No More Dying

by David Roberts

  Edward thought angrily of how this smug American must have delighted in rubbing Churchill’s nose in these ‘statistics’. As if Churchill didn’t realize how weak the Royal Air Force was. Had no one told Kennedy that he was in possession of more accurate figures on British and German armaments than even the Prime Minister as a result of the constant flow of secret information he received from so many quarters? However, Edward checked the impulse to say as much knowing that it was his disagreeable task to ingratiate himself with this man – not antagonize him.

  He muttered some words which might have been taken as agreement and sank back in his chair. The footman – there was one standing behind each guest – was offering him wine and this gave him the opportunity to pull himself together. If he was to do his job he must be circum spect and, as so often, the thought of Verity’s disgust at the company he was keeping brought a smile to his lips.

  As soon as the soup was served, Lord Lothian began to praise a book he had been reading by a friend of his, Viscount Lymington, entitled Famine in England. As it happened, Edward had been reading a review of it a week or so earlier in The Criterion so, when Lothian asked him what he thought of it, he was not completely at a loss.

  ‘I haven’t read the book but I gather from the reviews that it is anti-Semitic, is it not?’ he risked, speaking as mildly as he could.

  ‘Not at all,’ Lothian replied. ‘Lymington argues for an agricultural revival, the stockpiling of a year’s food and the abolition of death duties on land – anything which will make us self-sufficient and able to avoid starvation in the event of war.’

  ‘But doesn’t he denounce the “foreign invasion” of London – meaning, I suppose, Jewish refugees from Nazi Germany?’

  ‘And why should that be anti-Semitic?’ Lothian asked frostily. ‘Lymington believes that England’s heart and strength is to be found in the countryside, in its great estates rather than in deracinated towns.’

  Edward could not resist one last shot. ‘I believe he quotes with approval from Arthur Lane’s The Alien Menace – a text dear to all anti-Semites.’

  An embarrassed silence fell over the table, broken at last by Nancy at her coolest. ‘We are not anti-Semites, Edward, but it’s true I don’t like Jews.’

  Edward was strongly tempted to stand up, throw his napkin to the ground and flounce out. Instead he said calmly, ‘I know no one at this table countenances what is happening to the Jews in Germany. Isn’t that right, Ambassador?’

  Kennedy took a mouthful of soup and laid down his spoon with some care. ‘Indeed not, Lord Edward, but I do sometimes think that the Jews bring misfortune upon themselves. In my country they exert too much influence. Their money buys political power . . .’

  Before he could enlarge on his views Joe Jr broke in. ‘I have many Jewish friends, Edward. I would hate you to think that as a family or as a nation we approve of any kind of discrimination. We Irish have had to fight for generations against just such prejudice and that is why I am so proud of my father for achieving what no Irishman has ever done before in politics and business.’

  The young Kennedy’s words were greeted with a murmur of appreciation in which Edward joined. His instinctive liking for the young man strengthened. He had stuck up for his father and deftly turned the conversation away from dangerous shoals.

  ‘Have any of you been to the television exhibition at Selfridge’s?’ Nancy asked brightly.

  ‘I have,’ Lothian replied. ‘My wife wanted to see this new marvel.’

  ‘And what did you think? Was it marvellous?’ Nancy asked.

  ‘It was certainly interesting but I doubt it will ever attract a significant audience. Sir John Reith was telling me how much he hated it. He says it will bring unpleasantness into the home and I think he’s right.’

  ‘But what did you see?’ Nancy insisted, turning back to Lothian.

  ‘They were showing some film but really, the screen was so small and the image so blurred one could hardly make it out. Why on earth would someone prefer television to the cinema with all its gaudy colours?’

  ‘Anyway, it will always be too expensive for the working class,’ Londonderry said comfortably.

  ‘And if there’s a war?’ Nancy asked.

  ‘The BBC will close it down. Apparently it uses metals – I confess, I don’t quite understand the technical details – which we’d need in wartime for weapons,’ Lothian said firmly.

