“It’s dark in the Atlantic now. They’ll have to wait until morning.”

Larry left, and George wondered how dangerous this was. It was hard to know. If the Marucla were as innocent as she pretended to be, perhaps the interception would go off without violence. But if she were carrying nuclear weapons, what would happen? President Kennedy had made another knife-edge decision.

And he had seduced Maria Summers.

George was not very surprised that Kennedy was having an affair with a black girl. If half the gossip were true, the president was not in any way picky about his women. Quite the contrary: he liked mature women and teenagers, blondes and brunettes, socialites who were his equal and empty-headed typists.

George wondered for a moment whether Maria had any idea that she was one among so many.

President Kennedy had no strong feelings about race, always considering it as a purely political issue. Although he had not wanted to be photographed with Percy Marquand and Babe Lee, fearing it would lose him votes, George had seen him cheerfully shaking hands with black men and women, chatting and laughing, relaxed and comfortable. George had also been told that Kennedy attended parties where there were prostitutes of all colors, though he did not know whether those rumors were true.

But the president’s callousness had shocked George. It was not the procedure she had undergone—though that was unpleasant enough—but the fact that she had been alone. The man who made her pregnant should have picked her up after the operation and driven her home and stayed with her until he was sure she was okay. A phone call was not enough. His being president was not a sufficient excuse. Jack Kennedy had fallen a long way in George’s estimation.

Just as he was thinking about men who irresponsibly get girls pregnant, his own father walked in.

George was startled. Greg had never before visited this office.

“Hello, George,” he said, and they shook hands just as if they were not father and son. Greg was wearing a rumpled suit made of a soft blue pinstripe fabric that looked as if it had some cashmere in the mix. If I could afford a suit like that, George thought, I’d keep it pressed. He often thought that when he looked at Greg.

George said: “This is unexpected. How are you?”

“I was just passing your door. Do you want to get a cup of coffee?”

They went to the cafeteria. Greg ordered tea and George got a bottle of Coke and a straw. As they sat down, George said: “Someone was asking after you the other day. A lady in the press office.”

“What’s her name?”

“Nell something. I’m trying to remember. Nelly Ford?”

“Nelly Fordham.” Greg looked into the distance, his expression showing nostalgia for half-forgotten delights.

George was amused. “A girlfriend, evidently.”

“More than that. We were engaged.”

“But you didn’t get married.”

“She broke it off.”

George hesitated. “This may be none of my business . . . but why?”