‘Yes,’ said Gus with satisfaction. ‘Stalin took some persuading, but he saw sense in the end. You helped with that, I think, by your straight-talking to Peshkov.’

‘You’ve fought for this all your life, Papa.’

‘I don’t mind admitting that this is a pretty good moment.’

A worrying thought crossed Woody’s mind. ‘You’re not going to retire now, are you?’

Gus laughed. ‘No. We’ve won agreement in principle, but the job has only just begun.’

Cordell Hull had already left Moscow, but some of his aides were still here, and now one of them approached the Dewars. Woody knew him, a young man called Ray Baker. ‘I have a message for you, Senator,’ he said. He seemed nervous.

‘Well, you just caught me in time – I’m about to leave,’ said Gus. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s about your son Charles – Chuck.’

Gus went pale and said: ‘What is the message, Ray?’

The young man was having trouble speaking. ‘Sir, it’s bad news. He’s been in a battle in the Solomon Islands.’

‘Is he wounded?’

‘No, sir, it’s worse.’

‘Oh, Christ,’ said Gus, and he began to cry.

Woody had never seen his father cry.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ said Ray. ‘The message is that he’s dead.’

18

1944

Woody stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom at his parents’ Washington apartment. He was wearing the uniform of a second lieutenant in the 510th Parachute Regiment of the United States Army.

He had had the suit made by a good Washington tailor, but it did not look well on him. Khaki made his complexion sallow, and the badges and flashes on the tunic jacket just seemed untidy.

He could probably have avoided the draft, but he had decided not to. Part of him wanted to continue to work with his father, who was helping President Roosevelt plan a new global order that would avoid any more world wars. They had won a triumph in Moscow, but Stalin was inconstant, and seemed to relish creating difficulties. At the Tehran conference in December, the Soviet leader had revived the halfway-house idea of regional councils, and Roosevelt had had to talk him out of it. Clearly the United Nations organization was going to require tireless vigilance.

But Gus could do that without Woody. And Woody was feeling worse and worse about letting other men fight the war for him.

He was looking as good as he ever would in the uniform, so he went into the drawing room to show his mother.

Rosa had a visitor, a young man in navy whites, and after a moment Woody recognized the freckled good looks of Eddie Parry. He was sitting on the couch with Rosa, holding a walking stick. He got to his feet with difficulty to shake Woody’s hand.

Mama had a sad face. She said: ‘Eddie was telling me about the day Chuck died.’

Eddie sat down again, and Woody sat opposite. ‘I’d like to hear about that,’ Woody said.

‘It doesn’t take long to tell,’ Eddie began. ‘We were on the beach at Bougainville for about five seconds when a machine gun opened up from somewhere in the swamp. We ran for cover, but I got a couple of bullets in my knee. Chuck should have gone on to the tree line. That’s the drill – you leave the wounded to be picked up by the medics. Of course, Chuck disobeyed that rule. He stopped and came back for me.’