  After lunch they returned to the drawing-room. Edward wondered how he was to get an invitation to meet the Ambassador again but the problem was solved by Joe Jr. In the course of a conversation about tennis, he said, ‘You know what you were saying about the Jews, Edward? When I went to Germany in 1934 with my friend Aubrey Whitelaw, I have to admit we were impressed – maybe I mean dazzled – by what we saw – the pageantry, the marching, the new-found pride of the German people. They marched everywhere. The children marched to school singing songs and raised their arms in the Hitler salute. Everyone said Heil Hitler instead of hello. It was almost comical.

  ‘My view then was that they had tried liberalism and it had failed. They had become despondent, divorced from hope, and then Hitler came along. He had to find a common enemy – someone to be cast out. It was good psychology and it was too bad it had to be the Jews. That was what I thought and, of course, now I kick myself for being so wrong-headed. I was completely deceived about the real nature of Nazism. I believed the Jews had risen to dominate law and big business – and all credit to them for having managed it – but they hadn’t been too scrupulous in getting where they were and now had to pay the price. I was only nineteen and naive but I fear my father still thinks that way. We have the most terrible arguments about it. I wish we didn’t but we do.’

  ‘A lot has happened in five years,’ Edward said. ‘I don’t see how any right-minded person could not be sickened by what the Nazis are doing to Jews and Communists . . .’

  ‘Talking of Communists,’ Joe Jr broke in, ‘I’d sure like to meet Miss Browne. Kay says she’s a humdinger, if you’ll excuse the expression.’

  ‘And I know she would like to meet you,’ Edward smiled.

  ‘That’s fixed then. I’ll invite you over to our place. It’s “frightfully grand”, you know,’ he said, grinning as he imitated an upper-class English accent – rather well, Edward was forced to admit.

  When he left St James’s Square, Edward thanked his hostess for a most interesting luncheon. ‘So you don’t think we are the enemy after all?’ Nancy said, holding his hand in hers. ‘You must come to Cliveden and bring that young lady of yours. In fact, why not come next weekend? It’ll only be ourselves and the Kennedys. I can see the boys have really taken to you.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Edward said, rather taken aback.

  ‘It’s awfully short notice, I know, but my husband would very much like to meet you and Miss Browne. Well, talk it over with her and telephone me. You would be doing me a favour. I’m afraid the Kennedy young will be awfully bored with just us.’

  ‘Miss Browne – Verity – is very argumentative,’ Edward said, doubtfully. ‘What the French call an agitateuse.’

  ‘Never mind that. I say what I think and I like other people who do. I’m not afraid of an argument. In fact, it stops me being bored.’

  The photographers were still there as he stepped into the square and they once again took his photograph, as though, he thought, he might have sprouted horns while he was inside.

  4

  The following morning, Verity had a telephone call from the American Embassy. The Ambassador had half an hour to spare that very afternoon if she cared to come to Grosvenor Square. She put down the receiver with a whoop of joy. Harold Laski had done what he had promised. She spent some time deciding what to wear, discarding one dress after another. She wanted to appear serious but not frumpy. She had heard that the Ambassador was a womanizer – he had owned a film studio and was believed to have bedded many would-be actresses and several genuine stars, most notably
Gloria Swanson – but she did not want to be seduced. She gave a little shiver of horror at the thought. In the end, she chose a severe tailored suit with wide shoulder pads Schiaparelli had made for her. Not wanting to look too serious, she selected one of Schiaparelli’s perky hats complete with feather which she had bought in a fit of extravagance when she was feeling ill and needed cheering up.

  Although she had a notebook and a list of questions, she decided not to plan too much but see how the interview went. Her object, after all, was not simply to make the most of this one interview but to develop some form of relationship with a man she expected to distrust and dislike. It was more than likely that he would throw her out when he realized she was a Communist and in some ways that would be a relief. She did not like dissembling and was not good at it. However, she had thought about what David Griffiths-Jones had asked her to do and come to the conclusion that there was nothing intrinsically immoral about it.

