I want applied to a colonel leading a Fighter Group.’
‘With your son in it, you mean. Is he an Academy man?’
Bohnen shook his head. ‘A West Pointer I could swallow, but this guy is a down-at-heel pilot who joined the Air Corps when barnstorming got too tough for him.’
‘Is this young Jamie’s opinion?’
Bohnen was alarmed. ‘My God, don’t let Jamie ever find out I’ve been checking up on his commander! You know how prim and proper Jamie always is.’
‘I’d never even recognize the boy after all this time. I haven’t seen Mollie for nearly three years.’
Bohnen frowned at the sound of his ex-wife’s name and tapped cigar ash. ‘Jamie was a gentle child, careful with his toys, considerate to his friends, and trusting his parents—too trusting, maybe. Mollie poisoned the boy’s mind against me. But as terrible as that sounds, I’ve never allowed myself to become bitter about it.’
‘Mollie’s father was a tough man to do business with. She gets it from him.’
‘He inherited a going concern,’ said Bohnen. ‘What did old Tom have to be so tough about? He inherited a fortune and poured it down the drain. He died nearly penniless, I’ve heard. His grandfather must be turning in his grave. Look at any picture book of America’s history and you’ll find a Washbrook harvesting machine or tractor. When old Tom Washbrook gave me permission to marry his daughter, I was walking on air. I loved Mollie dearly and I was sure I could make her father see what had to be done to save the factories, but he would never listen to me—I was too young to give him advice. Sometimes I think he deliberately did the opposite of anything I suggested. And Mollie gave me no support, she always sided with Tom. He has a right to make his own mistakes, she liked to tell me.’
‘Mollie loved her father, Alex. You know that. She doted on him.’
‘She watched him run that giant corporation right into the ground. What kind of love is that?’
‘So you never hear from Mollie?’
‘Mollie is a one-man woman, always was and always will be, I guess. Once she’d turned her back on me she didn’t want to even think about me again. A clean break she said she wanted, and I went along with that, even when it meant losing my son. I knew someday he’d find his way back to me and I thank the good Lord that he chose this Christmas to do His will.’
Bohnen’s companion looked at his watch. ‘I wish I could hang on here and see the boy again, Alex.’
‘He tells me he’s met a wonderful girl,’ said Bohnen, ‘and he’s giving me the chance to meet her.’
‘The British trains are all to hell, Alex. Does he have to come far?’
‘I sent a car,’ said Bohnen.
The other man smiled. ‘I’m glad to see you’re not letting the war cramp your style, Alex. Do you think I should get myself a khaki suit?’
‘Running an air force is no different from running a corporation,’ Bohnen told him solemnly. ‘The fact is, running an air force in wartime is easier than running a corporation. As I told my boss, the opportunity to threaten a few vice-presidents with a firing squad would have done wonders for Boeing and Lockheed when they were having their troubles.’
‘You can say that again, Alex!’
‘And what about that damned airline you sank so much good money into? A few executions in that boardroom would have worked wonders.’
‘Military life obviously suits you.’
‘It’s fascinating,’ said Bohnen. ‘And it’s a big job. There are now more US soldiers in these islands than British ones! And our planes outnumber the RAF by about four thousand!’
‘What’s the next step, Alex, Buckingham Palace?’
‘Think big,’ Bohnen said, and laughed.
‘Must go.’ He looked round the room and then back at Bohnen. ‘Who is hosting this feast?’
‘Brett Vance. You know Brett—made a fortune out of cocoa futures just before the war…the big gorilla with glasses, over there in the corner, tearing blooms out of the flower arrangement. No need to overdo the grateful thanks. He just persuaded the Army to put his candy bars on sale at every PX in the European Theatre.’
‘Nice work, Brett Vance!’ said the old man sardonically.
‘Can you imagine how many candy bars those soldiers will consume? Countless divisions of fit young men, hiking and digging and so on, night and day in all kinds of weather.’
‘Does that mean you’re buying stocks in candy bars?’
Bohnen looked shocked. ‘You know me better than that. Let others play the market if they want, but while I’m in the Army there’s no way I could be a party to that kind of thing.’ He saw his companion smiling and wondered if he was being tested.
‘You’re becoming a kind of paragon, Alex. I think maybe I prefer that wheeler-dealer I used to know back home.’
‘I missed the first war. I feel I owe something to Uncle Sam, and I’m going to give this job all I’ve got.’
The older man could think of no response to Bohnen’s passionate declaration. From the other end of the room there was laughter as guests took their leave. ‘Give my love to Jamie. I look forward to hearing your opinion of his girl.’
‘Jamie’s too young to marry,’ said Bohnen.
‘And how about his CO—are you going to let him get married?’
‘Very funny,’ said Bohnen. ‘I suppose you think I interfere too much.’
‘Let the boy live his own life, Alex.’
‘See you next week,’ said Bohnen. ‘You could take a couple of messages for people in Washington.’
‘Go easy on the boy, Alex. Jamie doesn’t have that hard cutting edge that we grew back in 1929.’
‘He’ll get no preferred treatment. He’s a soldier, and this is war.’
‘It’s serious, Dad. We’re in love.’ He found it difficult to talk to his father after so many years apart.
‘And when exactly do I get a chance to meet the young lady?’ Colonel Bohnen consulted his watch.
‘Three fifteen. She thought we’d like to have some time together. She’s downstairs right now, having lunch with her aunt.’
‘That’s most considerate of her,’ Bohnen said, and wondered whether it was intended as an opportunity for Jamie to get his blessing for an intended marriage.
‘You’ll like her, Dad. It was her idea that I phone you.’
How like Mollie the boy looked, the same mouth and same wide-open earnest eyes and the same nervous manner, as if he expected Alex Bohnen to bite his head off. What did the boy expect—a paternal chat about the unhappiness that can follow a hasty marriage? Or the senior officer lecture about the socio-medical consequences of casual relationships? He would get neither. ‘Sure, I’m going to like her,’ said Bohnen, pouring more of the Château Margaux. ‘Eat the lamb chops before your meal gets cold.’ Jamie had let his father choose the food and wine, knowing how much pleasure that would give him. He was right; Bohnen had been through the room-service menu with meticulous care and questioned the waiter at length about the temperature of the wine and the locality in which the lamb had been reared.
‘It’s a fine meal,’ said Jamie.
‘It’s better to have it served up here in my suite. I would have eaten with you but I had an official lunch.’
‘It’s a fine claret too.’ Bohnen noted his son’s Britishism