Chapter 8 #2
The fact is, this is the gayest I’ve ever been at one of these functions.
I’ve lost count of the number of times over the years when I’ve conspicuously avoided mentioning my sexuality in the diplomatic world, convinced it would count against me.
But tonight, there’s no hiding it. When people see me with a hot man on my arm, they know instantly.
And what if that’s as much a negative as a positive?
I think back to my conversation with Mariam.
She was right – it’s not an even playing field, but the answer is not as simple as acquiring a boyfriend.
The role Flora plays for Quentin is time-tested and traditional.
I can’t claim that about Hunter, no matter how much he adds to my ticket.
He’s played his part flawlessly, and still Quentin has the advantage.
It’s a relief when the schmoozing starts to wind down and everyone gets ready for the handover of the Marbles.
Like everything else, this has been the subject of ridiculous levels of discussion.
For a long time, there was a serious plan to light up the statues in white and blue, the colours of the Greek national flag.
In the end, sanity prevailed, and everyone agreed on a simple handshake between Montgomery Pim and the woman who is breaking his heart, the director of the Acropolis Museum in Athens.
There’s always anxiety in the air in the build-up to carefully choreographed moments like this, but as I look around, I sense that something more is going on.
We’re not being herded as planned to the room where the Marbles are housed.
Various officials are darting around skittishly and talking in hushed tones, and then I spot Henry Herbert or Herbert Henry with his iPad, a clear harbinger of doom.
I cross over to Mariam and ask what’s wrong.
‘It’s Montgomery,’ she says fretfully.
‘What about him?’
‘He’s locked himself in with them.’
‘Who?’
‘The Marbles. He says they’re leaving over his dead body.’
‘You can’t be serious.’
‘See for yourself.’
I follow Mariam away from the main gathering to the locked doors of the room containing the Marbles.
Hunter joins me, intrigued by what’s unfolding.
There’s a small group of people crowded around the door, all trying to beg, plead, and reason with Montgomery.
Someone even asks if he’d feel differently if she made him a nice cup of tea.
Hard to believe this country once ruled the world.
Montgomery isn’t responding. Everyone looks panicked.
There’s no question of Monty’s plan succeeding.
Whatever happens tonight, the Marbles will go back to Greece.
But what we want to avoid is an embarrassment.
There are members of the press here, some from newspapers who are furious that Britain agreed to this exchange.
They’d love nothing more than a fuck-up.
So far, it doesn’t look like any of them have noticed the hubbub, but it’s only a matter of time.
Before I can think of a solution, I hear a familiar voice and turn to see the brilliant Flora Forbes clearing a path for Quentin through the crowd.
He asks to have a word with Montgomery on the grounds that a distant relative of his was on a fencing team with Lord Elgin.
When they get to the front, I turn to Hunter.
‘We need to do something.’
Hunter frowns. ‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know, but Monty liked you. There must be something we can say to convince him.’
Admittedly, I can’t think what. I just know we can’t stand here and do nothing while Quentin saves the day. If he pulls that off, he’ll have this job in the bag. But what can we possibly say to Monty?
As Hunter listens to Quentin’s attempts to bargain with Montgomery, I sense that Quentin’s courteous remonstrations are the kind of thing that rub Hunter the wrong way.
After one particularly obsequious plea, something in Hunter snaps.
He marches to the front and ushers Quentin out of the way.
Not aggressively, but with such conviction that nobody questions him. Honestly, it’s kind of hot.
‘Monty?’ says Hunter.
Silence.
‘It’s Edwin. We met at the entrance. Open the door.’
By some miracle, the door opens a crack.
Montgomery’s beady little eyes peer out.
Hunter doesn’t hesitate. He barges inside and I slip in behind him and close the door.
I look at the back of the room and see the Elgin Marbles in all their glory.
There’s Athena, standing proud and headless in her billowing robes, and Dionysus, reclining nude in crumpled sheets.
Next to their resplendence, Montgomery looks even more pathetic, like a toddler who has crammed all his toys into the potty so he doesn’t have to share.
