Winter of the World (69 page)

‘I don’t want to ask him. But you can find her, right?’

‘I expect so.’ Cranmer took out a little notebook and a pencil. ‘I guess Jacky Jakes was an assumed name?’

‘Mabel Jakes is her real name.’

‘Actress, right?’

‘Would-be. I don’t know that she made it.’ She had had good looks and charm in abundance, but there were not many parts for black actors.

‘Obviously she’s not in the phone book, or you wouldn’t need me.’

‘Could be unlisted, but more likely she can’t afford a phone.’

‘Have you seen her since 1935?’

‘Twice. First time two years ago, not far from here, on E Street. Second time, two weeks ago, two blocks away.’

‘Well, she sure as hell doesn’t live in this swanky neighbourhood, so she must work nearby. You have a photo?’

‘No.’

‘I remember her vaguely. Pretty girl, dark skin, big smile.’

Greg nodded, remembering that thousand-watt smile. ‘I just want her address, so I can write her a letter.’

‘I don’t need to know what you want the information for.’

‘Suits me.’ Was it really this easy, Greg thought?

‘I charge ten bucks a day, with a two-day minimum, plus expenses.’

It was less than Greg had expected. He took out his billfold and gave Cranmer a twenty.

‘Thanks,’ said the detective.

‘Good luck,’ said Greg.

(ii)

Saturday was hot, so Woody went to the beach with his brother, Chuck.

The whole Dewar family was in Washington. They had a nine-room apartment near the Ritz-Carlton Hotel. Chuck was on leave from the navy, Papa was working twelve hours a day planning the summit
meeting he referred to as the Atlantic Conference, and Mama was writing a new book, about the wives of presidents.

Woody and Chuck put on shorts and polo shirts, grabbed towels and sunglasses and newspapers, and caught a train to Rehoboth Beach, on the Delaware coast. The journey took a couple of hours, but
this was the only place to go on a summer Saturday. There was a wide stretch of sand and a refreshing breeze off the Atlantic Ocean. And there were a thousand girls in swimsuits.

The two brothers were different. Chuck was shorter, with a compact, athletic figure. He had their mother’s attractive looks and winning smile. He had been a poor student at school, but he
also displayed Mama’s quirky intelligence, always taking an off-centre view of life. He was better than Woody at all sports except running, where Woody’s long legs gave him speed, and
boxing, in which Woody’s long arms made him nearly impossible to hit.

At home, Chuck had not said much about the navy, no doubt because their parents were still angry with him for not going to Harvard. But alone with Woody he opened up a bit. ‘Hawaii is
great, but I’m really disappointed to have a shore job,’ he said. ‘I joined the navy to go to sea.’

‘What are you doing, exactly?’

‘I’m part of the Signal Intelligence Unit. We listen to radio messages, mainly from the Imperial Japanese Navy.’

‘Aren’t they in code?’

‘Yes, but you can learn a lot even without breaking the codes. It’s called traffic analysis. A sudden increase in the number of messages indicates that some action is imminent. And
you learn to recognize patterns in the traffic. An amphibious landing has a distinctive configuration of signals, for example.’

‘That’s fascinating. And I bet you’re good at it.’

Chuck shrugged. ‘I’m just a clerk, annotating and filing the transcripts. But you can’t help picking up the basics.’

‘How’s the social life in Hawaii?’

‘Lots of fun. Navy bars can get pretty riotous. The Black Cat Cafe is the best. I have a good pal, Eddie Parry, and we go surfboarding on Waikiki Beach every chance we get. I’ve had
some good times. But I wish I was on a ship.’

They swam in the cold Atlantic, ate hot dogs for lunch, took photos of each other with Woody’s camera, and studied the swimsuits until the sun began to go down. As they were leaving,
picking their way through the crowd, Woody saw Joanne Rouzrokh.

He did not need to look twice. She was like no other girl on the beach, nor indeed in Delaware. There was no mistaking those high cheekbones, that scimitar nose, the luxuriant dark hair, the
skin the colour and smoothness of
café au lait.

Without hesitation he walked straight towards her.

She looked absolutely sensational. Her black one-piece swimsuit had spaghetti straps that revealed the elegant bones of her shoulders. It was cut straight across her upper thighs, showing almost
all of her long, brown legs.

He could hardly believe that he had once taken this fabulous woman in his arms and smooched her like there was no tomorrow.

