Page 110 of An Invitation to the Kennedys
‘Don’t what?’
‘Don’t forget it’s real, that’s what.I know it’s easy to.To get all caught up like Teddy is in make-believe, because we will be going away.But don’t forget that after we are gone, our friends will all still be here.’
‘I’m not seven, Kick.’He put his arm around her.Around them, Kick could hear the tap-tapping of umbrellas and canes as people felt their way along from darkened lamppost to darkened lamppost.Jack seemed to know his way by instinct, leading them surely in and out of barriers and blockages.‘I don’t forget that.And I know it’s just terrible.’He gave her shoulders a squeeze.‘But how much more terrible would it be if there was no war?If they didn’t fight?If they just rolled over again and again?’
‘You’ve been talking to Billy again.Don’t let Pa hear you.’
The lighted sign had been switched off above the Café de Paris and the curtains drawn tight across the inside so that they nearly walked right past it.Only at the last minute did Kick say, ‘Oh, we’re here.’And then, for a moment, she wondered did she even want to go in.How dark it looked; how lonely, this place that had always streamed light and laughter.
But once inside and down the double staircase that circled the dancefloor and bar like a pair of friendly arms sleeved in red velvet, it was as gay as ever.Every table was full, the bar was thick with people and the dancefloor filled with couples.Jack found them a table and they sat close together.Kick nodded and waved to anyone she knew, and Jack pointed out any girls he thought especially pretty.There was no sign of Billy yet.
‘Why is Pa in trouble?’she asked after a while.‘I see the papers say pretty terrible things about him.Is it because he’s sending us all home?’
‘Partly that.And partly because he said that democracies and dictatorships have to learn to live together in the same world, whether anyone likes it or not.And that this isn’t a cause for war.’
‘It’s no more than he said in the garden at Kelvedon last summer.’
‘But now he has said it publicly, and everyone is angry.The English are angry, Roosevelt is angry.I guess he’ll be recalled soon enough, only it suits Roosevelt to leave him where he is for now.Pa in disgrace is a fine thing for Roosevelt.’
‘How so?’
‘There’ll be no bid for the presidency now.’
‘The what?’
‘The presidency.Come on, Kick, surely you knew that’s what his plan was?’He looked amused.
‘I hadn’t an idea in the world.’
They danced, then Jack went to dance with a girl Kick knew while she sat and watched.‘Perhaps he’s not coming,’ she said when Jack came back.
‘He’ll come,’ Jack said.He didn’t need to ask who.
‘I don’t know why he likes me,’ she said then.
‘I do.’Jack took her hand and squeezed it.‘I’ve met enough English girls by now to see exactly why.They might be pretty – some are very beautiful, like that blonde girl over there – but they’re dull.You’re so different to them, you’re like a swan among ducklings.’
‘I thought I might be the exact opposite,’ Kick said.‘A duckling, invisible among swans.’
‘Never.’
‘How nice you are, Jack.’
‘And how right.Look.’He nudged her.Sure enough, there was Billy, tall and thin and elegant in his green-grey uniform, coming down the stairs.He had seen them and made straight for their table, despite the hands and voices that reached to detain him.
‘I say, frightfully sorry.Dinner took longer than expected.’He asked Kick to dance, and she said yes, and saw Jack make his way over to the blonde girl.
On the dancefloor, pushed close together by the couples around them, Billy apologised again.‘I had to have rather a long talk with my parents,’ he explained.
‘About the boarding school?’Kick asked.
‘The what—?Oh, no.About you, if you must know.’
‘Why me?’Her heart began to thump, like it had forgotten how to beat properly.She wondered could he feel it through the scratchy khaki of his jacket.
‘I said I was coming on to meet you, and they had rather a lot of questions.Why, and what did I mean by it; that sort of thing.They weren’t terribly thrilled with that rot you wrote for the Catholic Women’s League about the new pope,’ – he grinned – ‘the pale and wan figure who lifts his hand in the sign of the Cross.I rather thought my poor father might choke when he read that.Especially given that it was Cardinal Pacelli, who was turning into Pope…’
‘Pius XII,’ Kick supplied.
