‘Do sit, please.’ Lyndon Baines Johnson gestured affably to one of the two carvers on the visitors’ side of the desk facing the bay windows that looked south over the leafy grounds of the White House.

Bobby sat. He loved this view. How often had he sat in one of these carvers, no-one else in the Oval Office except him and his brother, sharing a Scotch, talking about anything but politics, escaping the pressure that stifled them daily. He felt a stab of melancholy. God he missed Jack.

‘I thought we might share a drink,’ Johnson said, lowering his burly frame into the other carver and gesturing to the bottle of spirits and the two tumblers on the desk before them. ‘We’ll raise a toast to the memory of your brother, what do you say.’

Bobby was startled. Had Johnson somehow divined his thoughts? Was this a show of sympathy? If so, how strange, he told himself with more than a touch of cynicism. Lyndon’s hardly known for his sensitivity.

Johnson went on, blithely ignoring the younger man’s air of antagonism, which didn’t in the least bother him. ‘I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, Robert …’ he said, picking up the unopened bottle of spirits and breaking the seal.

Something of an understatement, Bobby thought.

‘But this is a moment I rather wanted to share with you.’ Johnson poured them both large shots of a dark-brown liquor, more the colour of brandy than Scotch, from a bottle the label of which Bobby didn’t recognise. ‘It’s a moment I’d like also to share with John,’ he added, handing one of the glasses to Bobby, ‘or rather to the memory of John, knowing how close the matter was to his heart.’

Both men remained poised, glasses in hand, while Bobby awaited the explanation that was obviously coming.

‘I have right there,’ Johnson announced, stabbing a dramatic finger at the file that sat in the centre of his desk, ‘the final version of the Civil Rights Act.’ He paused for further dramatic effect. ‘I am about to sign those papers, and the Civil Rights Act of 1964 will become law tomorrow. I thought it only fitting you should be with me and that we should share a toast to your brother on such an occasion.’

Bobby was puzzled by this uncharacteristic act of generosity – Lyndon rarely gave credit to others. The announcement had been delivered with the man’s customary arrogance certainly, but Bobby was touched nonetheless. How could he fail to be? The gesture was magnanimous.

‘That’s very thoughtful of you, Mr President,’ he said, ‘very thoughtful indeed. It was a piece of legislation Jack cared for deeply.’

‘As did you,’ Johnson replied, ‘as did all three of us, I swear.’ He raised his glass. ‘To the Civil Rights Act and to John,’ he said.

‘To the Civil Rights Act and to John.’

They clinked glasses and drank.