"Doesn't War Plans have any information?"
"No. It's still Jules Verne talk to us."
"Unfortunately, it's more than that."
The rain was starting again, with a whistle of wind, a rumble of thunder, and a whoosh of raindrops through the porch screen. Pug dropped a canvas flap on the windward side, fastening it down as Kirby talked.
"The best present judgment, Pug, is that the bomb can be built.
It might take, with an all-out effort, two years or fifty years.
Those are the brackets. But we're not making an all-out effort.
We're making a good effort on the theory end, that's all. Tremendous brains are at work, some of them driven from Europe by the Germans, for which we owe them cordial thanks. The big question is, how far ahead are the Germans by now? We aren't even started. There's no money available and no plan. Making uranium bombs will go in several stages, and some of us fear that the Germans have cracked stage one, which is to get enough of the isotope to start a controlled chain reaction."
"What kind of weapon are we talking about here?" said Pug. "How powerful an explosive?"
"Again, the answer is X. The power may be too much altogether.
That is, the bomb may blow itself apart before it can really work.
In theory one bomb might level New York City. Or even an area like Rhode Island. You're dealing here with very large unknowns.
There's talk that it could start a process that could blow up the earth. The best men don't take that too seriously. I frankly don't know enough to be sure."
"You're talking about a pretty good bomb," said Victor Henry.
"Hellooo!"
Rhoda Henry's voice rang through the spacious house, and they heard heels clicking on the parquet floor. "Surprise! Anybody home?
I'm DPENcmw. I'm a drowned RAT."
"Hi! I'm out here," Pug called, " and we've got company."
"We have?"
"Hello, Rhoda," said Kirby, standing.
'Oh my GAWD!" She froze in the doorway, staring. Rhoda's purple hat dripped, she carried a sodden paper bundle, and her flowered silk dress clung wetly to her shoulders and bosom. Her face glistened with rain. Her eye makeup was blurred, her lipstick blotchy on pale lips.
Wet strands of hair hung down her forehead and neck.
Pug said, "You finished up sort of fast in New York, didn't you?
I asked Fred Kirby in for a drink, because we happened-' Rhoda vanished. Her scampering footsteps dwindled into the house and up a staircase.
"Dad, what a place! It's a mansion' Madeline walked through the doorway, as wet as her mother, shaking rain from her hair and laughing.
"Well, Mattyl You too?" "Look at me! Christ, did we catch it!
No cabs in sight, and-hello, Dr. Kirby." 'You'll both get the flu," Pug Henry said.
'If somebody gave me a martini," said Madeline, eyeing the jug, 'I might fight the infection off." She explained, as her father poured the drink, that Hugh Cleveland had business at the War Department next morning. Rhoda had decided to come back to Washington with them.
The girl took a quick practiced pull at the cocktail.
"Where's your luggage?" Pug said. "Go put on dry clothes."
"I dropped my stuff at the Willard, Dad." "What? Why? Here's a whole big house at your disposal."
'Yes. I came to have a look at it. Then I'll go back to the hotel and change."
"But why the devil are you staying at the hotel?"
'Oh, it's simpler." She glanced at her watch. "Christ, almost seven o'clock."
Pug wrinkled his nose at his daughter, not caring much for her brassiness. But she looked pretty, despite her wet hair and wrinkled pink linen sifit. Rhoda's fear that Madeline would Turn plain at twenty-one was proving flat wrong. "What's the rush?"
"We're having dinner with a big Army wheel, Dad, to try to sell him on a new program idea. Hugh visits a different military installation every week. We put on amateurs from the service, and do a tour of the base, and a pitch about preparedness. I suggested the idea, even the name. The Happy Hour. The network is wild about it."
She looked at the two middleaged men, her eyes very bright, and held out her glass. "Can I have a little more? I'll own stock in this thing if it goes through! Imagine! I actually will. Hugh Cleveland's going to form a corporation and give me some stock. He promised me.
How about that? Maybe I'll be rich! Well, Dad?"
she added with an arch giggle. "You look kind of sour." "To begin with," Pug said, " come September we may not have an army.
Don't you read the papers?"
Madeline's face fell. "You mean about the draft?"
"Yes. Right now it's fifty-fifty or worse that Congress won't vote for renewal."
"But that's insane. Why, by September I-Ltler will probably have beaten Russia. How far is he from Moscow now? A hundred miles, or something?"
"I'm not saying the politicians make sense. I'm telling you the fact."
"Christ, that would blow The Happy Hour sky high, wouldn't it?
Oh, well. We'll see." She stood, shaking out her skirt. "Ugh.
I have rain trickling around inside, in odd little places. I'll take a fast gander at the house. Then I'll tool off."
"I'll show you around," Pug said. "How about it, Kirby? Want to join the tour?"
"I guess I'll leave," said Kirby. "Rhoda's back, and I don't want to intrude, and besides I have a lot of-"
"You sit right down," Victor Henry said, pushing Palmer Kirby into a wicker armchair. "Houses bore me too. Have one more shortie, and I'll be joining you."
