Winter of the World

But now Woody found it hard to think about the threat of war in Europe. All his old feelings about Joanne came back in a rush. He wondered if she would kiss him again – maybe tonight. She had always liked him, and it seemed she still did – why else would she have invited him to her party? She had refused to date him, back in 1935, because he had been fifteen and she eighteen, which was understandable, though he had not thought so at the time. But now that they were both four years older, the age difference would not seem so stark – would it? He hoped not. He had dated girls in Buffalo and at Harvard, but he had not felt for any of them the overwhelming passion he had had for Joanne.

‘Have you got that?’ his father said.

Woody felt foolish. His father was about to make a proposal to the President that could bring world peace, and all Woody could think about was kissing Joanne. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I won’t say anything unless he speaks to me first.’

A tall, slim woman in her early forties came into the room, looking relaxed and confident, as if she owned the place; and Woody recognized Marguerite LeHand, nicknamed Missy, who managed Roosevelt’s office. She had a long, masculine face with a big nose, and there was a touch of grey in her dark hair. She smiled warmly at Gus. ‘What a pleasure to see you again, Senator.’

‘How are you, Missy? You remember my son, Woodrow.’

‘I do. The President is ready for you both.’

Missy’s devotion to Roosevelt was famous. FDR was more fond of her than a married man was entitled to be, according to Washington gossip. Woody knew, from guarded but revealing remarks his parents made to one another, that Roosevelt’s wife, Eleanor, had refused to sleep with him since she gave birth to their sixth child. The paralysis that had struck him five years later did not extend to his sexual equipment. Perhaps a man who had not slept with his wife for twenty years was entitled to an affectionate secretary.

She showed them through another door and across a narrow corridor, then they were in the Oval Office.

The President sat at a desk with his back to three tall windows in a curving bay. The blinds were drawn to filter the August sun coming through the south-facing glass. Roosevelt used an ordinary office chair, Woody saw, not his wheelchair. He wore a white suit and he was smoking a cigarette in a holder.

He was not really handsome. He had receding hair and a jutting chin, and he wore pince-nez glasses that made his eyes seem too close together. All the same, there was something immediately attractive about his engaging smile, his hand extended to shake, and the amiable tone of voice in which he said: ‘Good to see you, Gus, come on in.’

‘Mr President, you remember my elder son, Woodrow.’

‘Of course. How’s Harvard, Woody?’

‘Just fine, sir, thank you. I’m on the debating team.’ He knew that politicians often had the knack of seeming to know everyone intimately. Either they had remarkable memories, or their secretaries reminded them efficiently.

‘I was at Harvard myself. Sit down, sit down.’ Roosevelt removed the end of his cigarette from the holder and stubbed it in a full ashtray. ‘Gus, what the heck is happening in Europe?’

The President knew what was happening in Europe, of course, thought Woody. He had an entire State Department to tell him. But he wanted Gus Dewar’s analysis.

Gus said: ‘Germany and Russia are still mortal enemies, in my opinion.’

‘That’s what we all thought. But then why have they signed this pact?’

‘Short-term convenience for both. Stalin needs time. He wants to build up the Red Army, so they can defeat the Germans if it comes to that.’

‘And the other guy?’

‘Hitler is clearly on the point of doing something to Poland. The German press is full of ridiculous stories about how the Poles are mistreating their German-speaking population. Hitler doesn’t stir up hatred without a purpose. Whatever he’s planning, he doesn’t want the Soviets to stand in his way. Hence the pact.’

‘That’s pretty much what Hull says.’ Cordell Hull was Secretary of State. ‘But he doesn’t know what will happen next. Will Stalin let Hitler do anything he wants?’

‘My guess is they’ll carve up Poland between them in the next couple of weeks.’

‘And then what?’

‘A few hours ago the British signed a new treaty with the Poles promising to come to their aid if Poland is attacked.’

‘But what can they do?’

‘Nothing, sir. The British army, navy and air force have no power to prevent the Germans overrunning Poland.’

‘What do you think we should do, Gus?’ said the President.

Woody knew that this was his father’s chance. He had the President’s attention for a few minutes. It was a rare opportunity to make something happen. Woody discreetly crossed his fingers.