“Stefan does confide in me,” Georgia said, her tone stiffly proper. “And I do advise him, from time to time, when he does. Nor do I think it’s inappropriate for me to do so, particularly given my position with the Conservative Association.”

“Oh, I never meant to suggest that that was improper, in any way!” Montaigne smiled again. “I simply wanted to establish that whatever your official place in the hierarchy of the High Ridge Government, your actual niche is somewhat higher.”

“Very well,” Georgia agreed, eyeing her hostess narrowly. “I’ll concede that I have somewhat more influence behind the scenes than may be apparent to the public eye. I suppose in that regard I’m rather similar to, say, Captain Zilwicki.”

“Oh, touché!” Montaigne’s green eyes glowed, and she clapped her hands in delight. “That was very well done,” she congratulated her guest. “I scarcely felt the knife slipping between my ribs!”

“I hope you’ll forgive me for saying this, Ms. Montaigne,” Georgia observed, “but the Conservative Association has amassed a fairly extensive file on you. Especially since your election to the Commons. And when you invited me over, I reviewed that file, of course. It said, among other things, that you enjoy being disconcertingly direct. An observation whose accuracy I’m rapidly coming to appreciate.”

“Well, it would never do to disappoint all of the astute analysts, yourself included, who labor so diligently on the CA’s behalf, now would it?”

“Indeed not. On the other hand, perhaps you and I could agree to put up our foils and get to the real purpose of my visit… whatever it is?”

“Certainly. You do have that fund-raiser to attend.” Montaigne smiled yet again, and pressed a button on the wrist com disguised as an extremely expensive antique wristwatch. “I’m afraid the jig is up, Anton,” she said into it. “Would you care to join us?”

Georgia crooked an elegant eyebrow but said nothing. Then a door concealed behind a tasteful light sculpture slid open, and Anton Zilwicki stepped through the sculpture into the room.

Georgia studied him with carefully concealed interest. She’d been preparing a dossier on him since his and Montaigne’s return from Old Terra, and especially since Montaigne had decided to stand for election as an MP. The more she’d discovered, the more impressed she’d become. She strongly suspected that Montaigne’s surprising decision to stand for a seat in the Commons had been Zilwicki’s inspiration. The man had a positive talent for “thinking outside the box,” and it was obvious to Georgia that he and Montaigne made a potent and potentially dangerous team. She was just as happy that her marriage to Stefan placed her firmly in the ranks of the Conservative Association. At least the team of Montaigne–Zilwicki was unlikely to become a direct threat to her own power base… unlike what she strongly suspected was going to happen to New Kiev in the next two or three T-years.

This was her first opportunity to see Zilwicki in the flesh, as it were, and she was forced to admit that he was an impressive specimen. No one was ever going to call him handsome, but neither was anyone ever going to call him anything uncomplimentary if they were within arm’s reach of him. She felt an almost overwhelming desire to chuckle at the thought of her husband’s expression if he should happen to find himself trapped in a small room with an irate Zilwicki, but that didn’t keep her instincts from twanging. She was far too experienced not to realize that they were rapidly coming to the true reason Montaigne had invited her to “drop by.” Not that they were making any particular effort to pretend otherwise.