‘‘We do,’’ he said. ‘‘I meant for . . . what I’m doing.’’
‘‘What are you doing?’’ she asked.
‘‘I’m Coordinator of Information,’’ he said.
‘‘Whatever you’re doing, Bill, it has nothing to do with information,’’ she said. ‘‘If I shouldn’t have asked, forgive me.’’
‘‘Information in the intelligence sense,’’ he said.
‘‘Oh,’’ she said. ‘‘I thought you were trying to make me believe you were some kind of press agent.’’
‘‘That, too.’’ He chuckled. ‘‘I’ve got Bob Sherwood handling that. But, as I told Chesty, I need a house in Washington near the office—we’re Twenty-fifth and E—a place where I could put people up, have dinners, that sort of thing. Chesty was willing to let me have the house. I want to know if that’s all right with you.’’
‘‘It’s really Jimmy’s, you know. It was his father’s. But there’s no reason you can’t have it. Whatever happens to Jimmy, I don’t think he’d ever want to live in that old house. And he’ll get this one, of course. I have no idea what it’s worth. And I can’t legally sell it.’’
‘‘I was thinking of leasing it.’’
‘‘If Chesty said you can have it, Bill, of course you can have it.’’
‘‘I am being paid a dollar a year,’’ he said. ‘‘How does that strike you as annual rent?’’
‘‘I don’t like it at all,’’ she said. ‘‘It seems as if Franklin, aided and abetted by his friend Wild Bill Donovan, is finally succeeding in taking advantage of the Whittakers.’’
‘‘I’ll get an idea of what a fair rent would be and see if I can’t find the money.’’
‘‘No,’’ she said. ‘‘You misunderstand me. I don’t like it, but if Chesty would have rented it to you for a dollar a year, Jimmy would want me to do the same.’’
‘‘Pressing the bargain,’’ he said. ‘‘We talked about furnished. ’’
‘‘I don’t want anything in that house,’’ she said bitterly. ‘‘Nothing. I don’t ever want to think about it again.’’
‘‘I’ll see if there’s anything of Chesty’s,’’ Donovan said. ‘‘And—’’
‘‘Nothing,’’ Barbara Whittaker said. ‘‘Nothing, Bill. Understand? ’’
‘‘Yes,’’ he said.
She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. ‘‘Thank you for coming,’’ she said.
‘‘If there’s anything I can do, Barbara . . .’’
‘‘Keep Jimmy alive,’’ she said. ‘‘By fair means or foul. If you want to do something for Chesty or for me, do that.’’
‘‘I don’t know what I could do.’’
‘‘Think of something,’’ she said.
She turned and looked out the window at Cynthia Chenowith again.
‘‘What’s she or her mother going to do for money now that Chesty’s gone?’’ she asked.
‘‘Chesty told me,’’ Donovan said, ‘‘that he set up some sort of trust for her mother when Tom died. I don’t think he was giving the girl money.’’
‘‘I didn’t mean to suggest that he was . . . keeping her . . . in the usual sense,’’ she said. ‘‘I don’t think either of them was like that. If he didn’t make some provision for her in his will . . .’’
‘‘I don’t think he would do that,’’ Donovan said, ‘‘because of you.’’
‘‘Then I will have to do it,’’ she said. ‘‘Chesty always met his obligations. Does her mother know about her and Chesty?’’