'The Diplomat' Recap, Season 2, Episode 6

Well, well, well, bet you didn’t see that one coming, huh? By “that one,” of course, I mean Lydia Trowbridge making her triumphant return to a place of influence with her husband, Nicol, now that Margaret Roylin is no longer his most important unofficial adviser. Why? Does something else important happen in this episode? Decisions made, then unmade, then made again as new information comes to light and alliances shift some more?

I’m joking, but I’m also serious: With Roylin out of the picture and still a guest of the CIA, Trowbridge is damn lucky to have Lydia’s far cooler head to rely on, and his decision to do so is every bit as consequential as the big twist at the end of the episode. Trowbridge knows his good fortune; he hates that Lydia has advised him to resign to protect the integrity of the investigation into Lenkovian influence within his government and, per usual, is flailing around about it in the manner of a preschooler with an excellent vocabulary and no emotional regulation skills. They manage to agree that Dennison’s opinion and involvement are crucial, so he comes for a “close the door, sit down” conversation about the future of the government and the investigation and surprises both of the Trowbridges by (eventually, under duress) agreeing that Nicol should resign. He’s entitled to an advisory role, but he cannot be the one to right the ship of state, and the investigation needs to be initiated and move forward ASAP. (It’s worth noting for viewers outside the U.K. that resigning his role as prime minister would not necessarily mean Trowbridge was out of parliament altogether. He’d most likely maintain his seat in the House of Commons representing whatever constituency had elected him.)

This big stroppy baby grudgingly agrees to consider resignation, “based on the sage counsel of my beloved and my beloathed,” and stomps off, leaving Lydia and Dennison to share a sigh. These two have a lot of hard work ahead of them. I’m not a fan of Trowbridge’s habit of ending conversations he finds uncomfortable by hurling maximum words at everyone else in the room, but I do love the tiny character beat embedded in each of those verbal blizzards; they’re linguistically playful, and they give us a glimpse of the person who probably wanted to stick with studying Russian Romanticism and got roped into politics instead (by his mother. Nicol Trowbridge is so Freudian it hurts). He promises, and then fails, to confide in his MI5 liaison, Tom, that day to get the ball rolling. This really isn’t a matter that can bear Trowbridge’s shame-averse behavior for much longer, but Dennison can try to maneuver him into it again tomorrow, I guess?

As Trowbridge resentfully considers stepping down from his powerful post, similar conversations are taking place over at Winfield. Following Hal’s revelation about Grace Penn having given Roylin the bright idea to hire the Lenkov Group, he and Kate indulge in a little light slander of Scotland (inadvisable, IMO), and Kate eventually concludes that Penn must resign and that she will have to be vice-president. Considering that the Cold War is well within Kate’s and Hal’s living memories and their understanding of both historical and contemporary international anxiety about Russia’s nuclear power, not to mention their very basic knowledge that Scotland is way, way, way up North, it’s bizarre that they’ve failed to connect these dots, which are more like massive flashing red lights. Do they really think this is only about Scottish independence and the dangers to Western democracy that it could pose? We’ll delve more deeply into that in due course.

Meanwhile, Stuart’s day of jubilee has arrived at last! Out of respect for the many VP staffers in the building, they forgo a giddy hug and set about being prepared, whether or not a formal offer will arrive anytime soon or ever. They don’t know Penn’s resignation timeline, but Stuart now has Kate’s blessing to “do what you must to soup this up.” Step one of Operation Soup Up and Suit Up is setting aside her black-and-charcoal-gray suits in favor of a baby-blue number paired with a black blouse and baby pink heels, and an amusing exchange with Stuart about the dangers of getting newsprint and water on herself. Step two is putting her hair up. Penn notices both changes at once and offers helpful advice about bobby pins for bun maintenance, and knowing when to leave it alone. The rapport between them isn’t just the veneer of friendliness that girl talk provides, either; whatever discomfort or resentfulness or international conspiracies persuading the U.S.’s closest ally to attack itself may lie between them, there’s also a powerful drive toward mutual respect and enjoyment of each other’s company. It’s nice!