"I've had plenty," Kirby said, reaching for the jug.
Madeline went from room to room with her father, exclaiming with pleasure at what she saw. "Christ, look at the moldings in this dining room... Oh, Christ, what a stunning fireplace... Christ, look at the size of these closets!"
"Say, I'm no prude," Pug remarked at last, "but what's this 'Christ, Christ," business? You sound like a deckhand."
Rhoda called from her dressing room, "That's right, Pug, tell her!
I've never heard anything like it. You get more Christs from her in five minutes than in a church sermon an. hour long. It's so vulgar."
Madeline said, "Sorry, it's a habit I've caught from Hugh."
i, Oh, Pug"-Rhoda's voice again, loudly casual-"where did you dig up Palmer Kirby? Did he telephone?"
"Just ran into him. He's staying for dinner. Is that all right?"
"Why not? Madeline, you're not really staying at the Willard, are you? It looks SO PECULIAR, dear. Please go and bring your bags home."
"Never mind, Mother. Bye-bye."
Pug said, walking down the stairs with her, "We bought a big place just so you kids could stay here when you're in town."
She put a hand lightly on his arm and smiled. The condescension embarrassed him. "Really, Dad, I know what I'm doing. We'll be up very late with the writers tonight."
"This fellow Cleveland," said Victor Henry with difficulty. "Is he okay?"
Her secure womanly smile broadened. "Daddy, if there were any hanky-panky going on, I'd be a lot sneakier, wouldn't I? Honestly.
Give me some credit." "Well, you're grown-up. I know that. It just came on kind of fast."
"Everything's fine. I'm having the time of my life, and one day you'll be real proud of me." "I'll call a cab for you," Pug muttered, but as he reached for the telephone in the marble-floored hallway, it rang. "Hello? Yes, speaking...
yes, Admiral." Madeline saw her father's face settle into tough alert lines.
"Aye aye, sir. Yes, will do. Good-bye, sir."
Pug dialled Rhoda's room on the intercom line. "Are you almost dressed?"
"Five minutes. Why?"
"I'll tell you when you come down."
He called for a taxicab. Madeline was used to asking no questions when Victor Henry's face took on that look and he spoke in those tones.
They returned to the porch, where Kirby lolled in the wicker armchai
r, smoking his pipe. Rhoda appeared almost at once in a swishy green dress, her hair smartly combed and curled, her face made up as for a dance.
"Well! Quick-change artistry," Pug said.
"I hope so. When I got here I looked like the witch in Smw White." "Rhoda, I just got a call from Admiral King. He's at the Department.
I'll ride downtown with Madeline. You go ahead and give Fred his dinner.
Maybe I'll get back in time for coffee, or something. Anyway, I'll call you when I know what it's all about."
The honked outside. Kirby offered to leave too. Victor Henry wouldn't hear of it. He liked the scientist. He had invited him home partly for company, partly to pump him about uranium. Pug Henry no more imagined anything between this man and Rhoda than he suspected his wife of cannibalism. He prevailed on Kirby to stay, and left with his daughter.
When the outside door closed, Rhoda said brightly, "Well! How long has it been, Palmer? An age."
Kirby sat forward, hands on his knees. "Pug doesn't know he's put you in a spot. I'll be going."
Rhoda sat composed, legs crossed, arms folded, head atilt.
"You'll waste some good double lamb chops, Can't you smell them?
Dinner's about ready."
"Rhoda, I really believe you don't feel in the least awkward."
"Oh, Palmer, I take things as they come. I'm very glad to see you, actually. What brings you to Washington, anyway?"
"A defense job, about which I can tell you nothing except that it's going very badly."
"You mean you're living here?"
"I have an apartment in the Wardman Park."
"Well, well. What about your factory?"
"I have excellent managers and foremen. I fly to Denver every two weeks or so. I just got back." With a sarcastic, one-sided grin he added, "It's disturbing how well things go on without me."
"And how is that house of yours?"
"Fine. I didn't sell it, and now I won't,"
"Oh? And now, here you are. Funny."
"Funny'isn't the word I would choose."
Rhoda dropped her voice to a soft, intimate note. "Was my letter so very upsetting?"
"It was the worst blow I've had since my wife died."
Rhoda blinked at His rough tone, and sighed. "I'm sorry." She sat clasping and unclasping her fingers in her lap. Then she tossed her head.
"I'm trying to think how to tell this so I don't come out a flibbertigibbet, but to hell with that. I sat next to the President at that White House dinner. He was nice to me. He liked me. He said wonderful things about Pug, about his future career. A divorced man is very handicapped in the service, especially when he's in sight of flag rank. I'm very aware of that.
I've seen how it works. And-well, so I did what I did. I've slept badly ever since, Palmer, and I've been an awful crab. But I've stuck to him, and I don't intend to apologize."
"Dinner, Miz Henry." A gray-haired colored woman in a white smock appeared in the doorway, looking sad and reproachful.
