Winter of the World

The admiral looked as if he wanted to protest, but Stimson intervened, saying: ‘Carry on, General.’

‘Land is cheap in Tennessee,’ Groves said. ‘So is electricity – and our plant will use huge quantities of power.’

‘So you’re proposing to buy this land.’

‘I’m proposing to view it today.’ Groves looked at his watch. ‘In fact, I need to leave now to catch my train to Knoxville.’ He stood up. ‘If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I don’t want to lose any time.’

The other men in the room were flabbergasted. Even Stimson looked startled. No one in Washington dreamed of leaving a Secretary’s office before he indicated he was through. It was a major breach of etiquette. But Groves seemed not to care.

And he got away with it. ‘Very well,’ said Stimson. ‘Don’t let us hold you up.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Groves, and he left the room.

Greg hurried out after him.

(ii)

The most attractive civilian secretary in the New War Office Building was Margaret Cowdry. She had big dark eyes and a wide, sensual mouth. When you saw her sitting behind her typewriter, and she glanced up at you and smiled, you felt as if you were already making love to her.

Her father had turned baking into a mass-production industry: ‘Cowdry’s Cookies crumble just like Ma’s!’ She had no need to work, but she was doing her bit for the war effort. Before inviting her to lunch, Greg made sure she knew that he, too, was the child of a millionaire. An heiress usually preferred to date a rich boy: she could feel confident he was not after her money.

It was October and cold. Margaret wore a stylish navy-blue coat with padded shoulders and a nipped-in waist. Her matching beret had a military look.

They went to the Ritz-Carlton, but when they got to the dining room Greg saw his father having lunch with Gladys Angelus. He did not want to make it a foursome. When he explained this to Margaret, she said: ‘No problem. We’ll have lunch at the University Women’s Club around the corner. I’m a member there.’

Greg had never been there, but he had a feeling he knew something about it. For a moment he chased the thought around his memory, but it eluded him, so he put it out of his mind.

At the club Margaret removed her coat to reveal a royal-blue cashmere dress that clung to her alluringly. She kept on her hat and gloves, as all respectable women did when eating out.

As always, Greg loved the sensation of walking into a place with a beautiful woman on his arm. In the dining room of the University Women’s Club there were only a handful of men, but they all envied him. Although he might not admit it to anyone else, he enjoyed this as much as sleeping with women.

He ordered a bottle of wine. Margaret mixed hers with mineral water, French style, saying: ‘I don’t want to spend the afternoon correcting my typing mistakes.’

He told her about General Groves. ‘He’s a real go-getter. In some ways he’s a badly dressed version of my father.’

‘Everyone hates him,’ Margaret said.

Greg nodded. ‘He rubs people up the wrong way.’

‘Is your father like that?’

‘Sometimes, but mostly he uses charm.’

‘Mine’s the same! Maybe all successful men are that way.’

The meal went quickly. Service in Washington restaurants had speeded up. The nation was at war and men had urgent work to do.

A waitress brought them the dessert menu. Greg glanced at her and was startled to recognize Jacky Jakes. ‘Hello, Jacky!’ he said.

‘Hi, Greg,’ she replied, familiarity overlaying nervousness. ‘How have you been?’

Greg recalled the detective telling him that she worked at the University Women’s Club. That was the memory that had eluded him before. ‘I’m just fine,’ he said. ‘How about you?’

‘Real good.’

‘Everything going on just the same?’ He was wondering if his father was still paying her an allowance.

‘Pretty much.’

Greg guessed that some lawyer was paying out the money and Lev had forgotten all about it. ‘That’s good,’ he said.

Jacky remembered her job. ‘Can I offer you some dessert today?’

‘Yes, thank you.’

Margaret asked for fruit salad and Greg had ice cream.

When Jacky had gone, Margaret said: ‘She’s very pretty,’ then looked expectant.

‘I guess,’ he said.

‘No wedding ring.’

Greg sighed. Women were so perceptive. ‘You’re wondering how come I’m friendly with a pretty black waitress who isn’t married,’ he said. ‘I might as well tell you the truth. I had an affair with her when I was fifteen. I hope you’re not shocked.’

‘Of course I am,’ she said. ‘I’m morally outraged.’ She was neither serious nor joking, but something in between. She was not really scandalized, he felt sure, but perhaps she did not want to give him the impression that she was easygoing about sex – not on their first lunch date, anyway.

Jacky brought the desserts and asked if they wanted coffee. They did not have time – the army did not believe in long lunch breaks – and Margaret asked for the bill. ‘Guests aren’t allowed to pay here,’ she explained.

When Jacky had gone, Margaret said: ‘What’s nice is that you’re so fond of her.’