"That's one difference between leasing and buying. You just walk away. You don't bother your head about what happens to the place. I must say they urged me to lease. I should have listened to them. But the purchase rice was so cheap!" p Byron said, "Well, sir, if you think there's any danger, your skin comes first." "I have no such fears. Neither have they. For them it's a matter of business. We'll have our coffee in the lemon house." With a peevish toss of his head, he lapsed into silence. The lemon house, a long glassed-in structure with a dirt floor, full of small potted citrus trees, looked out on a grand panorama of the town and the rounded brown hills. Sheltered here from cold winds that swept up the ravine, the trees throve in the pouring sunlight, and all winter long blossomed and bore fruit. Jastrow believed, contrary to every medical opinion, that the sweet heavy scent of the orange and lemon blooms was good for the asthma that hit him when he was nervous or angry. Possibly because he believed this, it tended to work. His wheezing stopped while they drank their coffee. The warm sun cheered him up. He said, "I predict they'll sneak back in short order with their tails between their legs, and three vans of furniture toiling up the hill. They remind me of the people who used to go fleeing off Martha's Vineyard at the first news of a hurricane. I sat through four hurricanes and thoroughly enjoyed the spectacle." Natalie said after he left, "He's badly shaken." "I hope he gets shaken loose from here." "Dear, this house will go to rack and ruin if A.J. leaves it." "So what?" "You've never owned anything, have you, Briny? Or saved any money. Once you have, you may understand." "Look, Natalie, A.J. had a windfall late in life and got carried away and bought himself a big Italian villa for a song, in a lonesome mountain town. All right. Suppose he walks away now? If he offers it for sale he'll get something for it. Otherwise he can return after the war and put it back in shape. Or he can just forget it, and Ict it fall down. Easy come, easy go." "You see things so simply, she said. They were sitting side by side on a white wicker couch. He started to put his arm around her. "Stop that," she said, catching her breath and L deflecting his arm. "That's too simple, too. Listen carefully, Byron. FloN, old are you? Are you twenty-five yet? I'm twenty-seven." "I'm old enough for you, Natalie." "Old enough for what? To sleep with me? Don't talk rubbish. The question is, what are you doing with yourself? I can teach at a university anytime. I've got my M.A. thesis almost finished. What have you got? A smile that drives me mad and a handsome head of hair.
You ) re brave, you're gentle, but you just drifted here. You only stayed because of me. You're killing time and you're trained for nothing." "Natalie, how would you like to be married to a banker?" "A what? A ha?" He told her about his relatives and their bank in Washington. Hands folded in her lap, she beamed at him, her face aglow in the sunshine. "How does that sound?" he said. "Oh, fine," she said. "You're really facing up to life at last. A stern, serious business, isn't it? Tell me one thing." "What?" "Tell me when you decided you liked me. "Don't you want to discuss this bank idea?" 'Of course, dear. All in good time. When was it?" "All right, I'll tell You. When you took off your sunglasses. "My sunglasses? When was that?" "Why, that first day, when we came into the villa with Slote. Don't You remember You had big ? these dark glasses on in the car, but then you took them off, and I could see your eyes." "So?" u "But it's so absurd. Like everything else you say and do. What did "You asked me when I fell in love with you. I'm telling you. YOu know about me? Anyhow, my eyes must have been totally bloodshot. I'd been up four, having till one hellish row with Leslie. You struck me as nothing at all, dear, so i didn't give a damn. Now look, you don't really 'want to be a banker, do you?" He said with an abashed grin, "Well, I did think of one other thing. But don't laugh at me." "I won't." "I thought of the Foreign Service. it's interesting and it's serving the country." "You and Leslie in the same service," she said. "That would be a ho, one." She took his hand in a maternal way that depressed Byron.
