Also known as: Van D.’s personal assistant. “Da’hrling” is what she calls everyone, with an h where nobody expects one
Occupation: Personal assistant to Van D. Keeper of personal files, notes, dossiers and archives. The only person she is authorized to assist is him.
First appears: Chapter 006
Status: Not available. Van D. is far too possessive.
Usually seen with: An enormous desk of solid wood, painted cherry and clad in brown leather, set in the exact middle of a room that is a cathedral, a reception area and an arsenal.
Her philosophy of life, as far as I could reconstruct it
Old-school rigor. Her meticulousness exhausts everyone else and serves those who work directly with her. She knows the birthdays of every important figure in Van D.’s life, including the four members of his own family, and exactly which gift will put him in a perfect light. She can make reservations in places where reservations can no longer be made. She knows how to make a good coffee and what to take for a migraine that will not go away. As far as I can tell, her philosophy is that competence is the most discreet form of kindness.
What I think she thinks of me
Darling. The first time I stood in front of her desk, with my head thrown back to stare at Van D.’s private Last Judgment, she told me not to break my neck: however interesting the ceiling was, it was still not more interesting than my life. Nobody at Casa Presei had ever said anything so kind to me. I suspect she says it to everyone. I prefer not to check.
What I think of her
At most a hundred and fifty centimeters tall, with thick black hair, gigantic glasses with smoky lenses and an elegant, sober deux-pièces. She radiates enough energy to intimidate Factore and make the room seem smaller. Most of the people around Van D. have one principal talent, which is to make an innocent conversation feel like a security interview. Mrs. Buțu is the dissonance. I put it down to the fact that she did not agree to have her soul excised when, probably, she was asked to. She knew my parents. My mother flattered her without appearing to, and I benefited from their friendship for years without noticing. My mother, it turns out, had been conducting a modest diplomatic mission on my behalf, armed with homemade food and an inexhaustible supply of tact.
Things she said, with an h in the wrong place
“Welcome, darling! It’s clear to everyone that this is your first time here. Do mind, though, that you don’t break your neck. However interesting that ceiling is, it is still not more interesting than your life. Yes? Good, darling! Now go! The President is expecting you!”
“Da’hrling! How are yo’hur pa’hrents? Such lo’hvely people! And yo’hur mo’hther… Lo’hok after her, da’hrling!”
Andrei’s footnote: Van D., on the subject: “Forget Buțu! She’s much too busy, and I’m far too possessive.”