She looked up at him, shading her eyes from the sun. ‘Woody Dewar! I didn’t know you were in Washington.’

That was all the invitation he needed. He knelt on the sand beside her. Just being this close made him breathe harder. ‘Hello, Joanne.’ He glanced briefly at the plump brown-eyed
girl beside her. ‘Where’s your husband?’

She burst out laughing. ‘Whatever made you think I was married?’

He was flustered. ‘I came to your apartment for a party, a couple of summers back.’

‘You did?’

Joanne’s companion said: ‘I remember. I asked you your name, but you didn’t answer.’

Woody had no memory of her at all. ‘I’m sorry I was so impolite,’ he said. ‘I’m Woody Dewar, and this is my brother Chuck.’

The brown-eyed girl shook hands with both of them and said: ‘I’m Diana Taverner.’ Chuck sat beside her on the sand, which seemed to please her: Chuck was good-looking, much
more handsome than Woody.

Woody went on: ‘Anyway, I went into the kitchen, looking for you, and a man called Bexforth Ross introduced himself to me as your fiancé. I assumed you’d be married by now. Is
it an extraordinarily long engagement?’

‘Don’t be silly,’ she said with a touch of irritation, and he remembered that she did not respond well to teasing. ‘Bexforth told people we were engaged, because he was
practically living at our apartment.’

Woody was startled. Did that mean that Bexforth had been sleeping there? With Joanne? It was not uncommon, of course, but few girls admitted it.

‘He was the one who talked about marriage,’ she went on. ‘I never agreed to it.’

So she was single. Woody could not have been happier if he had won the lottery.

There might be a boyfriend, he warned himself. He would have to find out. But anyway, a boyfriend was not the same as a husband.

‘I was at a meeting with Bexforth a few days back,’ Woody said. ‘He’s a great man in the State Department.’

‘He’ll go far, and he’ll find a woman more suitable than I to be the wife of a great man in the State Department.’

It seemed from her tone that she did not have warm feelings towards her former lover. Woody found that he was pleased about that, although he could not have said why.

He reclined on his elbow. The sand was hot. If she had a serious boyfriend, she would find a reason to mention him before too long, he felt sure. He said: ‘Speaking of the State
Department, are you still working there?’

‘Yes. I’m assistant to the Undersecretary for Europe.’

‘Exciting.’

‘Right now it is.’

Woody was looking at the line where her swimsuit crossed her thighs, and thinking that no matter how little a girl was wearing, a man was always thinking about the parts of her that were hidden.
He began to get an erection, and rolled on to his front to conceal it.

Joanne saw the direction of his gaze and said: ‘You like my swimsuit?’ She was always frank. It was one of the many things he found attractive about her.

He decided to be equally candid. ‘I like
you
, Joanne. I always did.’

She laughed. ‘Don’t beat about the bush, Woody – come right out with it!’

All around them, people were packing up. Diane said: ‘We’d better get going.’

‘We were just leaving,’ Woody said. ‘Shall we travel together?’

This was the moment for her to give him the polite brush-off. She could easily say
Oh, no, thanks, you guys go on ahead.
But instead she said: ‘Sure, why not?’

The girls pulled dresses over their swimsuits and threw their stuff into a couple of bags, and they all walked up the beach.

The train was crowded with trippers like them, sunburned and hungry and thirsty. Woody bought four Cokes at the station and produced them as the train pulled out. Joanne said: ‘You once
bought me a Coke on a hot day in Buffalo, do you remember?’

‘On that demonstration. Of course I remember.’

‘We were just kids.’

‘Buying Cokes is a technique I use with beautiful women.’

She laughed. ‘Is it successful?’

‘It has never got me a single smooch.’

She raised her bottle in a toast. ‘Well, keep trying.’

He thought that was encouraging, so he said: ‘When we get back to the city, do you want to get a hamburger, or something, and maybe see a movie?’

This was the moment for her to say
No, thanks, I’m meeting my boyfriend.

Diana said quickly: ‘I’d like that. How about you, Joanne?’

Joanne said: ‘Sure.’

No boyfriend – and a date! Woody tried to hide his elation. ‘We could see
The Bride Came C.O.D.
,’ he said. ‘I hear it’s pretty funny.’

Joanne said: ‘Who’s in it?’

‘James Cagney and Bette Davis.’