"This isn't much fun for you, Briny dear, all this serious talk." "That's okay," Byron said. "Let's go right on with it." For a moment she sat pondering, holding his hand in her lap, as she had in the Swedish ambassador's limousine. "I'd better tell you what I really think. The trouble is you are trained for something. You're a naval officer." "That's the one thing I'm not, and that I've made a career of not being." "You already have a commission." "I'm just a lowly reserve. That's nothing." "If the war goes on, you'll be called up. You'll stay in for years. That's what you'll probably be in the end, from sheer inertia, and family custom, and the passing of time." "I can resign my reserve commission tomorrow. Shall I?" 'But suppose we get in the war? What then? Wouldn't you fight?" "There's nothing else to do then." She put her hand in his hair, and yanked it. "Yes, that's how your mind works. Well, I love you for that and for other things, but Byron, I'm not going to be the wife of a naval officer. I can't think of a more ridiculous and awful existence for me. I wouldn't marry a test pilot either, or an actor, don't you understand?" "It's no issue, I tell you, I'll never be a naval officer-what the devil? Now what? Why are you crying?" She dashed the sudden tears from her face with the back of her hand, smiling. "Oh, shut up. This is an insane conversation. The more I try to make sense, the wilder it all gets. All I know is that I'm crazy about you. If it's a dead end, who cares? I obviously thrive on dead ends. No, not now, love, really, no-" She gasped the last words as he firmly took her in his arms. There was nobody in sight. Beyond the glass there was only the panorama of hills and town, and inside the lemon house silence and the heavy sweet scent of the blossoms. They kissed and kissed, touching and holding and gripping each other. Soon Natalie happened to glance up and there stood the gardener Giuseppe outside the glass, leaning on a wheelbarrow full of cuttings, watching. With a squinting inebriated leer, he wiped a sleeve of his sweater across his knobbed nose, and obscenely winked. "Oh, Jesus Christ," she said, yanking angrily at her skirt. The gardener showed sparse foul teeth in a grin and trundled the wheelbarrow away. Byron sat flushed, dazed, and dishevelled, looking after him. "Well, there goes our little secret, sweetheart. Kissing and smooching under gsl What's happened to me? This whole thing is a plain brute attraction between two people isolated together too long."She leaped to her feet and pulled at his hand. "But I love you. I can't help it. I don't want to help it. Oh, that son of a bitch Giuseppe! Come, let's get back to the rock pile. We must." Jastrow called from his study as they came into the house, "Natalie, where is your letter? May I read it?" "What letter, A.J.? I didn't get any mail." "Are you sure? I have one from your mother. She says she's written you another and much longer one. Come read this. It's important." He waved a flimsy airmail sheet as Byron went upstairs. There were only half a dozen lines in her mother's neat featureless writing, a Manhattan public school script: Dear Aaron: We would both appreciate it if you would urge Natalie to come home. Louis took that story of her trip to Poland very hard. The doctor even thinks that it may have been the cause of this attack. I've written Natalie all about it. You MaY as well read that letter, there's no sense in my repeating the whole terrible story. In ret"spect, we were very lucky. Louis seems in no immediate danger, but that's all the doctor will tell us. We're all wondering how long you yourself intend to stay on in Italy. Don't you feel it's dangerous? I know that you and Louis have been out of touch all these years, but still he does worry about you. You're his one brother. Love, Sophie and Louis Natalie checked the mail piled on her desk in the library, but there was only one letter for her, from Slote. Looking up from his work, Byron saw her somber expression. ('What is it, Natalie?" "It's my father. I may have to leave." The letter from her two rnve later. Meantime Natalie resumed a certain aloofness toward Byron, though she still wore the brooch, and looked at him with changed eyes. She took the long and somewhat frantic account of her father's heart attack to Jastrow, who having his tea by the fire in the study, wrapped in a shawl. He shook his head sym(was) pathetically over it and handed it back to her. Gazing at the fire and sipping tea, he said, 'You had better go." "Oh, I think so. I'm practically packed." "What was Louis's trouble last time? Was it this bad?"The brothers were deeply estranged-Natalie did not know exactly why-and this breaking of their long tacit silence about her father gave her ai awkward, unpleasant sensation. I was in love "No, not really. The trouble was my announcement that with e. Papa got awfully weak and had breathing difficulty and a blackout episode. But he wasn't hospitalized that time." Jastrow pensively fingered his beard. 