Page 44 of An Invitation to the Kennedys
‘She’s – what?– twelve!’Kick said.
‘Yes.’
‘Awful!’Kick made a face.
‘A princess,’ Brigid said, shrugging.‘It’s what they do,’ she repeated.‘Match names, families, houses, fortunes, consider all possibilities.And then move on to consider someone else.Like a game of chess, only with people.Anyway, never mind that, what do your parents think of Billy?’
‘Oh, they don’t think anything of him.They haven’t met.’
‘And have you met his parents?The duke and duchess?’
‘No.Debo thinks they won’t approve.’
‘Debo may be right.’
‘Oh, I’m pretty certain I can show them Americans aren’t so very different,’ Kick said comfortably.‘After all, I’ve met other Americans here – Lady Astor, Emerald Cunard – and they do alright.’
‘It’s not being American …’ Brigid began awkwardly.‘Not anymore.We’re used to Americans.It’s …’
‘It’s what?’
‘Well, you’re Roman Catholic, aren’t you?’She squirmed a little, Kick saw.
‘What of it?’
‘They do say the duke has rather strong views.Why, I read a pamphlet he wrote only a few weeks ago.Chips gave it to me.He thought it would be a good conversation starter with Billy.’She giggled, then broke off when she saw Kick’s face.‘Sorry!’
‘What pamphlet?’
‘About Catholic girls marrying into the aristocracy, and what a threat it is.Terribly silly stuff,’ she added hastily.‘Only it does rather seem he believes all that papist conspiracy rot.’
‘What papist conspiracy rot?’Kick was confused.
‘Well, you know … That Catholics aren’t to be trusted.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’m not really sure.I mean, I don’t pay attention to that sort of thing.But I think it’s the incense …’ Brigid said thoughtfully.
‘Incense?’Kick was baffled.
‘Yes.It chokes people, makes them think of, I don’t know, rich spices and hidden things and complicated intrigues, you know.’She made a vague motion with her hand, sketching something in the air.‘It makes Catholicsexotic.And that’s never good.’
‘But we’re just …’ Kick trailed off.
‘Ofcourseyou are,’ Brigid reassured her briskly.‘Only the burning and chanting makes it seem like you aren’t.’
Kick paused for a moment.‘I don’t pay any attention to that sort of stuff,’ she said decidedly.‘It can’t be one bit relevant.’She changed the subject.‘He’s a bit like King Midas’ son, isn’t he?’she said, nodding her head in Fritzi’s direction.
‘After he gets turned to gold?’Brigid asked thoughtfully.
‘Maybe midway?Sort of statue-like and composed and not terribly human but not actually solid gold yet.’
‘I wonder which way he’ll go?’Brigid mused.Then, ‘Tell me more about all your brothers.’
So Kick began to describe the summers at home, at Hyannis Port, and the way the days were entirely given over to being outdoors – to sailing and tennis and games of football.Of the blue sky and sea that seemed to swap shades between them.Of the rivalry between Joe Jnr and Jack that meant that everything one did, the other had to do too, no matter how dangerous, so that even in a gathering storm when Joe boasted that he would sail around the farthest marker and back, Jack had instantly run for his own boat, and how they had only been persuaded not to when Bobby, then barely ten, had said he too would go.
Of the holiday mood when their father came to stay for a few days when he wasn’t working – ‘Before he was the ambassador he produced motion pictures, you know?’– and how everything changed in his presence.‘Like turning on an electric light switch,’ she said, glancing over at her father fondly, then describing how he took them out, to the theatre, the ballgame; how he sought their thoughts and opinions on everything, allowed them to say whatever they wanted – never complaining that something wasn’t ‘suitable’ or was ‘mean’ as long as it was clever and the arguments were sound and, crucially, not boring.To be boring was unforgivable.‘It matters more what the boys say,’ she said frankly, ‘because of what they will do in the world, but he makes sure that Eunice and Pat and me can hold our own too.’
