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artfully between subjects of interest to all, often punctuated with an anecdote about something that had recently happened in Congress or the Senate. There was no talk of war during the entire meal. But inevitably, the subject came up over dessert. But by then everyone was sated and content, having eaten caviar, roast duck, a delicately smoked salmon, endive salad, and a rich array of cheeses from France.
    The baked Alaska was almost a superfluous touch, but it was so delicate that hearing the men speak of war seemed less of an agony than it would have been earlier in the evening. But as usual the conversation became heated, with Roosevelt insisting, as he always did, that there was nothing to fear in Europe or the United States.
    “But you can't mean that,” the British Ambassador insisted, torn between the heavenly delights of the baked Alaska and the more pressing issues at the table. “For God's sake, man, even in your own country, you've been preparing for war. Look at the trade routes you've begun assigning to shipping, look at the industries that have been stepped up, primarily steel.” The British knew only too well that Roosevelt was no fool, he knew what was coming, but he was determined not to admit it to his own people, or even here, amongst an assortment of close friends and international elite.
    “There's no sin in being well prepared,” Franklin insisted, “it's good for the country, but it doesn't carry with it implications of coming doom.”
    “Perhaps not for you …” The British Ambassador suddenly looked depressed. “You know what's happening over there as well as we do. Hitler is a madman. He knows it.” He pointed to Armand, who nodded. In this group, his views were well known. “What are they saying in Paris this week?”
    All eyes turned to Armand, and he seemed to weigh his words before speaking. “What I saw in April was very deceiving. Everyone is trying to pretend that the inevitable will never come. My only hope is that it won't come too soon.” He looked gently at his wife. “I'll have to send Liane back if that happens. But more importantly than that”—his eyes left his wife and returned to the others—“a war in Europe now would be a tragedy for France, for all of us.” He gazed sadly at the British Ambassador, and as their eyes met, both men knew that they saw all too clearly what was coming as Hitler pressed forward. It was a terrifying fate. But as silence fell over the table Eleanor quietly stood up, as a signal to the ladies that it was time to leave the gentlemen to their brandy and cigars. Coffee would be served to the ladies in an adjoining room.
    Liane got up slowly, as she disliked this particular moment of any dinner. She felt always as though she were missing the most important conversations of all, once the men were alone to speak their minds on the important issues of the day, without tempering their words for the ladies. During the drive home she questioned Armand as to what she had missed.
    “Nothing. It was the same talk one hears everywhere now. Fears and denials, Roosevelt standing his ground, the British certain of what they think will come. Thompson agreed with us, though. He told me quietly when we left the table that he's certain Roosevelt will be in the war before the year's out, if it comes. It would be good for the economy here, war always is.” Liane looked shocked, but she knew enough about the truths of economics she had learned from her father to realize that what Armand was saying was true. “In any case, my little love, we shall be home soon enough to see for ourselves what's happening over there.” He looked distracted during the rest of the drive home, he had a great deal on his mind, and Liane let her mind drift back to the warm embrace she had received from Eleanor when they left. “You must write to me, my dear. …”
    “I shall,” Liane had promised.
    “Godspeed to you both.” The peculiar voice had cracked, and her eyes were