'He's only sixty-one. You know, it gets to be suspenseful, Natalie, this question of whose heredity you've got. Our mother's family mostly popped off in their fifties. But Father's two brothers both made it past ninety and he reached eighty-eight. My teeth are like my father's. I have excellent teeth. Louis always had a lot of trouble with his teeth, the way Mama did." Jastrow became aware of the girl's dark watchful regard. He made a little apologetic gesture with both hands. "You're thinking what a self-centered old horror A.J. is." "But I wasn't thinking that at all." Jastrow put on cotton gloves to poke at the fire and throw on a fresh log. He was vain about his small finely shaped hands. "You won't come back. I know that. Life will get difficult here. Possibly I could go to New Mexico or Arizona. But they're such dull, arid, zero-culture places! The thought of trying to write there!" He gave a deep sigh, almost a groan. "No doubt my books aren't that important. Still, the work is what keeps me going." 'Your books are important, A.J." "Are they? Why?" Natalie sat leaning her chin on a fist, groping for an honest and precise answer. She said after a pause, "Of course they're extremely readable, and often brilliant, but that's not their distinction. Their originality lies in the spirit. The books are very Jewish. In a creditable, unsentimental way, in substance and in attitude. They've made me, at least, rehlize how very much Christendom owes this bizarre little folk we belong to. It's surprising how much of that you've gotten even into the Constantine book." Her words had a remarkable effect on Aaron Jastrow. He smiled tremulously, his eyes misted, and he all at once did look strikingly Jewish -the mouth, the nose, the expression, the soft white hand at his beard, were all features of a badess little rabbi. He spoke in a soft shaky voice. "Of course you know exactly what to say to please me." "That's what I think, Aaron." "Well, bless you. I've evolved into a pagan, a materialist, and a hedonist-and I fell in love with the grandeur of Christianity and of Jesus long long ago-but none of that has made me less Jewish. Nobody else in the family will accept that, your father least of all. I'm so grateful that you can. I truly think that the books on Constantine and Luther will round out the picture. I want to get them done. In my way I'm bearing witness, as my rabbinic forebears did in theirs. Though no doubt they'd be horrified by me." He studied her face. He smiled, and his eyes began to twinkle.
"How long after you left would Byron remain? He gives me such a secure feeling, just by being here." "Give him a raise in salary. That'll convince him more than anything. He's never earned a penny before." Jastrow pursed his lips, rounded his eyes, and tilted his head. Many years of living in Italy showed in the mannerism. "I have to watch my money now. We'll see. My strong impression is, actually, that you'll marry Leslie once you get back there, and-oh, stop blushing and looking so coy. Have I hit it?" "Never mind, A.J." "I'm sure if Byron were aware of that, he'd be more likely to stay on." Jastrow stroked his beard, smiling at her. -Good COd, Aaron! Do you expect me to tell Byron Henry I'm going to marry Slote, just to make him stay with you?" "Why, my dear, whoever suggested such a thing? Wait-my point is-" Jastrow stretched out a hand and looked after her, utterly astonished at her abrupt walkout. Holy cow!" Byron exclaimed. 'There's my father, or his double." "Where?" said Natalie. Her flight was delayed, and they were drinking coffee in the Rome airport at a table outside a little cafe; the same cafe where they had lunched before setting off for Warsaw. "Inside that ring of carabinieri over there." He pointed to a group of men leaving the terminal, escorted by six deferential police officers. Some of the party wore the green uniform of the foreign ministry; the rest were in civilian clothes. The military bearing of a short broad-shouldered man, in a pepper-and-salt suit and soft hat, had caught Byron's eye. He stood, saying, "Can it be him? But why the devil didn't he write or wire me that he was coming to Italy? I'll take a look." "Briny!" He was starting to lope away; he stopped short. "Yes?" "If it is your father-I'm so tacky and sooty from that horrible train ride, and he's obviously busy." Natalie, usually so self-assured, suddenly looked confused and nervous, in an appealing, pathetic way. "I wasn't expecting this. I'd rather meet him another time." "Well, let's see if it's him." Victor Henry heard the voice behind him just as the party reached the exit doors. 'Dad! Dad! Wait up!" Recognizing the voice, Pug turned, waved, and asked his escort from the ministry to wait for him. 'D'accordo." The Italian smiled and bowed, eyeing sharply the young man who was hurrying up. "I wig see to your luggage, Commander, and meet you outside. There is plenty of time." The father and son clasped hands. "Well, how about this?" Victor Henry said, looking up at Byron's face, with affection he usually concealed when lesssurprised. "What's up, Dad? Couldn't you let me know you were coming?" 