"Dubarry Was a Lady," Hardegen put in. "I loved it."
Hardegen continued talking. He had gone to Forest Hills yesterday afternoon and watched Bobby Riggs win his match. He thought Riggs was a sure thing to win the Open this year. Margaret watched her mother, who was watching Hardegen. Dorothy adored Hardegen, practically treating him like a member of the family. She had made it clear that she preferred Hardegen to Peter. Hardegen was from a wealthy, conservative family in Maine, not as rich as the Lauterbachs but close enough for comfort. Peter came from a lower-middle-class Irish family and grew up on the West Side of Manhattan. He might be a brilliant engineer, but he would never be one of us. The dispute threatened to destroy Margaret's relationship with her mother. It was ended by Bratton, who would tolerate no objections to his daughter's choice of a husband. Margaret had married Peter in a storybook wedding at St. James's Episcopal Church in June 1935. Hardegen was among the six hundred invited guests. He danced with Margaret during the reception and behaved like a perfect gentleman. He even stayed to see the couple off on their two-month honeymoon in Europe. It was as if the incident at the Copa never happened.
The servants brought the main course--chilled poached salmon--and the conversation inevitably shifted to the looming war in Europe.
Bratton said, "Is there any way of stopping Hitler now, or is Poland about to become the easternmost province of the Third Reich?"
Hardegen, a lawyer as well as a shrewd investor, had been placed in charge of disentangling the bank from its German and other risky European investments. Inside the bank he was affectionately referred to as Our In-House Nazi because of his name, his perfect German, and his frequent trips to Berlin. He also maintained a network of excellent contacts in Washington and served as the bank's chief intelligence officer.
"I spoke to a friend of mine this morning--he's on Henry Stimson's staff at the War Department," Hardegen said. "When Roosevelt returned to Washington from his cruise on the Tuscaloosa, Stimson met him at Union Station and rode with him to the White House. When Roosevelt asked him about the situation in Europe, Stimson replied that the days of peace could now be counted on the fingers of both hands."
"Roosevelt returned to Washington a week ago," Margaret said.
"That's right. Do the math yourself. And I think Stimson was being optimistic. I think war could be hours away."
"But what about this communication I read about this morning in the Times?" Peter asked. Hitler had sent a message to Britain the previous night, and the Times suggested it might pave the way for a negotiated settlement of the Polish crisis.
"I think he's stalling," Hardegen said. "The Germans have sixty divisions along the Polish border waiting for the word to move."
"So what's Hitler waiting for?" Margaret asked.
"An excuse."
"Certainly the Poles aren't going to give him an excuse to invade."
"No, of course not. But that won't stop Hitler."
"What are you suggesting, Walker?" Bratton asked.
"Hitler will invent a reason to attack, a provocation that will allow him to invade without a declaration of war."
"What about the British and the French?" Peter asked. "Will they live up to their commitments to declare war on Germany if Poland is attacked?"
"I believe so."
"They didn't stop Hitler at the Rhineland, or Austria, or Czechoslovakia," Peter said.
"Yes, but Poland is different. Britain and France now realize Hitler must be dealt with."
"What about us?" Margaret asked. "Can we stay out?"
"Roosevelt insists he wants to stay on the sidelines," Bratton said, "but I don't trust him. If the whole of Europe slides into war, I doubt if we'll be able to stay out of it for long."
"And the bank?" Margaret asked.
"We're terminating all our deals with German interests," Hardegen replied. "If there is a war there will be plenty of other opportunities for investment. This war may be just what we need to finally pull the country out of the Depression."
"Ah, nothing like earning a profit from death and destruction," Jane said.
Margaret frowned at her younger sister and thought, Typical Jane. She liked to portray herself as an iconoclast, a dark, brooding intellectual, critical of her class and everything it represented. At the same time she socialized relentlessly and spent her father's money as if the well were about to run dry. At thirty, she had no means of support and no prospects for marriage.
"Oh, Jane, have you been reading Marx again?" Margaret asked playfully.
"Margaret, please," Dorothy said.
"Jane spent time in England a few years ago," Margaret continued, as though she had not heard her mother's plea for peace. "She became quite a Communist then, didn't you, Jane?"