‘He did what?’ Bobby was amazed. ‘A brothel?’

‘Not a brothel exactly, they called it a servicemen’s club and it was set up with the support of the Red Cross. But it was for black troops only, and I’ll bet my last buck there would have been women available. They opened the place later that very same year. Shit, FDR even sent Eleanor up there to visit the club during her trip to Australia in forty-three. Giving it the royal seal of approval so to speak.’

Bobby raised a querying eyebrow. ‘I wonder what she thought of that.’

‘Oh I’m sure she would have approved,’ Lyndon said knowingly. ‘Eleanor was a woman who understood sexual desires and needs, believe me. I don’t think there’s much could’ve shocked that first lady.’

Another swig of rum and he continued. ‘Of course there were some locals not keen on the establishment of a club for Negroes, some who still wanted to keep our black troops out of town. But that’s human nature, I guess, isn’t it? Like I said earlier, Robert, the Australians and us, we’re not all that different really. We don’t do the right thing by black folk.’

Lyndon grinned. A genuine grin this time, humorous, the grin that illuminated his face and could be quite winning when he was sharing a joke as he often did over a few drinks, the joke more often than not a bawdy one.

‘Hell, the Aussies really give themselves away, don’t they? I mean, “the White Australia policy”! What sort of dumb shit-for-brains title is that? If they’d just stuck to the Immigration Restriction Act they wouldn’t have shown themselves up as the racist fuckers they are.’

A short bark of laughter and he was serious again. ‘That policy still stands today and it still means what it says: those Aussies don’t want a shade of anything that’s not white in their country. But we’re one up on them, Robert, as is only right, we being the leaders of the civilised world. We have that.’

He stabbed a finger at the file that sat in the middle of the desk. ‘We have the Civil Rights Act of 1964, and as of tomorrow, it will become law throughout the land. That’s something to be proud of, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘I would, Lyndon. Yes, indeed I would.’

Bobby was forced to admit to himself, in that moment anyway and perhaps with reluctance, that he actually respected Johnson. Lyndon remained everything he’d always been in Bobby’s opinion – loud, brash, vulgar, and so much more. But he was basically a good man. His values were right. He’d worked hard to push the bill through after Jack’s assassination, and he was, as Jack himself had always maintained, one hell of a clever politician.

‘We’d never have achieved the presidency without him, Bobby,’ Jack had said, ‘we’d have been nowhere without Texas.’