'It happened sudden-like. I intended to ring you tonight. What are you doing down here in Rome?" "Natalie's going home. Her father's sick." 'Oh? Has she left already?" "No. That's her, sitting over there." "That's the famous Natalie Jastrow? The one in gray?" "No, further over, in black. With the big hat." Victor Henry caught a new proprietary note in his son's voice. The listless, hangdog air of his Berlin days had given way to a confident glance and a straighter back. "You're looking mighty bright-eyed and bushytailed," Pug said. "I feel Marvelous." "I'd like to meet that girl." The father suddenly strode toward her, so fast that Byron had to take a running step or two to catch up. There was no stopping him. They came and faced Natalie, who remained seated, hands clasped in her lap. 'Natalie, this is Dad." With such a flat introduction these two people, the opposed poles in Byron's life, all at once confronted each other. Natalie offered her hand to Byron's father, looked him in the eye, and waited for him to speak. At first sight, Victor Henry was taken by this weary-looking travel-stained girl with the dark eyes and gaunt face. She was not the legendary adventurous Jewess he had built up in his imagination; she had an everyday American look; but withal there was a certain exotic aura, and a strong calm feminine presence. She must be feeling highly self-conscious, he thought, but there was no sign of it. In her slight smile as he took her hand, there was even a trace of reflected affection for Byron. He said, "I'm sorry to hear about your father." She nodded her thanks. "I don't know how bad it is. But they want me at home, and so I'm going." Her low voice was sweet, yet as firm as her look. "Are you coming back?" "I'm not sure. Dr. Jastrow may be returning to the States too, you see." "He'd be well advised to do that, fairly fast."Pug was looking keenly at her, and she was meeting his glance. When neither found more to say for the moment, it became a sort of staring contest. Soon Natalie smiled a broad, wry, puckish smile, as though to say-"All right, you're his father and I don't blame you for trying to see 'what's there. How do you like it?" This disconcerted Victor Henry. He seldom lost such eye-to-eye confrontations, but this time he shifted his glance to Byron, who was watching with lively interest, struck by Natalie's swift recovery of her poise. "Well, Briny," he almost growled, "I ought to mosey along, and not keep that foreign ministry type waiting." "Right, Dad." Natalie said, 'Byron told me that you became friendly with the Tudsburys in Berlin, Commander. I know Pamela." "You do?" Pug managed a smile. She was actually trying to put him at his ease with small talk, and he liked that. "Yes, in Paris she and I used to date two fellows who shared the same Hat. She's lovely." 'I agree, and very devoted to her father. Maniacal driver, though." 'Oh, did you find that out? I once drove with her from Paris to Chartres, and almost walked back. She scared me senseless." 'I'd guess it would take more than that to scare you." Pug held out his hand. "I'm glad I met you, even in this accidental way, Natalie." Awkwardly, in almost a mumble, he added, "It explains a lot. Happy landings. Flying all the way?" 'I've got a seat on the Thursday Clipper out of Lisbon. I hope I don't get bumped." "You shouldn't. Things are quiet now. But you're well out of this continent. Good-bye." 'Good-bye, Commander Henry." Victor Henry abruptly walked off, with Byron hurrying at his elbow. "Briny, what about you, now? You're staying on in Siena?" "For the time being." "Do you know that Warren's engaged?" "Oh,it's definite now?" "Yes. They've set a date for May twentieth, after he finishes his carrier training. I hope you'll count on getting back by then. You won't see any more brothers' weddings. I'm working on a leave for myself.""I'll certainly try. How's Mom?" "Off her feed. Berlin's getting her down." 'I thought she liked it." "It's becoming less likable." They stopped at the terminal's glass doors. "How long will you be in Rome?" "If I can see you, Dad, I'll just stay on till you're free." "Well, fine. Check in at the embassy with Captain Kirkwood. He's the naval attache. Could be we'll dine together tonight." "Great." "That's some girl." Byron smiled uncertainly. "Could you really tell anything?" What you never said is that she's so pretty." "What? I honestly don't think she is. Not pretty, exactly. I'm nuts about her, as you well know, but-" "She's got eyes you could drown in. She's stunning. However, what I wrote you about her long ago still goes. Even more so, now that I've seen her. She's a grown-up woman.") He put his hand for a moment on Byron's shoulder. "No offense." "I love her." "Well, we won't settle that question here and now. Go back to her, she's sitting there all alone. And call Kirkwood about tonight." "I Will." Natalie's face was tense and inquiring when Byron came back. He fell into the chair beside her. "Gad, that was a shock. I still can't quite believe it. It all went so fast. He looks tired." "Do you know why he's here?" Byron shook his head slowly. She said, 'I didn't picture him that way. He doesn't look severe; on the contrary, almost genial. But then when he talks he's scary." "He fell for you." "Byron, don't talk rot. Look at me. A soot-covered slattern." 'He said something sappy about your eyes." "I don't believe it. What did he say?" "I won't tell you. It's embarrassing- I never heard him say anything like it before. Wh I at uck!
