But that was later. Early days of the war, Burton thought he loved V fully and hopelessly. Imagine the romantic pain of loving the wife of the most powerful man in the land. And for three weeks in May she enjoyed convincing Burton to give hope a try. She used any excuse to touch his hand or make a big-sisterly correction to his tie or to smooth his lapels. And then to tease him for blushing.
So it came as no surprise one day toward the end of the month when he kissed her. She stood in the dining room arranging a vase of flowers when he passed through. The summer slipcovers—bleached cotton duck—had just been fitted over the upholstery, protection against all the sweaty visitors during hot summer. Burton came in the side door. He carried his hat, his hair pressed flat to his head by the band.
V said, Burton, could you come here just a minute?
When he came she leaned in close and with both hands, fingertips against his scalp, fluffed his hair and then shaped it in place.
He stumbled forward and bumped against her, arms circling. He mashed his lips to hers and then backed away and squared up to take a stinging slap that she never delivered. His hat had fallen in the exchange, and it lay on the rug, crown down, an open hole at their feet that they needed to avoid plunging into.
V found it a stirring kiss, a minor key reminder of youthful love. She wanted so much to kiss back. Instead, she said, Burton, let’s have coffee. Sit and compose yourself. I’ll go make it, and then we’ll talk. Do not even think of fleeing. Do not fail to be here when I get back.
He nodded.
She went down to the kitchen, and Ellen was there and saw a look on V’s face.
—What in the world? Ellen said.
—Burton.
—He’s been going around hangdog over you for a month. You didn’t notice?
—He just kissed me, V said.
—That’s different.
—Is there coffee? For two. I’ll take it up.
—If I need to come upstairs, you want me to cough when I get to the top of the stairs?
—Ha, V said.
When she returned, carrying a silver tray of pretty china cups and cream and sugar, Burton looked miserable.
He stood and said, I’m as appalled by my behavior as you are. As soon as the president arrives, I’ll hand in my resignation and confess to what I did.
He said it like a schoolboy reciting a bit of Shakespeare he did not at all understand.
—No, V said. You won’t. And please don’t ever assume you know what appalls me and what doesn’t. At this moment, I’ll claim my share of the blame, which is vastly the bigger slice of cake.
—Madame, he said.
A formulaic blurt. To be followed by some wearying assumption of behavior more appropriate to Lancelot and Guinevere than to the current world. He looked so earnest she almost laughed.
She sat next to him and held his twitchy hand. She said, When you’re confused, don’t talk. Listen. Yes?
He nodded assent.
—What we will do instead of your plan is become best of friends and allies. You will never again apologize to me. And no foolish confessions, ever. Not to anyone. We won’t even speak of this to each other. At least not for twenty-five years. At which point, if we’re both alive and lucid, this moment won’t seem tragic or comic, only a cherished shared memory that binds us even tighter. We will drink a bottle of wine or two and look back with warm nostalgia. Yes?
Burton’s face bunched around his nose, a painful contraction. So V went on talking, improvising. She said, Let’s do our anniversary near water. At the beach or on a riverboat or at a mountain lake resort. Someplace where sunset is an event. Right now let’s be quiet and drink our coffee and think our thoughts until you’re able to say something not foolish.
They sipped until eventually he said, Yes?
His voice was speculative and searching, an explorer finding his way into unmapped territory.
She sipped and looked at him without offering directions.
He said, The two of us longtime friends. Decades on. A bottle of wine together. That will be a moment to anticipate.
—Forever friends, she said. But it won’t just happen. It’s up to us to make it so. And I’ll do my share. But just as important, from this moment forward, you will become more careful with women and not allow us to twist you up with so little effort and to your disadvantage. Not all of us will let you down easy. Some keep a tally of broken hearts, and they like to break them hard enough to stay broken. You’ll be more careful. Yes? And don’t fall for some little fool who’ll become jealous of us for all the wrong reasons?
Burton nodded. Yes, he said. Absolutely yes.
—Now, V said, rising from her chair. Come kiss me again, this time on the cheek, and we’ll both meet the afternoon fresh and free. Though if I were fresh and free
