‘What do you think?’
‘It’s going ahead.’
‘Father grew pretty adamant after you went to bed.’
‘I’m not against it, Manfred. It’s just that it seems a little…’ She couldn’t find the right word.
‘I know.’
‘I understand how important it is to you. I do.’
‘It’s hardly going to be a riotous affair. It never was. Far from it.’
Over dinner the previous evening, the conversation had turned to a sensitive subject, one they’d all been dodging for the past couple of weeks: that of the house party arranged months before and set to take place the following weekend.
It had never been in question that Manfred would one day make a move into politics—that decision was taken on his behalf while he was still wet from the womb—but no one had anticipated the ease with which he would navigate the course charted for him from birth. At prep school he had excelled himself, surpassing even their father’s expectations. He was captain of the varsity soccer and baseball squads, secretary of the Student Council, chairman of the Student Deacons and editor of the school newspaper, the
There was only one thing more important than winning, and that was appearing not to care about winning. It was a credo that had been instilled in them from an early age, an article of faith vigorously contested by Lillian, silently accepted by Gayle, but dutifully observed by Manfred. And it had served him well, both at Andover and Yale.
It wasn’t until he went to university that Gayle actually witnessed Manfred in action. She was present in the mahoganypaneled hall when he got to his feet as Captain of the Yale Debate Team to deliver his summation speech in defense of the resolution: An oppressive government is more desirable than no government.
He opened by stating that he was a little mystified by his rival speaker’s arguments in favor of no government, as he had it on good authority that the fellow was actively seeking a position in government on his graduation. Delivered with a sly smile, his tone devoid of any malice, this won him a large laugh and proved to be the final nail in the other man’s coffin. Manfred had already argued a difficult position with a compelling mix of conviction and crowd-pleasing humor.
When he finally stepped away from the lectern, it was Lillian, chauffeured in from Vassar for the night, who was first to her feet, applauding loudly. Shrugging off their mother’s efforts to silence her, she triggered a standing ovation. The motion was duly carried by a large majority.
In the heady aftermath of his victory, it became clear that Manfred had delivered no more or less than had been expected of him. Yes, his peers mobbed him and showered him with compliments, but only as team-mates might congratulate a star batter who can always be relied upon to pull a winning home run out of the bag. There was no mistaking the fact that he was already a figure of some considerable standing among his Conservative Party cronies, admired and respected by the sons of some of the country’s most influential men, a few of whom also happened to be present that evening.
Gayle could still recall her father’s largesse with the Champagne in the bar of the Taft Hotel afterwards, the expression on his face as he surveyed the proceedings. It was a look not so much of paternal pride as of deep satisfaction. He had invested everything in Manfred, and Manfred had more than repaid the confidence placed in him.
Bathed in his reflected glory, Gayle and Lillian had found themselves surrounded by a pack of attentive young men, until ushered to the relative safety of a corner booth by Justin Penrose, Manfred’s closest friend. At midnight, when their parents finally prized them away from the rowdy gathering, Gayle was left in little doubt that Justin wished to see her again. And her father let it be known that he thoroughly approved.
America’s entry into the war two years later, though a little inconvenient, was barely a setback to their father’s plans. It also meant that Manfred could enter the political arena with the added kudos of a sound military record.
The scene was now set. Gayle wasn’t sure of the exact details, though she knew there was talk of skipping over the State Assembly and making a play straight for membership of the New York State Senate. With elections coming up, it was time for some serious decisions to be made. Hence the weekend house party—an opportunity for some of those backing Manfred’s political career to put their heads together and determine the exact course of his candidature.
In truth, Gayle had known for several days now that the gathering would go ahead regardless of Lillian’s death. It would have been postponed well before if it was ever going to be. No, the discussion over dinner the previous evening had been a mere formality, the decision a foregone conclusion.
The most gratifying aspect of the evening had been Justin’s attitude towards her. Had she imagined the flutter of his fingertips against her waist as he stooped to kiss her cheek on his arrival? Had the kiss itself been less perfunctory than usual? Possibly. In the privacy of her bedroom, she had dismissed any lingering doubts. She knew the signals; she had, after all, been on the receiving end of them before. This was the reason she had been unable to sleep, the events of the evening tugging at her thoughts, even before Manfred and Justin started banging out numbers on the piano.
‘Father thinks we should take Senator Dale fishing,’ said Manfred.
‘Fishing?’
‘Game fishing, for tuna. Next weekend. You know, charter a boat in Montauk, make a day of it.’
‘Business and pleasure,’ said Gayle indifferently.
‘You think it’s a bad idea?’
‘I really wouldn’t know.’
‘Anyway, Richard’s going to look into it.’ He heaped some strawberry jam on to a slice of toast. ‘Where’s Father?’
