tonight seem ill ‐ at ‐ ease. It’s not the first time I’ve seen it. Outright unfriendly.”
Carruthers glanced down at some shards too close to his burnished shoes, stepped back and continued.
“ Chris is right, Laura. But their Union has a stranglehold and keeps insisting on total control not only of maintenance, but other services associated with our buildings. It’s a long ‐ standing contract. I remember Victor Sherwyck had a big hand in lobbying the Board of Regents for it. They know he’s well connected, so the Board just leaves the labor contract alone.”
“ Well, I’m sure some of these workers would appreciate a change,” Laura observed. “They really look like they’d rather be somewhere else.”
“ The theme for the evening,” Caine muttered cryptically, thinking of the Presidential adviser he had planned to see. “Being somewhere else.”
Carruthers had noticed the palpable attraction between the two and saw his opening.
“ Speaking of being somewhere else, I promised Laura a ride back to her car at the Library of Congress. I have some things to attend to at another building. I wonder if….”
“ I’ll drive her back,” Caine offered instantly. “If it’s okay with you, Laura?”
“ He’s a good friend of mine, a military officer,” Carruthers assured her.
“ I’m fine, Al. I think I’m a good judge of character,” she said pointedly with an inviting look at the Colonel. “I’ll be happy to go back with you.”
The assistant curator was satisfied with his unexpected but apparently well placed match and excused himself. “I must circulate,” he declared. “The guests are waiting. Oh, and there are spilled trays to attend to. Now where did that wretched server disappear anyhow? ”
Christopher Caine and Laura Mitchell looked on in bemusement.
As the assistant curator walked away, Caine scanned the hall intently for Sherwyck.
“ Well, first you stare at me like you’ve seen a ghost, now you look right past me, like I’m invisible.”
“ I’m sorry,” he replied. “I could stare at you all night and forget to blink,” he said centering his attention on Laura whose alluring figure was accentuated by the flow of the elegant black dress draping her body.
“ I was hoping to have a few words with Victor Sherwyck who’s supposed to be here. You know how it is—no Washington function is strictly social. They all have an ulterior motive: political advantage, entrée—” he paused—“intrigue.”
“ Always intrigue,” Laura affirmed, taking another slow sip of her champagne. “So you’re here on official business, then?”
“ Not strictly. Especially, not now.”
She accepted his flattery with a soft laugh. Their eyes fixed on each other for a longer moment.
“ Intrigue, then?” She offered him her glass.
“ Intrigue,” he said and took a slow sip from it.
“ Hmm,” she intoned with interest.
“ Tell me more about these devils.” He slowly handed back her glass and pointed to a statue
“ It could happen to anybody,” Laura Mitchell offered in a charitable vein. “I’ve seen one of the fancier caterers in Washington stumble over the wife of the British Ambassador. Anybody can spill a tray.”
“ But not everyone has to act boorish,” Caine replied with a friendly eye to Laura Mitchell.
“ I agree,” Carruthers interjected. “Our maintenance people are just not the types to interact with Washington society. They don’t display the social graces. It takes special training and sensitivity,” he explained in undisguised frustration.
“ Our night crews should stick to taking care of the Smithsonian buildings. There’s plenty of work and satisfaction for all of them. Those who end up catering events like tonight seem ill ‐ at ‐ ease. It’s not the first time I’ve seen it. Outright unfriendly.”
Carruthers glanced down at some shards too close to his burnished shoes, stepped back and continued.
“ Chris is right, Laura. But their Union has a stranglehold and keeps insisting on total control not only of maintenance, but other services associated with our buildings. It’s a long ‐ standing contract. I remember Victor Sherwyck had a big hand in lobbying the Board of Regents for it. They know he’s well connected, so the Board just leaves the labor contract alone.”
“ Well, I’m sure some of these workers would appreciate a change,” Laura observed. “They really look like they’d rather be somewhere else.”
“ The theme for the evening,” Caine muttered cryptically, thinking of the Presidential adviser he had planned to see. “Being somewhere else.”
Carruthers had noticed the palpable attraction between the two and saw his opening.
“ Speaking of being somewhere else, I promised Laura a ride back to her car at the Library of Congress. I have some things to attend to at another building. I wonder if….”
“ I’ll drive her back,” Caine offered instantly. “If it’s okay with you, Laura?”
“ He’s a good friend of mine, a military officer,” Carruthers assured her.
“ I’m fine, Al. I think I’m a good judge of character,” she said pointedly with an inviting look at the Colonel. “I’ll be happy to go back with you.”
The assistant curator was satisfied with his unexpected but apparently well placed match and excused himself. “I must circulate,” he declared. “The guests are waiting. Oh, and there are spilled trays to attend to. Now where did that wretched server disappear anyhow? ”
Christopher Caine and Laura Mitchell looked on in bemusement.
As the assistant curator walked away, Caine scanned the hall intently for Sherwyck.
“ Well, first you stare at me like you’ve seen a ghost, now you look right past me, like I’m invisible.”
“ I’m sorry,” he replied. “I could stare at you all night and forget to blink,” he said centering his attention on Laura whose alluring figure was accentuated by the flow of the elegant black dress draping her body.
“ I was hoping to have a few words with Victor Sherwyck who’s supposed to be here. You know how it is—no Washington function is strictly social. They all have an ulterior motive: political advantage, entrée—” he paused—“intrigue.”
“ Always intrigue,” Laura affirmed, taking another slow sip of her champagne. “So you’re here on official business, then?”
“ Not strictly. Especially, not now.”
She accepted his flattery with a soft laugh. Their eyes fixed on each other for a longer moment.
“ Intrigue, then?” She offered him her glass.
“ Intrigue,” he said and took a slow sip from it.
“ Hmm,” she intoned with interest.
“ Tell me more about these devils.” He slowly handed back her glass and pointed to a statue
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