“Thank you, George,” Bobby said with evident relief. “It’s so great to be able to rely on you.”

• • •

The day after she went swimming with the president, Maria picked up the phone and heard the voice of Dave Powers again. “There’s a staff get-together at five thirty,” he said. “Would you like to come?”

Maria and her flatmates had plans to see Audrey Hepburn and the dishy George Peppard in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. But junior White House staffers did not say no to Dave Powers. The girls would have to drool over Peppard without her. “Where do I go?” she said.

“Upstairs.”

“Upstairs?” That usually meant the president’s private residence.

“I’ll pick you up.” Dave hung up.

Maria immediately wished she had put on a more fancy outfit today. She was wearing a plaid pleated skirt and a plain white blouse with little gold-colored buttons. Her hairpiece was a simple bob, short in the back with long scimitars of hair either side of her chin, in the current fashion. She feared she looked like every other office girl in Washington.

She spoke to Nelly. “Have you been invited to a staff get-together this evening?”

“Not me,” said Nelly. “Where is it?”

“Upstairs.”

“Lucky you.”

At five fifteen, Maria went to the ladies’ room to adjust her hair and makeup. She noticed that none of the other women were making any special effort, and she deduced that they had not been invited. Perhaps the get-together was for the newest recruits.

At five thirty, Nelly picked up her handbag to leave. “You take care of yourself, now,” she said to Maria.

“You, too.”

“No, I mean it,” said Nelly, and she walked out before Maria could ask what she meant by that.

Dave Powers appeared a minute later. He led her out of doors, along the West Colonnade, past the entrance to the pool, then back inside and up in an elevator.

The doors opened on a grand hallway with two chandeliers. The walls were painted a color between blue and green that Maria thought might be called eau de nil. She hardly had time to take it in. “We’re in the West Sitting Hall,” Dave said, and led her through an open doorway into an informal room with a scatter of comfortable couches and a large arched window facing the sunset.

The same two secretaries were here, Jenny and Jerry, but no one else. Maria sat down, wondering whether others were going to join them. On the coffee table was a tray with cocktail glasses and a jug. “Have a daiquiri,” Dave said, and poured it without waiting for her answer. Maria did not drink alcohol often, but she sipped it and liked it. She took a cheese puff from the tray of snacks. What was this all about?

“Will the First Lady be joining us?” she asked. “I’m longing to meet her.”

There was a moment of silence, making her feel as if she had said something tactless; then Dave said: “Jackie’s gone to Glen Ora.”