The Ghost

terrible error to appoint him. But if the ICC continues to behave so foolishly, they will succeed merely in making Lang first a martyr and then a hero, and thus,” he added, gesturing graciously toward me, “a bestseller.”
    “How well do you know him?”
    “Lang? Hardly at all. You look surprised.”
    “Well, for a start, he mentions you in his memoirs.”
    Emmett appeared genuinely taken aback. “Now it’s my turn to be surprised. What does he say?”
    “It’s a quote, at the start of the final chapter.” I pulled the relevant page from my bag. “‘As long as these nations’—that’s everyone who speaks English—‘stand together,’” I read, “‘freedom is safe; whenever they have faltered, tyranny has gathered strength.’ And then Lang says, ‘I profoundly agree with this sentiment.’”
    “Well, that’s decent of him,” said Emmett. “And his instincts as prime minister were good, in my judgment. But that doesn’t mean I know him.”
    “And then there’s that,” I said, pointing to the wall of ego.
    “Oh, that .” Emmett waved his hand dismissively. “That was just taken at a reception at Claridge’s, to mark the tenth anniversary of the Arcadia Institution.”
    “The Arcadia Institution?” I repeated.
    “It’s a little organization I used to run. It’s very select. No reason why you should have heard of it. The prime minister graced us with his presence. It was purely professional.”
    “But you must have known Adam Lang at Cambridge,” I persisted.
    “Not really. One summer term, our paths crossed. That was it.”
    “Can you remember much about him?” I took out my notebook. Emmett eyed it as if I’d just pulled out a revolver. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Do you mind?”
    “Not at all. Go ahead. I’m just rather bewildered. No one’s ever mentioned the Cambridge connection between us in all these years. I’ve barely thought about it myself until this moment. I don’t think I can tell you anything worth writing down.”
    “But you performed together?”
    “In one production. The summer revue. I can’t even remember now what it was called. There were a hundred members, you know.”
    “So he made no impression on you?”
    “None.”
    “Even though he became prime minister?”
    “Obviously if I’d known he was going to do that, I’d have taken the trouble to get to know him better. But in my time I’ve met eight presidents, four popes, and five British prime ministers, and none of them was what I would describe as personally truly outstanding.”
    Yes, I thought, and has it ever occurred to you they might not have reckoned you were up to much, either? But I didn’t say that. Instead I said, “Can I show you something else?”
    “If you really think it will be of interest.” He ostentatiously checked his watch.
    I took out the other photographs. Now that I looked at them again, it was clear that Emmett featured in several. Indeed, he was unmistakably the man on the summer picnic, giving the thumbs-up behind Lang’s back, while the future prime minister did a Bogart with his joint and was fed strawberries and champagne.
    I reached across and handed them to Emmett, who performed his affected little piece of stage business again, pushing up his glasses so that he could study the pictures with his naked eyes. I can see him now: sleek and pink and imperturbable. His expression didn’t flicker, which struck me as peculiar, because mine certainly would have done, in similar circumstances.
    “Oh my,” he said. “Is that what I think it is? Let’s hope he didn’t inhale.”
    “But that is you standing behind him, isn’t it?”
    “I do believe it is. And I do believe I’m on the point of issuing a stern warning to him on the perils of drug abuse. Can’t you just sense it forming on my lips?” He gave the pictures back to me and pulled his spectacles back down onto his nose. Tilting farther back in his chair, he scrutinized me. “Does Mr. Lang really want these published in his memoirs? If so, I would prefer it if I weren’t identified. My children would be mortified. They’re so much more puritanical than we were.”
    “Can you tell me the names of any of the others in the picture? The girls, perhaps?”
    “I’m sorry. That summer is just a blur, a long and happy blur. The world may have been going to pieces around us, but we were making merry.”
    His words reminded me of something that Ruth had said, about all the things that were going