The Beaufort Sisters. Jon Cleary

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СКАЧАТЬ to shut out tomorrow, the world was just this house and time was only now. Even the pain of the six months’ separation was forgotten.

      Tim went to work in the oil company and, as far as Nina could judge, seemed happy and successful in his job. He went out of town, to New York, Washington, Chicago on business, but he was never away for more than two nights and he always called her each night. September became October; then November and the elections loomed. Republicans across the nation, Lucas not least of all, prepared to welcome President Dewey.

      ‘We must have a party,’ said Lucas. ‘We’ll have something to celebrate – a man of our own in the White House after sixteen years of those goddam Democrats. We’ll have the party on Election Night.’

      ‘Mightn’t that be a little premature?’ said Tim. ‘I’m not so sure that Truman won’t win.’

      ‘Care for a small bet? I’ll give you ten to one.’

      It was a moment before Tim said quietly, ‘All right. I’ll put up five thousand dollars.’

      Lucas looked as if he was going to laugh, then he frowned as he saw that Tim was serious. ‘That’s a lot of money for you. You’ve never been a gambling man before.’

      ‘No. But didn’t you once tell me that this country was built by men who took chances? Your father included.’

      ‘They didn’t back losing Presidents. Still, if you want to throw your money away … Five thousand. That’s half what the company’s paying you a year, isn’t it?’

      ‘Yes. So if I win I’ll be five years ahead.’

      ‘You might also be out of a job,’ said Lucas, but managed to smile as he said it.

      Harry Truman came home to Independence, worn out by his whistle-stop campaign by train across the country. But on the front page of the Star, which had not endorsed him, he showed the old chirpy confident smile – ‘The people are going to win this election, not the pollsters.’

      ‘Bull,’ said Lucas, tying his black tie in front of the dressing-table mirror; Edith had decided that a Republican victory should be celebrated in proper style. ‘The pollsters are right, every one of them. He can’t goddam win!’

      ‘Watch your language, sweetheart – you’re starting to sound like him.’

      Though the word had not then been coined to describe them, the Establishment of Kansas City was there that night at the Beaufort party. The celebration started as soon as they arrived; guests were drinking champagne toasts to victory within ten minutes of being inside the house. There was a television set and a radio in every room; the big house resembled a luxury campaign headquarters. The men looked rather sombre in their tuxedos, but the women provided a look of bunting: gowns of every colour swirled through the rooms, visible symbols of everyone’s gay spirits. Lucas had sent George Biff down to 12th Street to recruit a band; it jammed its way through a score of numbers, playing with such verve that one would have thought that every member of the band was a ragtime Republican. The only number they didn’t play was The Missouri Waltz, Mr Truman’s own favourite.

      Nina, radiant in pink, was enjoying herself immensely. She had no interest in politics, but tonight’s party had all the bright revelry of parties she could remember from her girlhood. She danced with old boy-friends, hugged old girl-friends, raised her glass a dozen times in victory salutes with her parents’ friends. Then, wanting a respite, she went out on the wide enclosed veranda with Magnus McKea.

      ‘Where’s Tim?’ he asked.

      She had been enjoying herself so much she hadn’t missed him. ‘Probably trying to dodge Daddy. He has a bet on, you know. He thinks Mr Truman will win.’

      ‘God forbid. I hope he’s not broadcasting it.’

      ‘Tim is more discreet than that. What time will we hear the first returns?’

      ‘Not for another hour at least. By then all the crowd should be pie-eyed, the way they’re going. Ah, Mr Minett. Quite a night, eh?’

      Frank Minett was a heavily-built, medium-height man who looked several years older than he actually was. He was ambitious and that gave him a certain spurious aggressiveness which not-too-observant people mistook for confidence. But he was out of his depth in this house tonight, acutely aware of the power and money that he would never have.

      ‘Quite a night, Mr McKea. I was looking for Meg – she wants me to explain the trends in voting as they come in.’

      ‘No need for that,’ said Magnus. ‘It’s going to be a landslide all over.’

      Then, looking through the wide french doors into the living-room, Nina saw Tim and Margaret come into the room, both of them looking a little dishevelled, as if they had been out in the rain and wind that had sprung up. Margaret said something to Tim, held his hand while she smiled at him, then went to join her mother and father. Tim looked around, saw Nina out on the veranda and came out, patting down his wind-blown hair. There were rain-spots on the shoulder of his dinner-jacket and a smudge of lipstick on his shirt.

      ‘You look as if you’ve been celebrating already,’ said Magnus.

      ‘He’s backing Mr Truman,’ said Nina. ‘What’s he got to celebrate?’

      Magnus and Frank Minett seemed to retreat without actually moving. Neither of them was married but they recognized the electricity in a marital storm.

      ‘Oh, there’s Meg!’ Minett was gone as if he had been jerked away by an invisible wire.

      ‘Think I need a refill,’ said Magnus, not even looking at his almost full glass. ‘Excuse me.’

      ‘Well,’ said Tim when he and Nina were alone, ‘my deodorant can’t be working.’

      ‘Your charm must be working. You have lipstick on your shirt.’

      He smiled, unabashed. ‘Meg’s. Or did you think it might be someone else’s?’

      Suddenly she felt ridiculous, wondering what had made her so jealous and suspicious of Margaret. He seemed only mildly concerned, as if perplexed that she should suspect him of any sort of philandering with Margaret or anyone else.

      ‘Sorry. I think I’ve had too much champagne.’

      It was only later, just as she was about to drop off to sleep in his arms in their bed, that it came to her that he had made no attempt to explain why Margaret’s lipstick was on his shirt. But that was after they had made love and she knew from experience that the mind had a way of shooting off at tangents after sex, thought trying to re-establish itself again after animal instinct.

      The party began to wind down around midnight when it became apparent that Dewey was not going to have a landslide victory after all, that in fact President Truman was leading in the early returns. Magnus McKea got on the phone to the Star and came back to report that the political writers were now working on second, revised drafts of their columns.

      ‘They tell me that Harry Truman is out at Excelsior Springs, has gone to bed and is sound asleep. The man’s too damned cocky.’

      ‘Going to sleep while feeling cocky – that’s СКАЧАТЬ