He likes you. Say, my brother's getting married." "Oh? When?" "In May. She's the daughter of a congressman. She doesn't seem all that concerned about marrying a naval officer! Let's make it a double wedding." 'Why not? You'll be manager of a bank by then, no doubt." They were both smiling, but the unsettled questions between them put an edge in their tones. It was a relief when the droning loudspeaker announced her flight. Byron carried her hand luggage and some fragile gifts for her family into the mill of jabbering, weeping passengers and relatives at the gate. Natalie was clutching her ticket, and trying to understand the shouts of the uniformed attendants. He attempted to kiss her, but it wasn't much of a kiss. "I love you, Natalie," he said. She embraced him with one arm arrdd the jostling passengers, and spoke over the tumult. "It's as well that I'm going home just now, I think. Meantime I met your father! That was something. He did like me? Really?" "You bowled him over, I tell you. And why not? The crowd was starting to push through the gate. 'How will I ever carry all this stuff? Load me up, sweetheart." 'Promise me you'll cable if you decide not to come back," Byron said, poking bundles into her arms and under them. "Because I'll take the next plane home." "Yes, I'll cable." "And promise that you'll make no other decisions, do nothing drastic, before you see me again." "Oh, Byron, how young you are. All these damned words. Don't you know how I love you?" 'Promise!' Her dark eyes wet and huge, her hands and arms piled, the green and yellow ticket sticking out of her fingers, she shrugged, laughed, and said, "Oh, hell. it's a promise, but you know what Lenin said. Promises like piecrusts are made to be broken. Good-bye, my darling, my sweet. Good-bye, Byron." Her voice rose as the press of passengers dragged her away. After a couple of hours of troubled sleep at the hotel, Commander Henry put on a freshly pressed uniform, with shoes gleaming like black mirrors, and walked to the embassy. Under a low gray sky, in the rows of tables and chairs along the Via Veneto, only a few people were braving the December chill. The gasoline shortage had almost emptied the broad boulevard of traffic. Like Berlin, this capital city exuded penury and gloom.
Captain Kirkwood had left for the day. His yeoman handed Pug a long lumpy envelope. Two small objects clattered to the desk when he ripped it open: silver eagles on pins, the collar insignia of a captain. Captain William Kirkwood presents his compliments to Captain Victor Henry, and trusts he is free to dine at nine, at the Osteria dell' Orso. P.S. You're out of uniform. Four stripes, please. Clipped to the note was a strip of gold braid, and the Alnav letter Esting newly selected captains, on which Victor (none) Henry was ringed in heavy red lines. The yeoman's refreshing, freckled American face wore a wide grin. "Congratulations, Capon." "Thank you. Did my son call?" , suh. He's coming to dinner. That's all arranged. Ah've got fresh coffee going, suh, if you'd like a cup in the cap'n's office." "That'll be fine." Sitting in the attache's swivel chair, Pug drank one cup after another of the rich Navy brew, delightful after months of the German ersatz stuff. He ranged on the desk before him the eagles, the Alnav, the strip of gold braid. His seamed pale face looked calm, almost bored, as he swung the chair idly, contemplating the tokens of his new rank; but he was stirred, exalted, and above all relieved. He had long been dreading that the selection board, on this first round, might him over. E Pass xecs of battleships and cruisers, squadron commanders of submarines and destroyers, insiders in BuShips and BuOrd, could well crowd out an attache. The big hurdle of the race for flag rank was early promotion to captain. The few officers who became admirals had to make captain on the wing. This early promotion, this small dry irrevocable statistic in the record, was his guerdon for a quarter of a century of getting things done. It was his first promotion in ten years, and it was the crucial one. He wished he could share this cheering news at once with his restless wife. Perhaps when he got back to Berlin they could throw