  The American Embassy in Grosvenor Square was a palatial building given to the United States by the financier J.P. Morgan. As instructed, she asked for Eamon Farrell, the Ambassador’s press secretary. He had sounded more Irish than American on the telephone but, when he appeared at her elbow, she saw that he was indeed American. He was dressed informally with a highly coloured tie loose around his neck and he was chewing gum. He had a soft, silky moustache and was, she supposed, about forty-five.

  ‘Miss Browne?’ he said with studied lack of interest. ‘If you’ll come with me, the Ambassador is running a little late but I’m sure you won’t mind waiting.’ He showed her into a small ante-room where she cooled her heels for twenty minutes. If the Ambassador really did have only half an hour to give her, she’d be lucky to get ten minutes, she thought.

  It was another twenty minutes before Verity was shown into his office. It was huge, rather over-decorated, dominated by a magnificent desk upon which the Ambassador was resting his feet. He did not rise when she came into the room or apologize for keeping her waiting. He motioned her to a chair and looked at her challengingly. ‘Mr Laski said you wanted to interview me. Well, fire away.’

  Verity was well aware she was being tested. Kennedy was being as rude as possible. He was even, like his press secretary, chewing gum. She decided to be as sweet as pie.

  ‘It’s very good of you to see me, Ambassador,’ she began.

  ‘I sure don’t know why I am,’ he interrupted. ‘You’re a Commie and you’ll make me out to be some kinda monster, I guess.’

  ‘Why should you think that? Although it’s true that I am a Communist, this interview is for the New Gazette and Lord Weaver supports everything you are trying to do in England. He certainly would not publish a hostile article about you or the United States.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Kennedy inquired, still bellicose. He did, however, take his feet off the desk. ‘Well, ask away. By the way, I met that fiancé of yours yesterday. Seemed a nice enough guy.’

  ‘I know. I talked to him on the telephone when I knew I was coming to see you,’ she said with a smile, ‘and he was complimentary about you too, Ambassador.’ This wasn’t strictly true but Verity could hardly say otherwise. ‘He very much liked your son, Joe.’

  ‘Little Joe,’ the Ambassador’s voice filled with pride. ‘I trust my son’s judgement, Miss Browne, and he told me your guy wasn’t like some of these tight-arsed English lords.’

  ‘Perhaps you can guess my feelings on that subject,’ she replied gravely. ‘I’m not much enamoured of aristocrats myself.’

  ‘Then why marry one?’

  ‘I suppose it’s because I love him,’ she said calmly.

  Kennedy frowned at her and then his frown became a smile. ‘Is that a fact? Hmm. And you Communistic. Still, I guess that’s the right answer. I’ve loved my Rose since we were children together and I married her despite her father doing his best to stop me. Thirty years ago she was the belle of Irish Boston – as pretty a girl as you ever did see. Her father Mayor Fitzgerald – “Honey Fitz”, we called him – had some Harvard-educated Democrat he wanted her to marry. But I guess I was the kind of guy who, if I wanted something bad enough, would get it and to tell the truth, young lady, I didn’t much care how I got it. I’ve got money, lots of fuckin’ money, but it don’t make much difference to a man without he loves his family. I tell you this for nothing, Miss Browne . . .’

  She didn’t doubt he was sincere – that his love for his children was genuine – but she wondered how he squared his womanizing with his avowed devotion to Rose. She had met men before – Lord Weaver came to mind – with a strong sex drive and the wherewithal to indulge it, who took the view that sex had nothing to do with marriage. It was a weakness, she decided, that so many American men placed their wives on pedestals. Edward had explained to her that the American wife and mother was sacred, inviolate and boring. It was not just that she could not satisfy her man’s animal needs but that he would have been shocked if she had. There were other women he did not respect or value who would do that for him. How Edward knew this she had not liked to ask.

