To add insult to injury for Churchill, the “iron curtain” reference was not in the advanced text and many newspapers did not carry it. Nevertheless, an alert reporter from The Washington Post had caught the reference, and it became a sidebar to the story. The most dramatic mention was not even preserved for posterity as a filmed image. The only newsreel camera failed at exactly the moment it was first mentioned.
Maclean reveled in the criticism and mishaps. Although there was some praise for the speech in very conservative circles, the overwhelming opinion of it was negative. A dark thought intruded: If his speculation had been correct and Churchill was harmed in any way, the results for his side would be decidedly negative. The speech had inflicted far more harm on Churchill’s position than on Maclean’s own.
The outcome was surely a debacle for the former prime minister. The Allies were weary of war and the timing and content of Churchill’s speech was, in his opinion, merely an exercise in pique, ego, and narcissism.
He kept a particularly amusing cartoon in his top desk drawer. Opening it, he looked at it again. It featured a tired “John Q. Public” sitting on a curbstone in Fulton amid the swirl of abandoned decorations and pennants. Underneath was the caption borrowed from a Kipling poem: “The Captains and the Kings departed.”
He was relieved. Everything was going swimmingly. Before the speech, Maclean had been quite worried that the Russians might overreact to Churchill’s potential remarks and take drastic action. In his meeting with Boris, he had urged him to press his superiors to stay calm. Churchill was Churchill, a born gadfly, a Cassandra with a cigar, out of office and powerless, which did not mean they could cavalierly shirk off his words of warning, but any punitive action against him would be counterproductive at this juncture.
True, he was able to cut a wide swath with his raging about so-called Russian duplicity and danger. Giving the devil his due, he had the ability to gain worldwide attention for his views. Unfortunately, he was on the wrong side of history.
Iron curtain, Maclean mused. He must have put that in as an afterthought. Great image, but then Churchill was the consummate wordsmith.
He was ready to put aside the incident of the so-called security breach. The source of Benson’s inquiry about the speech would remain a mystery. Perhaps, as Boris had suggested, he was merely fishing, using the age-old journalist’s ploy. Thankfully, the issue had blown over. Another potential disaster had been diverted. Nothing was perfect in this business. It would not be amiss to speculate that others might have their eyes and ears trained on the Russians. Perhaps their communications systems were not totally secure. For Maclean, the important issue was to deflect any suspicion from him. Indeed, he decided, his handling of this situation was brilliant and well worth a self-congratulatory pat on the back.
Churchill had finally left the embassy — much to the relief of the ambassador — and was heading up to Hyde Park to pay his respects at the grave of Franklin Roosevelt. He had not attended Roosevelt’s funeral, an act that Maclean had suggested to the Russians was an indication that the wartime friendship between Roosevelt and Churchill had hit rocky times.
Victoria had returned to work after a few days’ rest. She was oddly muted, perhaps still tired, which might have explained her standoffish attitude. Nevertheless, he respected her feelings and desisted from any overt sexual moves. He could not imagine her as the source of Benson’s alleged information.
“I missed you awfully, darling,” he told her.
“And I missed you.”
They had embraced and he did detect an odd coldness. He did not pry. By the time her first day back was over, he knew she was privy to the various security stirrings that he had set in motion. Secretaries reveled in gossip. At the end of the day, they sat together in his office, drinks in hand.
“It was a fascinating experience,” she told him. “One I will treasure all of my life. Mr. Churchill is a most amazing man. His speech was beautifully delivered.”
“I thought so, too, darling.”
He paused and smiled.
“Apparently, the Russians had an advance copy, not exactly worth a big security brouhaha, but worrisome.”
“Yes, I heard the secretaries talking,” Victoria acknowledged, turning her eyes away.
“In an odd way, I’m glad they did. What Churchill had to say did not come as a surprise to them. In my opinion, if there was a security breach, it was at their end, not ours. What I mean to say is,” Maclean continued, “I wouldn’t call their getting the speech much of a security breach. I’d say it was an excellent idea, a diplomatic courtesy. The problem for me was they quite obviously couldn’t be trusted.”
Observing her, he noted a sudden flush on her cheeks, and she broke out in a broad smile.
“Wonderful,” she blurted.
Her comment confused him.
“Wonderful?”
She was flustered.
“What I meant was that his speech was very courageous. Considering it was against the tide… you know what I mean.”
She put her drink down and moved closer to him. Her sense of psychic distance seemed to be disappearing.
“I think I do,” he replied.
“What I mean, darling, is that his speech took great courage, considering the present climate.”
“Yes, it did.”
“Do you think he was right? About the Russians, the iron curtain, the fifth column?”
He was baffled. She had not shown much keen interest in such matters before her Churchill assignment.
“He was indeed, despite the negative reaction,” he said gravely. “But in one way, it was salutary.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The assignment has inspired your interest in world affairs.”
She nodded and laughed.
“It is not my principal interest, my darling.”
She moved closer, and he enveloped his arms around her.
“I did miss this,” he said, kissing her hard on the mouth and cupping her breasts.
“I am so happy,” she whispered.
He noted that her eyes welled up.
Chapter 28
Wearing a paint-stained blue siren suit, a cigar stuck in his mouth, Churchill put a layer of cement on a brick he was holding, set it carefully on the garden wall he was building at Chartwell, and pressured it skillfully into place. He was so absorbed in his work that he did not see Thompson come up the path until he was almost in front of him on the other side of the wall.
“Well, sir, I’m afraid I must be off. Just came to say good-bye,” Thompson said. “I’ve paid my respects to Mrs. Churchill.”
Churchill continued his work. His cigar, which he held in his mouth, had gone out and Thompson leaned over to light it.
“Whatever will I do without you, Thompson?” Churchill said, sucking in the smoke.
“I’m sure you’ll find someone else to light your cigars, Prime Minister. It’s time I stayed put in my other life.”
Churchill took another deep puff, and after assuring himself that the brick was plumb, straightened and contemplated his old comrade. Their eyes met and held. It was, Churchill knew, an emotional moment for both of them. Over the years, they had bonded and enjoyed an intimacy that few men ever experienced.
“La commedia è finita,” Churchill said, “Now why did I quote that language?”
“Because it is quite true. For me, the play is over. I must say, sir, I enjoyed every minute of our association.”
“And here I am, Thompson, still vertical. I suppose that can be attributed to your service as my keeper and shadow.”
“And hoverer, sir.”
“I must say, Thompson, that with you around, my intrepid hovering shadow, I felt always safe from harm. Our recent American foray, I owe to Clementine, who harbored visions of the Wild West and dangers from vicious outlaws and hostile Indians. Thankfully, we have come through the trek all wagons intact and all personnel accounted for.”