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White House staffers did not call in sick in the middle of the greatest crisis of the Cold War, George reflected; not unless they were seriously ill. His anxiety deepened.

He hurried to the press office. Maria's chair was empty. Nelly Fordham, the friendly woman at the next desk, said: "Maria's not well."

"I heard. Did she say what the trouble was?"

"No."

George frowned. "I wonder if I could get away for an hour and go see her."

"I wish you would," Nelly said. "I'm worried too."

George looked at his watch. He was pretty sure Bobby would not need him until after lunch. "I guess I could manage it. She lives in Georgetown, doesn't she?"

"Yes, but she moved from her old place."

"Why?"

"Said her flatmates were too nosy."

That made sense to George. Other girls would be desperate to learn the identity of a clandestine lover. Maria was so determined to keep the secret that she had moved out. That indicated how serious she was about the guy.

Nelly was flicking through her Rolodex. "I'll write down the address for you."

"Thanks."

She handed him a piece of paper and said: "You're Georgy Jakes, aren't you?"

"Yes." He smiled. "It's a long time since anyone called me Georgy, though."

"I used to know Senator Peshkov."

The fact that she mentioned Greg meant, almost certainly, that she knew he was George's father. "Really?" George said. "How did you know him?"

"We dated, if you want to know the truth. But nothing came of it. How is he?"

"Pretty well. I have lunch with him about once a month."

"I guess he never married."

"Not yet."

"And he must be past forty."

"I believe there is a lady in his life."

"Oh, don't worry, I'm not after him. I made that decision a long time ago. All the same, I wish him well."

"I'll tell him that. Now I'm going to jump in a cab and go check on Maria."

"Thank you, Georgy--or George, I should say."

George hurried out. Nelly was an attractive woman with a kind heart. Why had Greg not married her? Perhaps it suited him to be a bachelor.

George's taxi driver said: "You work in the White House?"

"I work for Bobby Kennedy. I'm a lawyer."

"No kidding!" The driver did not trouble to hide his surprise that a Negro should be a lawyer with a high-powered job. "You tell Bobby we ought to bomb Cuba to dust. That's what we ought to do. Bomb them to goddamn dust."


Tags: Ken Follett The Century Historical