a wingding, he thought, for embassy people, correspondents, and friendly foreign attaches, and lighten the gloom lying heavy in the jemes mansion in Grunewald. Natalie Jastrow popped back into his mind, displacing even the promotion. Since the chance encounter, he kept thinking of her. In those few minutes he had sensed the powerful, perhaps unbreakable, bond between his son and the girl. Yet how could that be? Young women like Natalie Jastrow, if they went outside their natural age bracket, tended to marry a man almost his own age rather than to reach down and cradlesnatch a stripling like Byron. Natalie was more mature and accomplished than Janice, who was marrying Byron's older brother. It was mismatch enough for these reasons, and made him wonder about her sense and stability, butthe Jewish problem loomed above all. Victor Henry was no bigot, in his own best judgment. His narrowly bounded little had brought him into very little contact with Jews. He was an and realist and the whole thing spelled trouble. If he were to have halfJewish grandchildren, well, with such a mother they would probably be handsome and bright. But he thought his son was not man enough to handle the complications and might never be. The coolness and courage he had displayed in Warsaw were fine traits for an athletic or military career, but in daily life they meant little, compared to ambition, industry, and common sense. "Mr. Gianelli is here, sir." The yeoman's voice spoke through the squawk box. "Very well." Victor Henry swept up the tokens and put them in a trouser pocket, not nearly as happy as he had once thought promotion to captain would make him. The San Francisco banker had changed to an elegant doublebreasted gray suit with bold chalk stripes and outsize British lapels. The interior of his green Rolls Royce smelled of a strong cologne. "I trust you enjoyed your nap as much as I did mine," he said, lighting a very long cigar. All his gestures had the repose, and all the details of his personmanicure, rings, shirt, tie-the sleekness, of secure wealth. Withal, he appeared stimulated and slightly nervous. "Now I've already spoken to the foreign minister. You've met Count Ciano?" Pug shook his head. "I've known him well for many years. He's definitely coming to the reception, and from there will take me to the Palazzo Venezia. Now, what about you? What are your instructions?" 'To consider myself your aide as long as you're in Italy and Germany, sir, and to make myself useful in any way you desire." 'Do you understand Italian?" 'Poorly, to say the least. I can grope through a newspaper if I have to. "That's a pity." The banker smoked his cigar with calm relish, his drooping eyes sizing up Victor Henry. 'Still, the President said there might be value in having you along at both interviews, if these heads of state will stand for it. just another pair of eyes and ears. At Karinhall, of course, I can ask that you interpret for me. My German's a bit weak. I think we have to feel our way as we go. This whole errand is unusual and there's no protocol for it. Ordinarily I'd be accompanied by our ambassador." "Suppose I just come along, then, as though it's the natural thing, unless they stop me?" The banker's eyes closed for several seconds, then he nodded and opened them. "Ah, here's the Forum. You've been in Rome before? We're passing the Arch of Constantine. A lot of old history here! I suppose envoys came to Rome in those days on errands just as strange."Pug said, "This reception now, is it at your apartment?" "Oh no, I keep just a very small flat off the Via Veneto. My uncle and two cousins are bankers here. It is at their town house, and the reception is for me. Let us just see how this goes. If, when we're with Ciano, I touch my lapel so, you'll excuse yourself. Otherwise come along, in the way you suggest." These arrangements proved needless because Mussolini himself dropped in on the party. About half an hour after the arrival of the Americans, a commotion started up at the doorway of the enormous marblecolumned room, and Il Duce came walking bouncily in. He was not expected, judging by the excitement and confusion among the guests. Even Ciano, resplendent in green, white, and gold uniform, seemed taken aback. Mussolini was a surprisingly small man, shorter than Pug, dressed in a wrinkled tweed jacket, dark trousers, a sweater, and brown-and white saddle shoes. It struck Pug at once that with this casual apparel Mussolini was underlining-perhaps for its eventual effect on the Germans-his contempt for Roosevelt's informal messenger. Mussolini went to the buffet table, ate fruit, drank tea, and chatted jauntily with guests who crowded around. He moved through the room with a teacup, talking to one person and another. He glanced once at Luigi Gianelli as he passed Close by, but otherwise be ignored the two Americans. In this setting Mussolini hardly resembled the chin-jutting imperial bully with the demonic glare, His prominent eyes had an Italian softness, his t-.mile was wide, ironical, very worldly, and it seemed to Victor Henry that here was a smart little fellow who had gotten himself into the saddle and loved it, but whose bellicosity was a comedy. There was no comparing him with the ferocious Hitler. Mussolini left the while pug clumsily making talk with the banker's aunt, bejewelled,paintedcrone(room) withahaughtym(was) anner, a peppermint breath and almost no hearing.