Page 92 of Never

Her father was talking to Gerry about business, and the three women did not interrupt. Gerry had once been Pauline’s close confidant. When had that ceased? She could not tell exactly. It had petered out, but why? Was it just because of Pippa? Pauline knew, from observing other parents, that disagreements over child rearing created some of the worst marital conflicts. They involved people’s most deeply held convictions about morals, religion and values. They brought out the truth about whether the couple were compatible or not.

Pauline thought young people should challenge established ideas. It was how the world made progress. She was a conservative because she knew that change had to be introduced cautiously and managed judiciously, but she was not the type who thought nothing needed changing. Nor was she the even worse kind that hankered after a golden age in the past when everything was so much better. She did not yearn for the good old days.

Gerry was different. He said that young people needed to achieve maturity and wisdom before they tried to change the world. Pauline knew that the world was never changed by people who waited for a more suitable moment.

People like Gerry.

Ouch.

What could she do? Gerry wanted her to spend more time with her family – which meant him – but she could not. A president was given everything she needed except time.

She had been committed to public service long before she married him: he could hardly have been surprised. And he had been keen for her to run for president. He had said frankly that it would be good for his career, win or lose. If she won he would retire for four years or eight, but after that he would be a legal superstar. But then, when she was elected, he had begun to resent how little time she had for him. Maybe he had thought that he would be more involved in her work, that as president she would consult him about decisions. Maybe he should not have retired. Maybe –

Maybe she should not have married him.

Why did she not share Gerry’s yearning for them to spend more time together? Some busy couples looked forward to a regular date night, when they devoted themselves to one another, and had a romantic dinner or went to a movie or listened to music together on the couch.

The thought depressed her.

Looking at Gerry as he agreed with her father about labour unions, she realized that the trouble with Gerry was that he was a bit dull.

She was being harsh, now. But it was true. Gerry was boring. She did not find him sexy. And he was not very supportive of her.

So what was left?

Pauline always faced the facts.

Did all this mean she no longer loved him?

She was afraid it did.

***

Next morning she had breakfast with Dad, just as she had when he was working and she was at the University of Chicago. They were both larks, up early. Pauline had muesli and milk while Dad ate toast and drank coffee. They did not say much: now as then, he was deep in the business section of the newspaper. But it was a companionable silence. With a twinge of reluctance she left him and went to the West Wing.

Milt had suggested an early hour for their appointment so that he could come to the White House on his way to church. Pauline would see him in the Oval Office. Its formal air was suitable for firing someone.

Milt arrived in a brown tweed suit with a vest, looking like a country gentleman. ‘What has James Moore done now, to require a meeting early in the morning of the Lord’s Day?’

‘This is not about James Moore,’ Pauline said. ‘Sit down.’

‘What is it about?’

‘Our problem is Rita Cross.’

Milt sat up straighter, tilted his chin and looked haughty. ‘What are you talking about?’

Pauline could not bear to listen to bullshit: life was too short. She said: ‘Don’t, for Christ’s sake, pretend you don’t know.’

‘It sounds like something that’s no one’s business but mine.’

‘When the vice-president is fucking a sixteen-year-old it’s everyone’s business, Milt – stop acting dumber than you are.’

‘Who’s to say it’s more than a friendship?’

‘Spare me the crap.’ Pauline was getting angry. She had thought that Milt would be realistic and mature about this, accept that he had been caught out breaking the rules and retire graciously. No such luck.

‘She’s not underage,’ Milt said, with the air of a card player who lays an ace.