"Oh dear. Oh yes. What time is it, Barbara?"
"It's half past eight now, Nfiz Henry."
"That's awful. I never intended for you to remain this late.
Palmer, you're staying, of course. just put it on the table, will you, Barbara? Then you can go."
By the time Rhoda Henry and Palmer Kirby had finished off the thick chops, a salad, and a bottle of wine, the tension between them was gone, and he was laughing at, her droll stories of troubles with the new house.
She was laughing too, though, as she said, at the time the mishaps had put her in wild rages.
"What would you say to another glass of St. Julien with the cheese, Palmer?"
"Rhoda, if he comes home and finds us cracking a second bottle, those eyebrows will go way up, so." "Oh, pshaw." She began clearing dishes. "Many's the second bottle he and I have cracked. And third ones, on occasion." She paused, holding a stack of dishes. 'I can't tell you how good I feel. This couldn't possibly have been planned.
But there's a great weight off my mind."
Rhoda brought the coffee, and the second bottle, out to the back porch. The rain was over. Beyond the dim trees, in July twilight fading into darkness, a few stars showed.
"Ah! Isn't this pleasant?" she said. "I think this porch is the reason I wanted the place. It makes me think of the house we had in Berlin."
"This is like a Berlin summer evening," Kirby said. "The light that lingers on, the fresh smell of rained-on trees-" She said, "You remember?" "I have an excellent memory. A little too good."
"I have a very handy one, Palmer. It tends to remember the good and forget the bad."
"That is a female memory." Dr. Kirby gulped his wine with an abrupt motion. "Now let me ask you something, Rhoda. This may really sound offensive. But we may never talk like this again. I've had a lot to drink.
Much too much, no doubt. Your letter was a bad shock. I've thought and thought about this thing ever since. You told me that until I came along there had been no one else. I believed you. I still do. But I have a question to ask you. How come?" After a marked silence, broken only by the chirping of birds, he said, "I've made you angry."
"No." Rhoda's voice was throaty and calm. "Of course I know the answer you want-that you were irresistible and there'd never been anyone remotely like you. That's true enough. Still, I've had plenty of chances, dear. And I don't just mean drunken passes at the officers' club. There have been times... but to be absolutely honest, these men have all been naval officers like Pug. That's the circle I move in. Not one has measured up to him, or even come very close." She was silent for a space. "Don't take this wrong. I'm not blaming Pug for what happened this time. That would be too low. But he does shut me out so much! And from the moment the war started, that got much worse. Pug's a fanatic, you know. Not about religion, or politics. About getting things done."
"That's an American trait," said Palmer Kirby. "I'm the same kind of fanatic."
"Ah, but in Berlin, whether you knew it or not, you were courting me. When Pug courted me, I fell in love with him, too." She uttered a lo"7
chuckle, and added, "Let me say one thing more. Though you, of all people, might give me the horselaugh. I'm a good woman. At least I think I am. So, with one thing and another, there's been no one else.
Nor will there be. I'm a quiet grandma now. That's that."
They did not speak for a long time. In the darkness, they were two shadowy shapes, visible only by the dim reflection of unseen streetlamps on the leaves.
"Pug's never called," said Rhoda quietly.
The shape of Kirby emerged from the wicker chair, looming tall.
"I'll go now. The dinner was a success. I feel remarkably better.
Thanks."
She said, "Will I see you again?"
"Washington's a pretty small town. Look at the way I bumped into Pug." "Can you find your way out, dear?"
"Certainly."
"I don't mean to be rude, but to be frank, at the moment my eyes are messy.
Palmer Kirby came to her, bowed over her hand, and kissed it. She put her other hand over his and gave it a soft lingering pressure.
"My," she said. "So continental. And very sweet. Straight through the living room, darling, and Turn left to the front door."
WEEK later, Victor Henry lay in the upper bunk of an officer's cabin Ain the heavy cruiser Tuscaloosa, above a gently snoring colonel of the Army War Plans Division. A hand on his shoulder and a whisper, "Captain Henry?" brought him awake. In the red glow from the corridor, he saw a sailor offering a dispatch board. Pug switched on his dim bunk light.
DEsrRE C"TAIN VICTOR HENRY TRANSFER WITH ALL CFAR TO
AUGUSTA PRIOR TO 0500 TODAY FOR FORTHCOMING RCISE X "What time is it?" Pug muttered, scribbling his initials on the flimsy sheet.
043o, and the O.O.D says the captain's gig is standing by for you, sir.)) Pug tried to pack quietly, but a squeaky metal drawer woke the colonel. "Hey, skipper, leaving me? Where are you off to?"
>
"The Augusta." "What?" The colonel yawned, and snuggled under his blanket. Even in midsummer, the morning air was cool in Nantucket Bay.
"I thought that boat's only for big brass and the President." "I guess the admiral decided he needs another typist."
"Would that be Admiral King? The one who shaves with a blowtorch?"
Herman Wouk - The Winds Of War Page 89