Free Mrs. Roosevelt's Confidante by Susan Elia MacNeal Page A

wasn’t finished. “The British are too clever for their own damn good—and I don’t want any more of this ‘Winnie and Franklin’ nonsense I’ve been reading about in the papers.”
    John’s eyes glinted. “So says Hitler.”
    The silence was deafening, even as around them the lobby continued to buzz with energy.
    A shy, short, slight man in his forties with steel-rimmed glasses changed the subject. “Please let me introduce myself, Lieutenant.” He extended his hand. “My pen name is C. S. Forester, but do call me Cecil. Since we’re all pulling at the same oar now, I’d like to interview you about your experience in the RAF. Do you have any good stories, perchance?”
    John glowered. “I crashed just outside of Berlin, lived, hid, and managed to escape and get back to London. End of story.”
    Forester sat down on John’s other side and clapped a well-manicured hand over his heart. “How thrilling!” he cried, as the ladies murmured their approval. “I think it might make for an exciting piece in
The Saturday Evening Post,
if you’re so inclined. Since the United States has only just entered the war, bona fide heroes are in short supply. You’re that rare bird on this side of the Atlantic, Lieutenant, someone who’s actually seen combat—and I’m sure your story will stir the hearts of patriotic Americans.”
    The isolationists snorted at this, but Forester and John both ignored them. John recalled that the newly created British Information Services was recruiting famous British authors, from H. G. Wells to Somerset Maugham, to do propaganda work and write stories to rally support for England in the American press.
    He had acted as a liaison between the Prime Minister’s office and BIS, which was trying to develop more tear-jerkers along the lines of
Mrs. Miniver,
a bestselling novel based on a
London Times
column that told of the hardships suffered by an Englishwoman and her family during the Blitz. And then there was Helen MacInnes’s thriller
Above Suspicion,
a chilling story of Gestapo agents who hunted a courageous British academic and his wife across Europe.
    Ego aside, John realized that a human-interest story like his might appeal to the American public and make them sympathize with the British struggle.
    “You know who he is, don’t you?” Regina murmured to John.
    “Er, afraid not, ma’am.”
    “Call me Regina, I insist. And he’s the same C. S. Forester who wrote the Captain Horatio Hornblower novels—you know, about navy life in Admiral Nelson’s day.”
    John straightened. Like most of his countrymen, he’d devoured the Horatio Hornblower novels when he was younger. Forester’s novel
Payment Deferred
had been turned into a hit play in the West End, had run on Broadway, and was being made into a film.
That
C. S. Forester.
    John turned back to Forester. “I—I can jot down something by tomorrow, sir, if you’d like. Of course I’ll have to ask permission—”
    “Fantastic!” exclaimed the author. “Just notes are fine, you know. But specific details are crucial.”
    “I have the perfect idea,” Regina cooed. “Come to dinner at my place tomorrow, Lieutenant Sterling! It will be loads of fun, and you can give Cecil your notes then.”
    “I—I’ll have to ask—”
    “We won’t take no for an answer,” Regina interrupted, rising in a swirl of perfume.
    “We won’t!” echoed Evelyn, who struggled a bit in her chair to stand.
    “We’ll see you tomorrow then, for cocktails and dinner. I’ll have my butler send around a formal invitation to you in the morning at the White House. It will be fabulous.” Regina extended her hand, and John took it. Then she bent down and said in a throaty whisper, “Ta till then.”
    And in a cloud of brandy fumes, they were gone.
    John checked his watch. It was beyond late. He’d been up since he couldn’t remember when. He’d have one more drink and give Maggie until then—and then he was going to bed.
    Even if it meant