(a) Seeing the banker beckon to him and walk off after IDano, Pug excused himself and followed. The three men went through tall carved wooden doors into a princely high-ceilinged library, lined with volumes bound in gold-stamped brown, scarlet, or blue leather. Tall windows looked out over the city, which appeared so different from blacked-out Berlin, with electric lights twinklin and blazing in long crisscrossing lines and scattered clusters. Mussolini with a regal gesture invited them to sit. The banker came to the sofa beside bin4 while Ciano and Victor Henry faced them in armchairs. Mussolini coldly stared at Henry and turned the stare to Gianelli. The look at once changed Pug's impression of the Italian leader, and gave him a forcible sense that he was out of his depth and under suspicion. He felt junior and shaky, an ensign who had blundered into flag country. Ciano had given him no such feeling, and still didn't, sitting there gorgeous and wary, the son-in-law waiting for the powerful old man to talk.
At this close range Pug could see how white Mussolini's fringe of hair was, how deep the creases of decision were folded in his face, how vivid were the large eyes, which now had an opaque glitter. This man could readily order a hundred murders, Pug decided, if he had to. He was an Italian ruler. Pug could half follow the banker's clear, measured Italian as he rapidly explained that Franklin Roosevelt, his treasured friend, had appointed the Berlin naval attache as an aide for his few days in Europe; also that Henry would be acting as interpreter with Hitler. He said Henry could now remain or withdraw at Il Duce's pleasure. Mussolini gave the attache another glance, this time obviously weighing him as a Roosevelt appointee. His expression warmed. 'Do you speak Italian?" he said in good English, catching Henry unawares almost as though a statue had broken into speech. "Excellency, I can follow it in a fashion. I can't speak it. But then, I have nothing to say." Mussolini smiled, as Pug had seen him smile at people in the other room. "If we come to naval matters maybe we will talk English." He looked expectantly at the banker. i(, Luigi?), The banker talked for about a quarter of an hour. Since Pug already knew the substance, the banker did not altogether lose him. After some compliments, Gianelli said he was no diplomat and had neither the credentials nor the skill to discuss matters of state. He had come to put one question informally to Il Duce, on behalf of the President. Mr. Roosevelt had sent a private citizen who knew 11 Duce, so that a negative reply would not affect formal relations between the United States and Italy. The President was alarmed by the drift toward catastrophe in Europe. If fall-scale war broke out in the spring, horrors that nobody could foresee might engulf the whole world. Was it possible to do something, even at this late hour? Mr. Roosevelt had in mind a formal, urgent mission by a high United States diplomat, somebody on the order of Sumner Wefles (Ciano, drumming the tips of his fingers together, looked up at the mention of the name), to visit all the chiefs of the warring states, perhaps late in January, to explore the possible terms of a general European settlement. E Duce himself had made a last-minute call for a similar exploration on August 31, in vain. But if he would join the President now in bringing about such a settlement, he would hold a place in history as a savior of mankind. Mussolini deliberated for a minute or so, his face heavy, his shoulders bowed, his look withdrawn, one hand fiddling with his tweed lapels. Then he said-as nearly as Pug could follow him-that the foreign policy of Italy rested on the Pact of Steel, the unshakable tie with Germany. Any attempt, any maneuver, any trick designed to split off Italy from this alliancewould fail. A settlement in Europe was always possible. No one would welcome it more than he. As Mr. Roosevelt acknowledged, he himself had tried to the last to preserve the peace. But Hitler had offered a very reasonable settlement in October, and the Allies had spurned it. The American government in recent years had been openly hostile to Germany and Italy. Italy too had serious demands that had to be part of any