Winter of the World

Gus leaned forward. ‘We don’t want our sons to go to war as we did.’ Roosevelt had four boys in their twenties and thirties. Woody suddenly understood why he was here: he had been brought to the meeting to remind the President of his own sons. Gus said quietly: ‘We can’t send American boys to be slaughtered in Europe again. The world needs a police force.’

‘What do you have in mind?’ Roosevelt said non-committally.

‘The League of Nations isn’t such a failure as people think. In the 1920s it resolved a border dispute between Finland and Sweden, and another between Turkey and Iraq.’ Gus was ticking items off on his fingers. ‘It stopped Greece and Yugoslavia from invading Albania, and persuaded Greece to pull out of Bulgaria. And it sent a peacekeeping force to keep Colombia and Peru from hostilities.’

‘All true. But in the thirties . . .’

‘The League was not strong enough to deal with Fascist aggression. It’s not surprising. The League was crippled from the start because Congress refused to ratify the Covenant, so the United States was never a member. We need a new, American-led version, with teeth.’ Gus paused. ‘Mr President, it’s too soon to give up on a peaceful world.’

Woody held his breath. Roosevelt nodded, but then he always nodded, Woody knew. It was rare for him to disagree openly. He hated confrontation. You had to be careful, Woody had heard his father say, not to take his silence for consent. Woody did not dare look at his father, sitting beside him, but he could sense the tension.

At last the President said: ‘I believe you’re right.’

Woody had to restrain himself from whooping aloud. The President had consented! He looked at his father. The normally imperturbable Gus was barely concealing his surprise. It had been such a quick victory.

Gus moved rapidly to consolidate it. ‘In that case, may I suggest that Cordell Hull and I draft a proposal for your consideration?’

‘Hull has a lot on his plate. Talk to Welles.’

Sumner Welles was Undersecretary of State. He was both ambitious and flamboyant, and Woody knew he would not have been Gus’s first choice. But he was a long-time friend of the Roosevelt family – he had been a pageboy at FDR’s wedding.

Anyway, Gus was not going to make difficulties at this point. ‘By all means,’ he said.

‘Anything else?’

That was clearly dismissal. Gus stood up, and Woody followed suit. Gus said: ‘What about Mrs Roosevelt, your mother, sir? Last I heard, she was in France.’

‘Her ship left yesterday, thank goodness.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’

‘Thank you for coming in,’ Roosevelt said. ‘I really value your friendship, Gus.’

Gus said: ‘Nothing could give me more pleasure, sir.’ He shook hands with the President, and Woody did the same.

Then they left.

Woody half hoped that Joanne would still be hanging around, but she had gone.

As they made their way out of the building, Gus said: ‘Let’s go for a celebratory drink.’

Woody looked at his watch. It was five o’clock. ‘Sure,’ he said.

They went to Old Ebbitt’s, on F Street near 15th: stained glass, green velvet, brass lamps and hunting trophies. The place was full of congressmen, senators and the people who followed them around: aides, lobbyists and journalists. Gus ordered a dry martini straight up with a twist for himself and a beer for Woody. Woody smiled: maybe he would have liked a martini. In fact, he would not – to him it just tasted like cold gin – but it would have been nice to be asked. However, he raised his glass and said: ‘Congratulations. You got what you wanted.’

‘What the world needs.’

‘You argued brilliantly.’

‘Roosevelt hardly needed convincing. He’s a liberal, but a pragmatist. He knows you can’t do everything, you have to pick the battles you can win. The New Deal is his number one priority – getting unemployed men back to work. He won’t do anything that interferes with the main mission. If my plan becomes controversial enough to upset his supporters, he’ll drop it.’

‘So we haven’t won anything yet.’

Gus smiled. ‘We’ve taken the important first step. But no, we haven’t won anything.’

‘A pity he forced Welles on you.’

‘Not entirely. Sumner strengthens the project. He’s closer to the President than I am. But he’s unpredictable. He might pick it up and run in a different direction.’

Woody looked across the room and saw a familiar face. ‘Guess who’s here. I might have known.’

His father looked in the same direction.

‘Standing at the bar,’ Woody said. ‘With a couple of older guys in hats, and a blonde girl. It’s Greg Peshkov.’ As usual, Greg looked a mess despite his expensive clothes: his silk tie was awry, his shirt was coming out of his waistband, and there was a smear of cigarette ash on his icecream-coloured trousers. Nevertheless, the blonde was looking adoringly at him.

‘So it is,’ said Gus. ‘Do you see much of him at Harvard?’