Every man in the room looked at his watch.

It was ten thirty two.

George got a glimpse of Bobby’s face. He looked like a man reprieved from a death sentence.

The immediate crisis was over, but George realized over the next few minutes that nothing had been resolved. While the Soviets were clearly moving to avoid confrontation at sea, their nuclear missiles were still in Cuba. The clock had been turned back an hour, but it was still ticking.

ExComm discussed Germany. The president feared Khrushchev might announce a blockade of West Berlin to parallel the American blockade of Cuba. There was nothing they could do about that, either.

The meeting broke up. George was not needed at Bobby’s next appointment. He left with Skip Dickerson, who said: “How’s your friend Maria?”

“Fine, I think.”

“I was in the press office yesterday. She called in sick.”

George’s heart missed a beat. He had given up all hope of a romance with Maria, but all the same the news that she was ill made him feel panicky. He frowned. “I didn’t know that.”

“None of my business, George, but she’s a nice gal, and I thought maybe someone should check up on her.”

George squeezed Skip’s arm. “Thanks for letting me know,” he said. “You’re a pal.”

White House staffers did not call in sick in the middle of the greatest crisis of the Cold War, George reflected; not unless they were seriously ill. His anxiety deepened.

He hurried to the press office. Maria’s chair was empty. Nelly Fordham, the friendly woman at the next desk, said: “Maria’s not well.”

“I heard. Did she say what the trouble was?”

“No.”

George frowned. “I wonder if I could get away for an hour and go see her.”

“I wish you would,” Nelly said. “I’m worried too.”

George looked at his watch. He was pretty sure Bobby would not need him until after lunch. “I guess I could manage it. She lives in Georgetown, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, but she moved from her old place.”

“Why?”

“Said her flatmates were too nosy.”

That made sense to George. Other girls would be desperate to learn the identity of a clandestine lover. Maria was so determined to keep the secret that she had moved out. That indicated how serious she was about the guy.

Nelly was flicking through her Rolodex. “I’ll write down the address for you.”

“Thanks.”

She handed him a piece of paper and said: “You’re Georgy Jakes, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” He smiled. “It’s a long time since anyone called me Georgy, though.”

“I used to know Senator Peshkov.”

The fact that she mentioned Greg meant, almost certainly, that she knew he was George’s father. “Really?” George said. “How did you know him?”

“We dated, if you want to know the truth. But nothing came of it. How is he?”

“Pretty well. I have lunch with him about once a month.”

“I guess he never married.”

“Not yet.”

“And he must be past forty.”