Sussex Drive: A Novel Read Online Free

was exactly then that Becky understood that any discussion of contraception for Martha or a transfer to Nunavut, or even Haiti, for poor peg-legged Corporal Shymanski was going to be delayed or even forgone. Because this had to do with the majority, Greg’s majority, and that always came before family. Life would only be better for the family, in the long term, if Greg’s policies, which happened to be hers, came to fruition. If she was honest, she also felt a steady thrill at the prospect of nasty partisan combat once again.
    “What about the Privy Council types?”
    Greg flicked his finger in a missile-like
meh
.
    “What about the King? God Bless Him. Don’t you have to get Charlie’s permission?”
    Queen Elizabeth’s early abdication in favour of her senior citizen son and longish farewell tour in 2007 had rocked the world—especially Greg’s, who despised the
environmentality
of the freshly dubbed Green King. Hankies had been wrung. However, royal PR wizards had polled globally in the U.S. and it had been determined that the Charlie brand, with solid William as chaser, would provide the sentimental narrative and economic bump for Britain, particularly if Elizabeth II role-modelled retirement to the millions of greedy boomers refusing to exit the job market.
    “Our Governor General represents the Crown in Canada and it’s purely ceremonial,” Greg said.
    This would have been the time to mention King Charles’sflirtatious comments to the Canadian GG on royal occasions. Greg didn’t.
    “We’ve cut the apron strings.” Chief seemed pleased to hear his own voice again.
    “And so has the King,” Manson said. Group chuckle.
    “The GG is Commander-in-Chief,” Greg elaborated, and then, at Manson’s evident alarm, “In title only.”
    “We’ll have to change that.”
    “In good time. Bottom of the list.”
    “So a date-stamper then?”
    “A speech reader.” Doc.
    “A cheerleader.” Chief.
    Greg summed it up. “A few Royal Ass-ents.”
    “Royal what?”
    “You heard me.”
    Becky led the laugh.
    Doc stepped in on it. “She hands out medals.”
    “Like the Medal of Honor?”
    “More like wineries. Wellness. Even books.” From Doc again.
    “Cups, mostly,” Greg cut in. “You know the Stanley Cup?”
    “Hey, I played D at Harvard with a crazy Canuck.”
    “Well, Lord Stanley was Governor General, although we’ve scrapped any Brits serving in this role.”
    “Yes, we seem to have moved from Brits to economic migrants,” Chief said.
    Greg pressed on. “This one will probably come up with her own cup too.”
    “Pilates,” Becky enunciated, turning the exercise regime into a specialty coffee.
    Manson laughed with lazy luxury, and peeked at Greg again with the Becky question in his eyes.
    Greg stood, indicating the conclusion of playtime. “The role is to consult, encourage and warn. End of story.”
    “Heard this gal’s a maverick.”
    “That’s John McCain,” Greg said, and again Becky laughed and leaned low to pick up an orange juice from the coffee table.
    But Manson couldn’t quite let this subject rest. “A real wild card.”
    “Only in that she was installed by the previous government for reasons I won’t get into.”
    “Wasn’t she wearing fur coats to promote the Eskimos and so forth?”
    “Fashion. Take it from me, she’s not wild anymore,” Greg said, nodding toward Becky. “My own secret weapon’s neutralized her.”
    Manson happily turned to Becky. “Even though she’s black.”
    She nodded. “The new white.”
    “So Amen!” shrieked Pastor Grant via speakerphone. “Let’s drop the goddamn writ.”
    Manson exploded out of his chair. “Amen!” he shouted. “I hear you, brother. Amen! Hallelujah!”
    “Amen! Amen!” Chief and Doc stood and gathered around Manson as Greg folded over and finally severed the connection on the speakerphone.
    On cue, Becky extended her hand like a semi-precious gift. “When you next see her”—Becky looked into