  ‘Please call me Verity,’ she said breathlessly. Kennedy had a vigour and a ruthlessness she found both repellent and attractive. She had heard that he was foulmouthed and coarse but she had never expected him to open up to her in this way. She hated his casual use of that sexual swearword. Even in Spain, under the most difficult conditions, she had noticed the men had rarely used bad language in front of her. She didn’t think she was a prig but she was still shocked. Or was this another test?

  ‘My boys are the light of my life. Say, I’d like you to meet them. I guess Laski was right. He said you had spunk. He said you’d argue with me but you’d play fair.’

  Verity felt rather uneasy. Was she playing fair?

  ‘You were in Spain backing the wrong side, I’m told. Joe Jr went and took a look back in ’34. He’d be interested in your view of that conflict.’

  ‘I was on the right side,’ Verity snapped, forgetting herself for a moment.

  ‘There! Got you. I like a woman with passion. Now what do you want to ask me?’

  Verity hesitated and then decided to go in with guns blazing.

  ‘Some say you’re a Fascist, Mr Ambassador. It’s also said you want Hitler to win – that you’re anti-Semitic. Is there any truth in that?’

  ‘Who says it?’ Kennedy demanded angrily. ‘Where do they get that idea? It’s true I have a low opinion of some Jews in public office and in private life. That doesn’t mean I hate all Jews and believe they should be persecuted. I don’t. I do business with Jews – have done for years. They’re all right.’

  ‘So you support the fight against anti-Semitism?’

  ‘Anti-Semitism is their fight. Anti-Irishism is my fight.’

  ‘But, going through the press-cuttings, I haven’t been able to find you denouncing anti-Semitism.’

  ‘What good would that do? If the Jews would spend less time advertising their racial problem and more time solving it, the whole thing would recede into its proper perspective. It’s entirely out of focus now and that’s their fault.’

  Verity was disgusted but had to admire his frankness. Indeed, she thought, his candour would have been admirable if he had anything worthwhile to say.

  When the interview was over, she glanced at her watch and was amazed to find that she had been with the Ambassador for almost two hours.

  ‘You’re not going to print all this, are you, Miss Browne?’ He sounded a trifle apprehensive. ‘My press secretary would kill me if he knew everything I’ve said to you.’

  ‘On the eve of world war, Ambassador, there’s no way my paper would ever portray you as anything other than a friend and a statesman,’ she said almost ruefully. ‘You’ve been very kind giving me so much of your time. You don’t have to worry that I’ll twist anything you said against you.’ Easy though that would be, she thought to herself.

  ‘I’d like to read what you’ve written before it goes in the New Gazette.’

  �
�You can read it and, obviously, I am happy to correct any factual errors but I won’t agree to change anything just because you don’t like it.’

  ‘That’s my girl!’ Kennedy said unexpectedly. ‘You’ve got what it takes. You can have a job with me any time you like. Laski was right. He said you would amuse me.’

  ‘Amuse you?’ Verity was affronted.

  ‘Hey, don’t look like that. I meant he thought you would stimulate me. Stop me being bored. I guess I’m surrounded by people saying “Yes, sir, up my arse, sir, you’re dead right, sir,” and I never know whether they mean it. That’s why I like to have Joe Jr with me. I need one honest man beside me. Look, tell you what, why don’t you and your Lord Edward Corinth come and have dinner with us tomorrow night. Just a family affair, you understand. I can read your article and you can meet my boys.’

  ‘I’d enjoy that,’ Verity said and was surprised to find that she meant what she said.

  That evening, when they were talking over Nancy’s invitation to Cliveden in his rooms in Albany, Edward asked if she had liked Kennedy.

  ‘Of course I didn’t like him,’ Verity replied, ‘but I liked his style. He’s so much less formal than any of our people would have been. I liked it when he said all that debutante business was too stupid. Apparently, he’s annoyed all the toffs back home by refusing to introduce their daughters to the King and Queen. I didn’t know about it but he says there’s this presentation ceremony for American girls over here to get them into society. Sounds mad to me. Oh, and he really uses the press. He’s got a press secretary, a publicist and a speechwriter. He was quite open about it.