Introduction

Clare Moorhouse, the American wife of a high-ranking diplomat in Paris, is arranging an official dinner crucial to her husband's career. As she shops for fresh stalks of asparagus and works out the menu and seating arrangements, her day is complicated by the unexpected arrival of her son and a random encounter with a Turkish man, whom she discovers is a suspected terrorist. More unnerving is a recurring face in the crowd, one that belonged to another, darker era of her life. One she never expected to see again.

Like Virginia Woolf did in Mrs. Dalloway, Anne Korkeakivi brilliantly weaves the complexities of an age into an act as deceptively simple as hosting a dinner party.

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Excerpt

ime rained down on Clare. 8:30 a.m. on the clock hanging above the breakfast alcove. Twenty-five years of pretending Ireland never existed.

She would have to step again into that air terminal. Stare into the dark waters of the River Liffey. Look over her shoulder at every instant.

Remember.

“The ambassador has just been diagnosed with viral pneumonia,” Edward had whispered last evening, sliding his BlackBerry into his inner jacket pocket, as they entered a cocktail reception for the Franco-British Entente Cordiale program. “And the permanent under-secretary’s flight touched down at Charles de Gaulle forty-five minutes ago. He’s requested the dinner in his honor tomorrow night be shifted to our place.”

“How many people?”

“Twelve. With us included.”

The permanent under-secretary could have easily asked Edward—who, as British minister in Paris, was deputy head of the embassy—to take over as host in the Salon Bleu. If the permanent under-secretary wanted dinner moved from the ambassador’s residence to their place, he was seizing the opportunity to size Edward up in his own territory. The permanent under-secretary was in charge of ambassadorial appointments.

She’d touched Edward’s solid wrist. “I’ve got it.” She’d given him a thumbs-up and begun mentally planning. She’d been happy.

She hadn’t yet known what country the permanent under-secretary had in mind.

Now she was drinking her morning coffee in the Residence’s spacious white kitchen, calmly making a list for this evening. She did not glance at Edward, reading through a pile of briefs beside his tea and toast and marmalade. She continued drinking her coffee and eating her own toast quietly, as she did every morning. She did nothing that might betray her anguish.

If tonight’s dinner went well, Edward would be named the new ambassador to Ireland.

“Word is,” Edward had said after they’d gotten home last night, unwinding his tie from his neck, “Michael Leroy is being named to Israel.”

“Michael Leroy? The ambassador in Dublin?”

“Not after August. Apparently he’s wanted Tel Aviv for ages. Not enough chaos for him in Ireland currently.”

She’d allowed her nightgown to fall over her head, obscuring her expression just long enough to erase it, and slipped in between their bed’s cool sheets, pulling them up close to her chin. Edward didn’t know with what care, during the two decades they had been married, she’d avoided stepping foot on Irish soil. He didn’t realize she’d ever even been to Dublin. Edward knew when she woke she would brush her teeth both before and after breakfast. He knew that even in the flurry of preparations she would not tell Amélie, their well-meaning housekeeper, what a pain it was to communicate in Amélie’s broken English. But Edward knew nothing about her really, because he knew nothing about her life before him. He knew only the part she’d chosen to show him.

Thanks to her serene efficiency all these years—not just in entertaining but also in deception—Edward had probably thought he was handing her a present.

“So,” she’d said, “Dublin will soon be vacant.”

Edward had kissed her forehead. “Yes, Dublin will soon be vacant.” He’d turned off their bedroom’s overhead light, and she’d heard his measured tread move down the hall towards the study. He’d have meetings to prepare for now that he would be replacing the ambassador throughout the following day.

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Discussion Questions

1. Who bears responsibility for Clare’s youthful choice? What changed over time to make it seem so terrible to her? Does she make the best choice(s) at the end of the book?
2. What weight does memory have in our lives? What are we entitled to shed from our pasts? Can even bad memories sometimes prove useful?

3. Could Clare have handled her day--multitasking a medley of personal, professional, and familial needs while preparing and hosting a formal dinner--differently? Is having to balance public and private lives an atypical experience?

4. Clare inhabits a beautiful apartment in Paris with full-time staff, but “the splendor belonged to the crown; she and Edward were just staff (and she unpaid staff, at that),” and she has almost no privacy and little free will. How would most people feel in their lifestyle?

5. Clare and Edward keep secrets from each other, and we learn that Edward has distinct views on the matter. Is it necessary in a marriage to know everything about your partner?

6. Jamie is clearly his mother's son, but is Clare completely responsible for his dangerous blunder? Has being the child of a dual-national marriage and having lived in many different places influenced his behavior? Are Clare’s initial efforts to protect him from his father and Edward from Jamie prudent? What about her eventual action?

7. What is the difference between a freedom fighter and a terrorist? Are there instances when political action—even violent—outside of norms is defensible?

8. What effect might 9/11 have had on perceptions of unlawful political action? On expatriate or global living? On diplomacy?

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