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He was eating the last bite of banana when he said: "Jesus fucking Christ."
"What?" said Bicks.
"Willi Frunze went to the Berlin Boys' Academy." Greg slapped the file triumphantly down on the desk.
"And . . . ?"
"So did Volodya--he told me."
Bicks thumped his desk in excitement. "School friends! That's it! We've got the bastard!"
"It's not proof," said Greg.
"Oh, don't worry, he'll confess."
"How can you be sure?"
"Those scientists believe that knowledge should be shared with everyone, not kept secret. He'll try to justify himself by arguing that he did it for the good of humanity."
"Maybe he did."
"He'll go to the electric chair all the same," said Bicks.
Greg was suddenly chilled. Willi Frunze had seemed a nice guy. "Will he?"
"You bet your ass. He's going to fry."
Bicks was right. Willi Frunze was found guilty of treason and sentenced to death, and he died in the electric chair.
So did his wife.
iii
Daisy watched her husband tie his white bow tie and slip into the tailcoat of his perfectly fitting dress suit. "You look like a million dollars," she said, and she meant it. He should have been a movie star.
She remembered him thirteen years earlier, wearing borrowed clothes at the Trinity Ball, and she felt a pleasant frisson of nostalgia. He had looked pretty good then, she recalled, even though his suit was two sizes too big.
They were staying in her father's permanent suite at the Ritz-Carlton hotel in Washington. Lloyd was now a junior minister in the British Foreign Office, and he had come here on a diplomatic visit. Lloyd's parents, Ethel and Bernie, were thrilled to be looking after two grandchildren for a week.
Tonight Daisy and Lloyd were going to a ball at the White House.
She was wearing a drop-dead dress by Christian Dior, pink satin with a dramatically spreading skirt made of endless folds of flaring tulle. After the years of wartime austerity she was delighted to be able to buy gowns in Paris again.
She thought of the Yacht Club Ball of 1935 in Buffalo, the event that she imagined, at the time, had ruined her life. The White House was obviously a lot more prestigious, but she knew that nothing that happened tonight could ruin her life. She reflected on that while Lloyd helped her put on her mother's necklace of rose-colored diamonds with matching earrings. At the age of nineteen she had desperately wanted high-status people to accept her. Now she could hardly imagine worrying about such a thing. As long as Lloyd said she looked fabulous, she did not care what anyone else thought. The only other person whose approval she might seek was her mother-in-law, Eth Leckwith, who had little social status and had certainly never worn a Paris gown.
; Did every woman look back and think how foolish she had been when young? Daisy thought again about Ethel, who had certainly behaved foolishly--getting pregnant by her married employer--but never spoke regretfully about it. Maybe that was the right attitude. Daisy contemplated her own mistakes: becoming engaged to Charlie Farquharson, rejecting Lloyd, marrying Boy Fitzherbert. She was not quite able to look back and think about the good that had come of those choices. It was really not until she had been decisively rejected by high society, and had found consolation at Ethel's kitchen in Aldgate, that her life had taken a turn for the better. She had stopped yearning for social status and had learned what real friendship was, and she had been happy ever since.
Now that she no longer cared, she enjoyed parties even more.
"Ready?" said Lloyd.
She was ready. She put on the matching evening coat that Dior had made to go with the dress. They went down in the elevator, left the hotel, and stepped into the waiting limousine.
iv
Carla persuaded her mother to play the piano on Christmas Eve.