settlement. These were not matters in Luigi ) s province, Mussolini said, but he was stating them to clarify his very pessimistic feeling about a mission by Sumner Welles. "You have put a question to me," he concluded. "Now, Luigi, I will put a question to you." "Yes, Duce." "Does this initiative come from President Roosevelt, or is he acting at the request of the Allies?" "Duce, the President has told me this is his own initiative." Ciano cleared his throat, leaned forward with his hands clasped, and said, "Do the British and French know and approve of this visit you are making?" "No, Excellency. The President said that he would be making informal inquiries of the same nature, at this same time, in London and Paris." Mussolini said, "The newspapers have no information on any of this, is that correct "What I have told you, Duce, is known outside this room only to the President and his Secretary of State. My trip is a matter of private business, of no interest to the press, and so it will remain forever." 'I have stated my deep reservations," said Mussolini, speaking slowly, in an extremely formal tone. "I have very little hope that such a mission would be to any useful purpose, in view of the maniacal hosdhty of the British and French ruling circles to the resurgent German nation and its great Fuhrer. But I share Mr. Roosevelt's sentiment about leaving no stone unturned." He took a long portentous pause, then spoke with a decisive nod. "If the President sends Sumner Welles on such a mission, I will receive him." Gianelli's fixed snile gave way to a real one of delight and pride. He gushed over Mussolini's wise and great decision, and his joy at the prospect of Italy and the United States, his two mother countries, joining to rescue the world from tragedy. Mussolini nodded tolerantly, seeming to enjoy the flood of flattery, though be waved a deprecating hand to calm down the banker. Victor Henry seized the first pause in the banker's speech to put in, "Duce, may I ask whether Signor Gianelli is permitted to tell the Fuhrer this? That you have consented to receive a formal mission by Sumner Welles?" Mussolini's eyes sparked, as sometimes an admiral's did when Victor Henry said somethingsharp. He looked to Ciano. The foreign minister said condescendingly in his perfect English, "The Fuhrer will know long before you have a chance to tell him." "Okay," said Henry. Mussolini rose, took Gianelli's elbow, and led him out through french doors to the balcony, letting a gust of cold air into the room. Ciano smoothed his thick black hair with both white hands. "Well, Commander, what do you think of the great German naval victory in the south Atlantic?" 'I hadn't heard of one." 'Really? It will be on Rome radio at seven o'clock. The battleship Graf Spee has caught a group of British cruisers and destroyers off Montevideo. The British have lost four or five ships and all the rest have been damaged. it's a British disaster that changes the whole balance of force in the Atlantic." Victor Henry was shocked, but skeptical. "What happened to Graf Spee?" 'Nfinor hits that will be repaired overnight. Graf Spee was much heavier than anything it faced." "The British have acknowledged this?" Count Ciano smiled. He was a good-looking young man, and obviously knew it; just a little too fat and proud, Pug thought, from living high on the hog. 'No, but the British took a little while to acknowledge the sinking of the Royal Oak." The dinner celebrating Victor Henries promotion began in gloom, because of the Graf Spee news. The two attaches sat talking over highballs, waiting for Byron to show up. Captain Kirkwood asserted that he believed the story; that in the twenty years since the last war, a deep rot had eaten out the heart of England. Kirkwood looked like an Englishman himself-long-jawed, ruddy, and big-toothed-but he had little use for Great Britain. The British politicians had stalled and cringed in the face of Hitler's rise, he declared, because they sensed their people no longer had a will to fight. The Limey navy was a shell. England and France were going to crumple under Hitler's onslaught in the spring. 'It's too bad, I suppose," Kirkwood said. "One's sentiments are with the Allies, naturally. But the world moves on. After all, Hitler halted Communism in its tracks. And don't worry, once he takes the fight out of the Allies, he'll settle Stalin's hash. The Russians are putting on one stumblebum performance in Finland, aren't they? They'll be a walkover for the Wehrmacht. In the end we'll have to make a deal with Hitler, that's becoming obvious. He holds all the cards on this side of the water." "Hi, Dad." Byron's sports jacket and slacks were decidedly out of place in this old luxurious restaurant, where half the people wore evening dress. Henry introduced him to the attache. "Where have yo............