He found himself spending more and more time with Rosa Hellman. He had to be careful, when talking to her, to tell her only things that he would be happy to see printed, but the habit of discretion was automatic with him now. She was one of the smartest people he had ever met. He liked her, but that was as far as it went. She was always ready to go out with him, but what reporter would refuse an invitation from a presidential aide? He could never hold hands with her, or try to kiss her good night, in case she might think he was taking advantage of his position as someone she could not afford to offend.
He met her at the Ritz for cocktails. “What are cocktails?” she said.
“Hard liquor dressed up to be more respectable. I promise you, they’re fashionable.”
Rosa was fashionable, too. Her hair was bobbed. Her cloche hat came down over her ears like a German soldier’s steel helmet. Curves and corsets had gone out of style, and her draped dress fell straight from the shoulders to a startlingly low waistline. By concealing her shape, paradoxically, the dress made Gus think about the body beneath. She wore lipstick and face powder, something European women still considered daring.
They had a martini each, then moved on. They drew a lot of stares as they walked together through the long lobby of the Ritz: the lanky man with the big head and his tiny one-eyed companion, him in white-tie-and-tails and her in silver-blue silk. They got a cab to the Majestic, where the British held Saturday night dances that everyone went to.
The ballroom was packed. Young aides from the delegations, journalists from all over the world, and soldiers freed from the trenches were “jazzing” with nurses and typists. Rosa taught Gus the fox-trot, then she left him and danced with a handsome dark-eyed man from the Greek delegation.
Feeling jealous, Gus drifted around the room chatting to acquaintances until he ran into Lady Maud Fitzherbert in a purple dress and pointed shoes. “Hello!” he said in surprise.
She seemed pleased to see him. “You look well.”
“I was lucky. I’m all in one piece.”
She touched the scar on his cheek. “Almost.”
“A scratch. Shall we dance?”
He took her in his arms. She was thin: he could feel her bones through the dress. They did the hesitation waltz. “How is Fitz?” Gus asked.
“Fine, I think. He’s in Russia. I’m probably not supposed to say that, but it’s an open secret.”
“I notice the British newspapers saying ‘Hands Off Russia.’”
“That campaign is being led by a woman you met at Ty Gwyn, Ethel Williams, now Eth Leckwith.”
“I don’t remember her.”
“She was the housekeeper.”
“Good lord!”
“She’s becoming something of a force in British politics.”
“How the world has changed.”
Maud drew him closer and lowered her voice. “I don’t suppose you have any news of Walter?”
Gus recalled the familiar-looking German officer he had seen fall at Chateau-Thierry, but he was far from certain that had been Walter, so he said: “Nothing, I’m sorry. It must be hard for you.”
“No information is coming out of Germany and no one is allowed to go there!”
“I’m afraid you may have to wait until the peace treaty is signed.”
“And when will that be?”
Gus did not know. “The league covenant is pretty much done, but they’re a long way from agreement over how much Germany should pay in reparations.”
“It’s foolish,” Maud said bitterly. “We need the Germans to be prosperous, so that British factories can sell them cars and stoves and carpet sweepers. If we cripple their economy, Germany will go Bolshevik.”
“People want revenge.”
“Do you remember 1914? Walter didn’t want war. Nor did the majority of Germans. But the country wasn’t a democracy. The kaiser was egged on by the generals. And once the Russians had mobilized, they had no choice.”
“Of course I remember. But most people don’t.”
The dance ended. Rosa Hellman appeared, and Gus introduced the two women. They talked for a minute, but Rosa was uncharacteristically charmless, and Maud moved away.
“That dress cost a fortune,” Rosa said grumpily. “It’s by Jeanne Lanvin.”
Gus was perplexed. “Didn’t you like Maud?”
“You obviously do.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were dancing very close.”
Rosa did not know about Walter. All the same, Gus resented being falsely accused of flirting. “She wanted to talk about something rather confidential,” he said with a touch of indignation.
“I bet she did.”
“I don’t know why you’re taking this attitude,” Gus said. “You went off with that oily Greek.”
“He’s very handsome, and not a bit oily. Why shouldn’t I dance with other men? It’s not as if you’re in love with me.”
Gus stared at her. “Oh,” he said. “Oh, dear.” He suddenly felt confused and uncertain.
“What’s the matter now?”
“I’ve just realized something… I think.”
“Are you going to tell me what it is?”
“I suppose I must,” he said shakily. He paused.
She waited for him to speak. “Well?” she said impatiently.
“I am in love with you.”
She looked back at him in silence. After a long pause she said: “Do you mean it?”
Although the thought had taken him by surprise, he had no doubt. “Yes. I love you, Rosa.”
She smiled weakly. “Just fancy that.”
“I think perhaps I’ve been in love with you for quite a long time without knowing it.”
She nodded, as if having a suspicion confirmed. The band started a slow tune. She moved closer.
He took her in his arms automatically, but he was too wrought up to dance properly. “I’m not sure I can manage-”
“Don’t worry.” She knew what he was thinking. “Just pretend.”
He shuffled a few steps. His mind was in turmoil. She had not said anything about her own feelings. On the other hand, she had not walked away. Was there any chance she might return his love? She obviously liked him, but that was not the same thing at all. Was she asking herself, at this very minute, how she felt? Or was she thinking up some gentle words of rejection?
She looked up at him, and he thought she was about to give him the answer; then she said: “Take me away from here, please, Gus.”
“Of course.”
She got her coat. The doorman summoned a red Renault taxi. “Maxim’s,” Gus said. It was a short drive, and they rode in silence. Gus longed to know what was in her mind, but he did not rush her. She would have to tell him soon.
The restaurant was packed, the few empty tables reserved for later customers. The headwaiter was desole. Gus took out his wallet, extracted a hundred-franc note, and said: “A quiet table in a corner.” A card saying Reservee was whipped away and they sat down.
They chose a light supper and Gus ordered a bottle of champagne. “You’ve changed so much,” Rosa said.
He was surprised. “I don’t think so.”
“You were a diffident young man, back in Buffalo. I think you were even shy of me. Now you walk around Paris as if you own it.”
“Oh, dear-that sounds arrogant.”
“No, just confident. After all, you’ve worked for a president and fought a war-those things make a difference.”
The food came but neither of them ate much. Gus was too tense. What was she thinking? Did she love him or