‘I shan’t give them up,’ Monty says defiantly. ‘Father would never forgive me.’
Hunter leans in. There’s sympathy in his eyes.
‘I get it,’ he says gently. ‘No one likes to feel like they’re letting down their parents.’
He gazes off into the middle distance.
‘I barely speak to my dad, and I still hear his voice in my head every time I forget to look both ways when I’m crossing the street.’
Hunter affects a New England accent a shade deeper than his own.
‘Use the eyes god gave you, kid.’
He shakes his head at Monty with a bittersweet smile, as if the shadows of their fathers’ legacies bonds them on a cosmic level. I can only watch in awe. The way Hunter is able to put aside his true feelings about the Marbles to conjure this level of empathy is something to behold.
‘But Monty,’ says Hunter, ‘this is not open for debate. The deal has been signed. You’ve already lost.’
Monty’s lip trembles. Hunter rests a hand on his shoulder.
‘All you’re doing now is delaying the inevitable,’ says Hunter. ‘Is that what you want? To be embarrassed in front of all your peers? Arrested? Fired? Dragged through the mud by the press?’
Monty crumples. Hunter has nailed this, presenting Monty with the brutal truth while still acting like he’s on his side.
‘Do you want that to be your legacy?’ Hunter asks.
‘No,’ Monty says, his voice quivering.
‘Thought not,’ says Hunter. ‘Then let’s get out of here.’
As Montgomery stumbles out, shamefaced, a swarm of museum officials rush forward to secure the room as if this is a hostage situation.
Hunter strides away as if he had nothing to do with it.
Mariam approaches me and asks what happened, and I’m bursting with pride as I tell her what Hunter pulled off.
But when I finish the story, he’s almost out of sight. I race to catch up.
‘That was incredible.’
Hunter shrugs modestly, but he knows what he did.
‘Seriously,’ I say. ‘I can’t wait to introduce you to the ambassador tomorrow.’
Hunter hesitates, his gaze wavering. ‘I’m not free tomorrow.’
‘Wait, what?’
‘I have plans.’
‘But . . . I can pay.’
‘I said I’m not free. I’m doing a performance at the Menier Chocolate Factory.’
‘You’re performing at a chocolate factory?’
‘Former chocolate factory. It’s a theater now.’
‘How much are they paying you?’
‘Nothing,’ says Hunter. ‘It’s not about that.’
I don’t like this at all, but I can’t lose Hunter now. Not only have I found someone to match up to the brilliant Flora Forbes, but he’s the perfect match for me. He speaks his mind. He’s good at handling tense situations. With him by my side, I might actually have a chance of beating Quentin.
‘Fine,’ I say. ‘As long as you’re free for the rest of the application process.’
Hunter takes a deep breath, then leads me further away from the crowd.
‘Listen,’ he says, ‘it’s actually kind of complicated. My visa is running out.’
My eyes widen. ‘How? Why?!’
‘Because that’s what your great British government has decided. I have two weeks left here.’
I choke on my breath. ‘That’s . . . how can they—’
‘Very easily, trust me.’
I cannot believe this. I thought I’d found my secret weapon.
‘You never told me you were leaving the country,’ I protest. ‘This isn’t fair.’
Hunter folds his arms. ‘For me or you?’
I feel a flash of guilt. ‘Mainly you, obviously. This sucks. Unless . . . would it help if I pay you more?’
Hunter holds my gaze. ‘That wouldn’t help, no.’
I frown. ‘Is there another way?’
‘There’s one way, yes.’
I lean forward, my eyes alight with hope. Hunter doesn’t flinch. ‘I mean, if you really want to keep me in the country, you could marry me.’
I stare at him. My mouth opens then closes. I can barely comprehend what I’ve just heard. There’s a lot I’d do to get this job, but marrying a stranger? That’s a step too far. I don’t even know how to word my response, but Hunter has got the message. He gives me a rueful look.
‘Yeah,’ he says, ‘didn’t think so.’