officially in the next few days. I’m showing it to you now because we need advice on how to handle it.” He gave it to Gus.
The British spy in Mexico City had got hold of the relayed message in the old code, and the paper Fitz handed to Gus was a complete decrypt of the Zimmermann intercept. In full, it read:
Washington to Mexico, 19 January 1917
We intend to begin on 1 February unrestricted submarine warfare. We shall endeavour in spite of this to keep the USA neutral. In the event of this not succeeding we make Mexico a proposal of alliance on the following terms:
Make war together.
Make peace together.
Generous financial support and an undertaking on our part that Mexico is to reconquer the lost territory in Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona. The settlement in detail is left to you.
You will inform the president of the above most secretly as soon as the outbreak of war with the USA is certain, and add the suggestion that he should on his own initiative invite Japan to immediate adherence and at the same time mediate between Japan and ourselves.
Please call the president’s attention to the fact that the ruthless employment of our submarines now offers the prospect of compelling England in a few months to make peace.
Gus read a few lines, holding the sheet close to his eyes in the low light of the boxing arena, and said: “Alliance? My God!”
Fitz glanced around. A new bout had begun, and the noise of the crowd was too loud for people nearby to overhear Gus.
Gus read on. “Reconquer Texas?” he said with incredulity. And then, angrily: “Invite Japan?” He looked up from the paper. “This is outrageous!”
This was the reaction Fitz had been hoping for, and he had to quell his elation. “Outrageous is the word,” he said with forced solemnity.
“The Germans are offering to pay Mexico to invade the United States!”
“Yes.”
“And they’re asking Mexico to try to get Japan to join in!”
“Yes.”
“Wait till this gets out!”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about. We want to make sure it’s publicized in a manner favorable to your president.”
“Why doesn’t the British government simply reveal it to the world?”
Gus was not thinking this through. “Two reasons,” Fitz said. “One, we don’t want the Germans to know we’re reading their cables. Two, we may be accused of forging this intercept.”
Gus nodded. “Pardon me. I was too angry to think. Let’s look at this coolly.”
“If possible, we would like you to say that the United States government obtained a copy of the cable from Western Union.”
“Wilson won’t tell a lie.”
“Then get a copy from Western Union, and it won’t be a lie.”
Gus nodded. “That should be possible. As for the second problem, who could release the telegram without being suspected of forgery?”
“The president himself, I presume.”
“That’s one possibility.”
“But you have a better idea?”
“Yes,” Gus said thoughtfully. “I believe I do.”
Ethel and Bernie got married in the Calvary Gospel Hall. Neither of them had strong views about religion, and they both liked the pastor.
Ethel had not communicated with Fitz since the day of Lloyd George’s speech. Fitz’s public opposition to peace had reminded her harshly of his true nature. He stood for everything she hated: tradition, conservatism, exploitation of the working class, unearned wealth. She could not be the lover of such a man, and she felt ashamed of herself for even being tempted by the house in Chelsea. Her true soul mate was Bernie.
Ethel wore the pink silk dress and flowered hat that Walter von Ulrich had bought her for Maud Fitzherbert’s wedding. There were no bridesmaids, but Mildred and Maud served as matrons of honor. Ethel’s parents came up from Aberowen on the train. Sadly, Billy was in France and could not get leave. Little Lloyd wore a pageboy outfit specially made for him by Mildred, sky blue with brass buttons and a cap.
Bernie surprised Ethel by producing a family no one knew about. His elderly mother spoke nothing but Yiddish and muttered under her breath all through the service. She lived with Bernie’s prosperous older brother, Theo, who-Mildred discovered, flirting with him-owned a bicycle factory in Birmingham.
Afterward tea and cake were served in the hall. There were no alcoholic drinks, which suited Da and Mam, and smokers had to go outside. Mam kissed Ethel and said: “I’m glad to see you settled at last, anyway.” That word anyway carried a lot of baggage, Ethel thought. It meant: “Congratulations, even though you’re a fallen woman, and you’ve got an illegitimate child whose father no one knows, and you’re marrying a Jew, and living in London, which is the same as Sodom and Gomorrah.” But Ethel accepted Mam’s qualified blessing and vowed never to say such things to her own child.
Mam and Da had bought cheap day-return tickets, and they left to catch their train. When the majority of guests had gone, the remainder went to the Dog and Duck for a few drinks.
Ethel and Bernie went home when it was Lloyd’s bedtime. That morning, Bernie had put his few clothes and many books into a handcart and wheeled it from his rented lodgings to Ethel’s house.
To give themselves one night alone, they put Lloyd to bed upstairs with Mildred’s children, which Lloyd regarded as a special treat. Then Ethel and Bernie had cocoa in the kitchen and went to bed.
Ethel had a new nightdress. Bernie put on clean pajamas. When he got into bed beside her, he broke into a nervous sweat. Ethel stroked his cheek. “Although I’m a scarlet woman, I haven’t got much experience,” she said. “Just my first husband, and that was only for a few weeks before he went away.” She had not told Bernie about Fitz and never would. Only Billy and the lawyer Albert Solman knew the truth.
“You’re better off than me,” Bernie said, but already she could feel him beginning to relax. “Just a few fumbles.”
“What were their names?”
“Oh, you don’t want to know.”
She grinned. “Yes, I do. How many women? Six? Ten? Twenty?”
“Good God, no. Three. The first was Rachel Wright, in school. Afterward she said we would have to get married, and I believed her. I was so worried.”
Ethel giggled. “What happened?”
“The next week she did it with Micky Armstrong, and I was off the hook.”
“Was it nice with her?”
“I suppose it was. I was only sixteen. Mainly I just wanted to be able to say I had done it.”
She kissed him gently, then said: “Who was next?”
“Carol McAllister. She was a neighbor. I paid her a shilling. It was a bit brief-I think she knew what to do and say to get it over quickly. The part she liked was taking the money.”
Ethel frowned disapprovingly, then recalled the house in Chelsea, and realized she had contemplated doing the same as Carol McAllister. Feeling uncomfortable, she said: “Who was the other one?”
“An older woman. She was my landlady. She came to my bed at night when her husband was away.”
“Was it nice with her?”
“Lovely. It was a happy time for me.”
“What went wrong?”
“Her husband got suspicious and I had to leave.”