‘I’d like to see that.’

Diana said: ‘Me, too.’

‘That’s settled, then,’ said Woody.

Chuck said: ‘How about you, Chuck? Would you like that? Oh, sure, I’d like it swell, but nice of you to ask, big brother.’

It was not all that funny, but Diana giggled appreciatively.

Soon afterwards, Joanne fell asleep with her head on Woody’s shoulder.

Her dark hair tickled his neck, and he could feel her warm breath on his skin below the cuff of his short-sleeved shirt. He felt blissfully contented.

They parted company at Union Station, went home to change, and met up again at a Chinese restaurant downtown.

Over chow mein and beer they talked about Japan. Everyone was talking about Japan. ‘Those people have to be stopped,’ said Chuck. ‘They’re Fascists.’

‘Maybe,’ said Woody.

‘They’re militaristic and aggressive, and the way they treat the Chinese is racialist. What else do they have to do to be Fascists?’

‘I can answer that,’ said Joanne. ‘The difference is in their vision of the future. Real Fascists want to kill off all their enemies then create a radically new type of
society. The Japanese are doing all the same things in defence of traditional power groups, the military caste and the emperor. For the same reason, Spain is not really Fascist: Franco is murdering
people for the sake of the Catholic Church and the old aristocracy, not to create a new world.’

‘Either way, the Japs must be stopped,’ said Diana.

‘I see it differently,’ said Woody.

Joanne said: ‘Okay, Woody, how do you see it?’

She was seriously political, and would appreciate a thoughtful answer, he knew. ‘Japan is a trading nation, with no natural resources: no oil, no iron, just some forests. The only way they
can make a living is by doing business. For example, they import raw cotton, weave it, and sell it to India and the Philippines. But in the Depression the two great economic empires – Britain
and the USA – put up tariff walls to protect our own industries. That was the end of Japanese trade with the British Empire, including India, and the American zone, including the Philippines.
It hit them pretty hard.’

Diana said: ‘Does that give them the right to conquer the world?’

‘No, but it makes them think that the only way to economic security is to have your own empire, as the British do, or at least to dominate your hemisphere, as the US does. Then nobody else
can close down your business. So they want the Far East to be their backyard.’

Joanne agreed. ‘And the weakness of our policy is that every time we impose economic sanctions to punish the Japanese for their aggression, it only reinforces their feeling that
they’ve got to be self-sufficient.’

‘Maybe,’ said Chuck. ‘But they still have to be stopped.’

Woody shrugged. He did not have an answer to that.

After dinner they went to the cinema. The movie was great. Then Woody and Chuck walked the girls back to their apartment. On the way, Woody took Joanne’s hand. She smiled at him and
squeezed his hand, and he took that for encouragement.

Outside the girls’ building he took her in his arms. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Chuck do the same with Diana.

Joanne kissed Woody’s lips briefly, almost chastely, then said: ‘The traditional goodnight kiss.’

‘There was nothing traditional about it last time I kissed you,’ he said. He bent his head to kiss her again.

She put a forefinger on his chin and pushed him away.

Surely, he thought, that little peck was not all he was going to get?

‘I was drunk that night,’ she said.

‘I know.’ He saw what the problem was. She was afraid he was going to think she was easy. He said: ‘You’re even more alluring when you’re sober.’

She looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘That was the right thing to say,’ she said eventually. ‘You win the prize.’ Then she kissed him again, softly, lingering, not with
the urgency of passion but with a concentration that suggested tenderness.

All too soon he heard Chuck sing out: ‘Goodnight, Diana!’

Joanne broke the kiss with Woody.

Woody said in dismay: ‘My brother was a bit quick!’

She laughed softly. ‘Goodnight, Woody,’ she said, then she turned and walked to the building.

Diana was already at the door, looking distinctly disappointed.

Woody blurted out: ‘Can we have another date?’ He sounded needy, even to himself, and he cursed his haste.

But Joanne did not seem to mind. ‘Call me,’ she said, and went inside.

Woody watched until the two girls disappeared, then he rounded on his brother. ‘Why didn’t you kiss Diana longer?’ he said crossly. ‘She seems really nice.’

‘Not my type,’ said Chuck.

‘Really?’ Woody was more mystified than annoyed. ‘Nice round tits, pretty face – what’s not to like? I’d have kissed her, if I wasn’t with
Joanne.’