Were it not for Trowbridge trying to salve his guilty conscience by persuading President Rayburn to name Penn the U.S. nuclear czar, this all might have worked out smoothly. He clearly doesn’t know about Penn and Roylin, and Billie insists she can and will walk back this appointment. Stuart manages to put the kibosh on Trowbridge mentioning the appointment in his pre-dinner toast, but Penn knows that Kate had a hand in it, precipitating Kate laying her cards on the table and prompting Penn to deliver the lecture of a lifetime. By the thinnest of margins, this lecture for one on the state of Russian nuclear armament and tandem British-American attempts to contain it is the second-best scene of the episode. We know Penn is a gifted, savvy political operator, and now we get an even more compelling look at the depth of her knowledge, including the very helpful visual aid of a big map dragged in from the Blenheim Palace foyer. I don’t recall Roylin or Doud having previously mentioned the disproportionate significance of Creegan, the U.K.’s only nuclear base, and the only one in Europe where U.S. nuclear submarines can dock, but it seems pretty important! If only for Penn’s explanation of Creegan’s outsize strategic importance, Trowbridge’s description of her as uniquely qualified to serve as the U.S. nuclear czar seems correct.

Penn also upends Kate’s belief that she would try to wriggle out of taking responsibility for the attack on HMS Courageous or that it was a difficult decision. By Penn’s lights, it’s a both/and, not an either/or: she believed the planned attack’s risk to human life was low and will carry the horror of having been responsible for the deaths of 43 people, and she still believes even that tragedy is worth it if it prevents a cataclysmic attack fatal to tens of thousands or even millions, more. Penn’s parting shot instructing Kate to keep her eyes on her own paper is revealing: She doesn’t just want to protect her chances to serve in an even more globally significant role than the vice-presidency; she believes Kate is in way over her head already as ambassador. Why should she care what actions Kate thinks are disqualifying? She’s not up to the task!

Kate is convinced, or maybe it’s more accurate to say she isn’t unconvinced. Either way, she’s somewhat chastened, and her decision to pursue being VP is once again up in the air. Unsurprisingly, she’s suspicious of Hal’s motives in encouraging her and once again believes Penn should stay on as VP and, presumably, as the U.S. nuclear czar, rather than be punished. Hal wants Kate to report the situation to Ganon, which is a fair point: This is precisely the thing that Roylin said Kate and Eidra would feel obliged to report. That obligation still exists, and had Kate learned about Penn’s advice to Roylin prior to meeting her, she would have done so right away.

Hal’s decision to zig when he was meant to zag — something we should all see coming at every opportunity by this time — leads to Rayburn suffering a fatal heart attack, making Grace Penn the president of the United States, complete with twenty Secret Service agents racing in two sprinting phalanxes towards her across the Winfield back lawn.

Seconds before, Kate was failing to convince Penn that she has not and will not leak Penn’s role in the Lenkov debacle and that she’s not still gunning for V.P. (her tell: she may be wearing one of her old suits, but she’s still got vice presidential hair!). Now, Penn is President; Kate is still Ambassador for the moment but has lost Dennison as an ally; Trowbridge is still Prime Minister, and his secret investigation into a conspiracy within his government has not yet begun; nobody in his government knows about Penn’s connection to the attack on HMS Courageous. Everything is chaos, and the special relationship between the U.S. and U.K. may never have been asked to endure a stress test on this scale. Season three can’t get here soon enough!

• Speaking of The Diplomat’s third season, here’s my wish list so far: more scenes among Austin Dennison and Nicol and Lydia Trowbridge — what a fascinating study in contrasts they all are; Stuart finding a venue outside of the workplace to talk with Eidra about personal stuff, or better still, ceasing to do so altogether now that they’re broken up, their whole thing is beyond ridiculous; and more amusing nicknames for Kate in Penn’s repertoire.

• If it’s not too much trouble, I would also like Netflix to post a supercut of Keri Russell’s line deliveries of “fuck” to YouTube; it’s fun to see an actor sink her teeth into the English language’s most versatile word.

• I’ll close out on a more serious analytical note about Dennison’s ice-cold, seemingly final dissolution of every aspect of his partnership with Kate. I think it’s driven primarily by his decision to seize the moment in a now Roylin-free administration and his understanding of Kate as a chronically and deeply messy person. He disavows his previous attempt to overthrow Trowbridge, and while he may be sincere in that resolution, his rationale that without Roylin in his ear, Trowbridge is safe from further atrocities is wobbly at best (though I fervently hope it won’t veer into great wobbling-jelly territory like poor old Merritt Grove did).