P.S. from Paris(67)

They left the palace and visited the Insa-dong district. They wandered into art galleries, stopped to sample traditional pancakes, and spent the rest of the afternoon rummaging through antique stores. Mia wanted to get a present for Daisy. She was hesitating between an old spice box and a beautiful necklace. Paul advised Mia to go for the necklace, while he discreetly signaled the antique dealer to wrap up the spice box. He presented it to Mia and said: “Give this to Daisy from me.”

They got back to the hotel just in time to prepare for the evening. Catching sight of Ms. Bak standing vigil in the lobby, Mia pushed Paul behind a pillar. They crept from one pillar to the next, finally taking advantage of a passing bellboy and his luggage cart to reach the elevators without being spotted.

At seven p.m., Mia put on her dress.

“If you say I look ‘not bad’ one more time, we’ll see how good you look showing up stag to the ambassador’s!” Mia announced, admiring herself in the mirror.

“All right, I’ll keep my mouth shut, then.” Paul allowed himself a smile of pride at having bought the dress for her.

“Paul!”

“What can I say? You look—”

“Don’t you dare!” Mia interrupted.

“Beautiful. You look beautiful.”

“Well, in that case, thank you for the compliment.”

Half an hour later, the limousine dropped them in front of the American ambassador’s residence.

The ambassador was waiting for his guests in the entrance hall. Paul and Mia were the first to arrive.

“Mr. Barton. It’s an honor and a pleasure to welcome you to my home,” the ambassador began.

“The honor is all mine,” Paul replied, introducing Mia.

The ambassador bent to kiss her hand.

“Tell me a little about yourself, Ms. Grinberg,” he said.

“Mia has a restaurant in Paris,” Paul replied on her behalf.

The ambassador led them into a large drawing room.

“I haven’t had time to read your latest novel yet,” he whispered to Paul. “I speak a little Korean, but unfortunately not enough for a whole book. On the other hand, I can tell you that you made my partner cry his eyes out. You’re all he’s talked about for the past week. He was deeply moved by your novel. Part of his family lives in North Korea and he told me that your story was incredibly accurate and detailed. How I envy the freedom you have as a writer. Giving voice to viewpoints that people in my position are forced to keep under wraps, due to diplomatic obligations. But allow me to say that with this novel, with this story, you are speaking for all of America.”

Paul frowned at the ambassador for several moments.

“Um . . . Would you mind elaborating on that a bit?” he asked warily.

“My partner is Korean, as I said, and . . . Oh, there he is! I assure you he’s far more eloquent than I am. I’ll let you go ahead and introduce yourself. He’s dying to meet you. In the meantime, I should probably go and welcome our other guests. And, if you don’t mind, I’m going to kidnap your charming friend here to come along as backup. Don’t you worry, I’m harmless,” the ambassador added with a smile.

Mia shot a pleading look at Paul, but their host was already leading her away.

Paul barely had time to come to his senses before a slender and extremely elegant man flung his arms around his neck and pressed his head against Paul’s shoulder.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he said. “I’m so honored to meet you.”

“Um . . . Me too,” said Paul, attempting to free himself from the man’s grip. “But for what exactly am I being thanked?”

“For everything! For being who you are, for your words, your deep concern for the fate of my people. Who else cares these days? What your work means to me . . . you can’t even imagine.”

“You’re right, actually, I can’t. Is this some sort of mass prank or what?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I,” said Paul, exasperated. “I don’t understand anything anymore.”

The two men looked each other up and down.

“I hope you are not shocked by my relationship with Henry, Ms. Barton. We’ve been deeply in love for ten years. We even have a child together, a little boy we adopted, whom we love very dearly.”

“No, no—that’s not it. I grew up in San Francisco and I’m a Democrat. Love whoever you want. What I don’t understand is what you were saying about my book.”

“Did I say something offensive? If that is the case, please excuse me. Your novel is so very important to me.”

“My novel? My novel? The one I wrote?”

“Yes, yours, of course,” the man replied, holding up the book he gripped in his hand.

While Paul was incapable of deciphering the Hangul characters, he had no trouble recognizing his photo on the back cover, the same his editor had shown him the day before yesterday. The deep well of confusion filled Paul with doubt. And this doubt grew and grew, until finally he felt as though the ground were giving way beneath his feet.

“Would you agree to sign it for me?” the man pleaded. “My name is Shin.”

Paul took him by the arm.

“Is there someplace nearby where we could talk for a moment in private?”