Winter of the World

‘They don’t really want war, either,’ said Gus. ‘No matter what the poll says.’

Welles closed the folder on his desk. ‘Well, Senator, we agree about the League of Nations and disagree about Japan.’

Gus stood up. ‘And in both cases the decision will be made by the President.’

‘Good of you to come in to see me.’

The meeting broke up.

Greg left on a high. He had been invited into the briefing, he had learned startling news, and he had made a comment that Welles had thanked him for. It was a great start to the day.

He slipped out of the building and headed for Aroma Coffee.

He had never hired a private detective before. It felt vaguely illegal. But Cranmer was a respectable citizen. And there was nothing criminal about trying to get in contact with an old girlfriend.

At Aroma Coffee there were two girls who looked like secretaries taking a break, an older couple out shopping, and Cranmer, a broad man in a rumpled seersucker suit, dragging on a cigarette. Greg slid into the booth and asked the waitress for coffee.

‘I’m trying to reconnect with Jacky Jakes,’ he said to Cranmer.

‘The black girl?’

She had been a girl, back then, Greg thought nostalgically; sweet sixteen, though she was pretending to be older. ‘It’s six years ago,’ he said to Cranmer. ‘She’s not a girl any more.’

‘It was your father who hired her for that little drama, not me.’

‘I don’t want to ask him. But you can find her, right?’

‘I expect so.’ Cranmer took out a little notebook and a pencil. ‘I guess Jacky Jakes was an assumed name?’

‘Mabel Jakes is her real name.’

‘Actress, right?’

‘Would-be. I don’t know that she made it.’ She had had good looks and charm in abundance, but there were not many parts for black actors.

‘Obviously she’s not in the phone book, or you wouldn’t need me.’

‘Could be unlisted, but more likely she can’t afford a phone.’

‘Have you seen her since 1935?’

‘Twice. First time two years ago, not far from here, on E Street. Second time, two weeks ago, two blocks away.’

‘Well, she sure as hell doesn’t live in this swanky neighbourhood, so she must work nearby. You have a photo?’

‘No.’

‘I remember her vaguely. Pretty girl, dark skin, big smile.’

Greg nodded, remembering that thousand-watt smile. ‘I just want her address, so I can write her a letter.’

‘I don’t need to know what you want the information for.’

‘Suits me.’ Was it really this easy, Greg thought?

‘I charge ten bucks a day, with a two-day minimum, plus expenses.’

It was less than Greg had expected. He took out his billfold and gave Cranmer a twenty.

‘Thanks,’ said the detective.

‘Good luck,’ said Greg.

(ii)

Saturday was hot, so Woody went to the beach with his brother, Chuck.

The whole Dewar family was in Washington. They had a nine-room apartment near the Ritz-Carlton Hotel. Chuck was on leave from the navy, Papa was working twelve hours a day planning the summit meeting he referred to as the Atlantic Conference, and Mama was writing a new book, about the wives of presidents.

Woody and Chuck put on shorts and polo shirts, grabbed towels and sunglasses and newspapers, and caught a train to Rehoboth Beach, on the Delaware coast. The journey took a couple of hours, but this was the only place to go on a summer Saturday. There was a wide stretch of sand and a refreshing breeze off the Atlantic Ocean. And there were a thousand girls in swimsuits.

The two brothers were different. Chuck was shorter, with a compact, athletic figure. He had their mother’s attractive looks and winning smile. He had been a poor student at school, but he also displayed Mama’s quirky intelligence, always taking an off-centre view of life. He was better than Woody at all sports except running, where Woody’s long legs gave him speed, and boxing, in which Woody’s long arms made him nearly impossible to hit.

At home, Chuck had not said much about the navy, no doubt because their parents were still angry with him for not going to Harvard. But alone with Woody he opened up a bit. ‘Hawaii is great, but I’m really disappointed to have a shore job,’ he said. ‘I joined the navy to go to sea.’

‘What are you doing, exactly?’

‘I’m part of the Signal Intelligence Unit. We listen to radio messages, mainly from the Imperial Japanese Navy.’

‘Aren’t they in code?’

‘Yes, but you can learn a lot even without breaking the codes. It’s called traffic analysis. A sudden increase in the number of messages indicates that some action is imminent. And you learn to recognize patterns in the traffic. An amphibious landing has a distinctive configuration of signals, for example.’

‘That’s fascinating. And I bet you’re good at it.’

Chuck shrugged. ‘I’m just a clerk, annotating and filing the transcripts. But you can’t help picking up the basics.’

‘How’s the social life in Hawaii?’

‘Lots of fun. Navy bars can get pretty riotous. The Black Cat Cafe is the best. I have a good pal, Eddie Parry, and we go surfboarding on Waikiki Beach every chance we get. I’ve had some good times. But I wish I was on a ship.’