on a lighter tone until, with an almost imperceptible nod, Angelo indicated that it had achieved the requisite tint of amber and, as such, was ready for drinking. Then each committee member began to strain their own tea, with less precision and a lot more haste, catching up with their leader in time to join him as he leaned forward to take his first slurp.
Oh, the first taste of afternoon tea! It didn’t matter how many times the ritual was performed, the first sip always delivered a powerful shock to the system. Sergio slurped the liquid noisily through his teeth, allowing the bitter flavour to coat the inside of his mouth and marvelling as the aftershocks ricocheted through his upper jaw and settled somewhere beneath his eye-sockets. He grimaced and sucked in both cheeks to lessen the impact. After an involuntary shake of his head his entire upper body shuddered, allowing the effect of the tea to cascade through his frame, working its magic on every area that called for special attention, from his stiff knee and ankle joints to his cramping toes. As the president savoured the moment, the committee members joined in with the noisy ceremony, adding their own facial tics, scowls, lip smackings and flinches to the ritual.
‘Aaaah,’ pronounced the president. ‘That’s better. Shall we begin?’ He glanced around the room, taking a mental register of his staff, beginning on his left with Dottore Decio Rossini, minister for health (mental, physical and metaphysical). The doctor’s pallid, doughy face sported heavy brown bags under the eyes. His shirt, slightly fraying at the collar, bore the unmistakable yellowing stains of fatherhood on both shoulders – he had seven small boys. While Sergio eyed him, the weary doctor stifled a yawn and wondered where he would find the energy to keep trying to produce a daughter for his wife. The president noted his physician’s exhaustion but appreciated the reasons behind it and allowed his eyes to travel beyond him to Signor Vlad Lubicic, minister for employment and personal development. Vlad had telltale purple bags but his eyes today were dreamy, preoccupied, and he’d barely touched his tea. There had to be a significant new woman in his life, of that Sergio was certain. Excellent. The president made a mental note to find out who she was and, if appropriate, to hurry proceedings to their proper conclusion. It would be more efficient and a better use of ministerial time to bring the pining phase to an end as quickly as possible. And an official wedding was always good for the nation’s morale. Third on his left sat Signor Marcello Pompili, minister for recreation. Hair slicked back, rosy cheeks pumiced to a shine, keen, bright eyes glinting with vigour, Signor Pompili sat forward in his seat with a youthful ardour that radiated gusto. Yes, an excellent advertisement for the role, an outlook to be encouraged and replicated. Sergio’s appraisal continued to Signor Cellini, minister for leisure. What he observed here was far less encouraging. Where his colleague Signor Pompili shone, Cellini drooped. His shoulders slumped; his body language told of dissatisfaction or worry. His Adam’s apple leaped feverishly up and down his throat, sending out little signals of anxiety, and his eyes darted around the room, stealing glances at his colleagues and at the president but managing to avoid contact with either. Signor Cellini was brother-in-law, of course, to Signor Roberto Feraguzzi, minister of finance, seated now to Sergio’s right. Feraguzzi was a cool customer and, apart from the almost imperceptible tic that tugged occasionally at his upper left cheek, there was barely an anxious bone in his body. He chewed his inner cheek from time to time, in a subtle bid to disguise the tic, but Sergio knew that this meant nothing. His face had twitched for as long as the president had known him. Of much more concern was the remote but entirely plausible explanation that Feraguzzi had knowledge of a pending financial crisis and had chosen to share it with brother-in-law Cellini, whose face was less able to smother his emotion.
Between Feraguzzi and Angelo there was an empty chair, the usual seat of the minister for agricultural development. That they were assembled to hear from him made his lack of punctuality doubly irritating. Sergio’s eyes rested on the empty chair and glared accusingly, prompting Angelo to speak out.
‘Mr President, Signor Civicchioni sends his apologies. He will be joining us a few minutes late today, but he will bring with him a special report from the American consultant, who is available to meet with the committee today, should you wish it. I understand that the report was late being prepared because the typist was late for work due to problems of a feminine nature. I understand, however, that a second typist was subsequently drafted in and the completed report will be available for inspection at any moment.’
Sergio nodded and allowed his eyes to travel further on to Commandant Alixandria Heliopolis Visparelli, minister for defence. Alix had no interest in the Special Furthering of Agricultural Development; he cared nothing for the difference between an output and a yield, and he had not initially been invited to sit on this committee. He had, however, persuaded Sergio that he should be recruited to it, and of all members, he paid the closest attention at each of these gatherings. While he had no interest in crops or herds, he had a very grave interest in the comings and goings of the American consultant, and this assembly was an excellent one for studying a potential enemy at close quarters without allowing him to know he had been identified as a possible threat. Since these meetings had first convened, Alix had been known to throw in trick questions to flush out any ulterior motive on the part of the American consultant, but these cunning ploys were normally met with a frown from his president, who insisted, somewhat naïvely, Alix thought, on assuming everyone was a friend to their nation until proved otherwise. That Alix seemed to be uniquely suspicious made him more determined to be vigilant; he always double-checked the firing mechanism on his handgun before appearing at the committee table. Even now, as Sergio appraised his team, Alix’s eyes roamed in the other direction. He was preparing an escape route, should he have to rescue the president from an attempt on his life.
To the right of Alix sat Signor Lucaccia, minister for the exterior. That they were seated next to each other was the unhappy accident of the very first meeting. Since then, the men had assumed the same positions. If Alix and Mario had been able to choose, they would each have sat on the same side of the table (in order not to have to look at each other) and as far apart as possible (in order not to have to sense each other). Instead, they were destined to sit shoulder to shoulder for at least an hour each month and both men visibly bristled with discomfort. Alix was doing his best to lean into some of the vacant space allowed by the missing minister for agricultural development while Mario leaned heavily to his right, rubbing thighs with his neighbour, the minister for education, Professore Giuseppe Scota. Sergio glanced sympathetically at the professor, who looked as if he resented the intrusion into his personal space by the young exterior minister, but Scota returned the kind look with an almost imperceptible shrug. Both the professor and his president understood the rift between the two men. It was said that there were only two things worth fighting about in Vallerosa, pigs and women, and the two men had fought over both. Nothing could be done to heal the rift.
As Sergio shared his quiet moment of understanding with Scota, Civicchioni, the errant minister for agricultural development, entered, trailing a flurry of flying shirt tails and the flapping ends of a loosely knotted tie, while clutching armfuls of unstapled loose-leaf papers that drifted from him as he rushed to take his seat. Sergio nodded permission to him to join them and added a cursory study of the late arrival to his mental register. Today Civicchioni was agitated, partially undressed and harried. The big lock of curly brown hair that obscured his right eye added a moderately incompetent and slightly insane look. Sergio noted with satisfaction that this promising young man was behaving true to form.
‘Mr President. May I?’ As he patted and prodded his paperwork into some sort of order, he grabbed a gulp of unstrained tea, wincing while swilling it around as though it were mouthwash. With an appreciative smack of his lips, he used the palm of his hand to push the escaped lock of hair to the top of his head as he launched into the purpose of the gathering that afternoon.
‘You will all be fully aware that under section four, article five, sub-section twelve, particle b of last Tuesday’s emergency agricultural meeting, I have been asked by our esteemed president to meet with our American consultant, the expert who has been contracted to this government to review and enhance our agricultural policy.’
At the mention of the visiting American, Alix allowed an audible hiss to escape from his lips. With one enemy practically sitting in his lap and another central to this discussion, he bristled with an urgent need to kill somebody. Sergio was quick to sense his defence minister’s