Chapter 30
Max
This is it. The moment when I land the plane. I’m about to get one step closer to everything I have ever wanted. I have to hand it to them – this role play is genius. I was surprised they were involving actual government business in a job assessment. Now it all makes sense.
I’d be fascinated to know how this came about.
Maybe Doily pitched the idea to Mariam at our wedding.
It’s the perfect job for a failed Shakespearean actor like Gerald Pope.
He’s probably too snobby to do medical role plays, but could he resist an invitation to Chevening to share the stage with Baroness Sharon?
Evidently not. I glance at the others. Surely none of them realise what’s going on.
I’ve got the upper hand. I need to use it.
But how? Wrettham briefed us on the situation, but it’s clear that he and Baroness Sharon are holding back rather than getting involved. It’s time to seize the initiative.
‘Er, it’s an honour to meet you, Mr Papadopoulos,’ I say. ‘My name is Max.’
He greets me coyly. I’m sensing he’s nervous. I wonder what he’s thinking. Is his head fully in the game like Hunter’s would be, or is he distracted by other thoughts? Does he find me attractive, annoying, anything I can work with?
‘I understand that you have some concerns about the deal,’ I say.
Gerald snaps into the scene.
‘Absolutely,’ he says with an accent straight out of Borat. ‘It—’ He checks his notes. ‘It concedes far too much to UK logistics.’
It’s already obvious to me why Gerald hasn’t had more success as an actor.
If he bothered to read the notes in advance, which I doubt, he evidently hasn’t got a clue what they mean.
Any minute now, some of the other candidates are going to realise he’s an actor.
I need to use my advantage. What would convince Gerald the actor to do something resembling good diplomacy? There’s only one answer: flattery.
‘Mr Papadopoulos,’ I say. ‘I really must commend you for your insight. We’re glad to have your perspective, as it will ultimately strengthen the deal.’
‘Then tell me what you’re going to do!’ he shouts.
I step back in shock. I guess flattery isn’t the answer. I wasn’t expecting that kind of response, but maybe Gerald has been instructed to be difficult. I’m trying to figure out a new strategy when Quentin comes forward and pushes me out of the way.
‘I hear you, Mr Papadopoulos,’ he says. ‘And that is something we take very seriously.’
This bastard! Quentin didn’t even give me a chance to respond, but his approach appears to be working better than mine.
He’s doing what we’ve been taught to do in diplomatic negotiations, which is to start by making sure the other person feels heard.
Why didn’t I do that? Quick, what’s another principle of negotiation? Build options before making any offers.
‘Indeed we do,’ I say, ‘and that’s why we want to consider a range of options in terms of how we proceed.’
I glance at Baroness Sharon, hoping she approves of my approach. But Papadopoulos frowns.
‘I don’t want options!’ he shouts. ‘I want a solution.’
I step back, chastened. This is not going to be easy, and not only because Gerald’s acting is barely meeting the standard of a village pantomime.
The other candidates are following my and Quentin’s example and trying to get involved.
A couple of them know what they are talking about, suggesting we can work on making sure that maritime arbitration doesn’t fall too broadly under British jurisdiction.
But Gerald is unable to substantively respond to any of these points.
‘Mr Papadopoulos,’ says Quentin. ‘Might I propose opening up bilateral talks with maritime stakeholders?’
Damn. That’s a great suggestion. But Papadopoulos says no.
He’s saying no to everything. I survey the assessors.
Wrettham appears to be enjoying the spectacle, but Baroness Sharon is tight-lipped, perhaps because she’s doubting the wisdom of leaving a formal job assessment in the hands of a bargain bin actor.
For all I know, the government only agreed to it because Doily offered to waive her commission.
But that can’t be right. Surely Baroness Sharon wouldn’t go along with a strategy that foolish?
There must be an answer, some way to pass this test. I pause to think.
What would Hunter do? I recall the way he handled Monty at the British Museum: calm, decisive, and devastating.
He showed him every sympathy, but he didn’t back away from the truth.
That’s what this situation needs. Someone to cut through the bullshit.
I step forward, chest open. ‘Mr Papadopoulos, let’s put our cards on the table. This deal isn’t perfect. You know it. I know it. Both sides feel they’ve drawn the short straw. That’s always the way.’
Unsettled by my swerve away from diplomatic formalities, Gerald Pope is listening. So is everyone else. This is my moment to shine.
‘You’re right,’ I continue. ‘It’s not good enough. But the deal has been signed. This is what we have to work with. So you’re going to have to spin it to your people and I’m going to have to spin it to ours, because that’s what we do here. That’s diplomacy.’
I turn to take in everyone’s reactions. The other candidates are staring at me open-mouthed. They can’t believe I’ve had the balls to say what we all know to be true.
Except . . . is that really envy on their faces?
My gaze drifts to the assessors. Sharon’s eyebrows are arched, Wrettham’s lips are pursed.
Their eyes meet, and something in that shared glance hits me like a cold wind.
They’re not impressed. Not even a little.
My stomach twists, and my moment of victory crumbles.
I’ve gone too far. Broken the code that defines our profession. The very skill they were testing.
I’ve blown it.