The President's Table

by Jenny Bond

Genres: General Fiction; Historical Fiction; Literary Fiction; Short Stories; Romance; Historical Romance; 20th Century Romance

Synopsis

In Roosevelt's White House, one woman finds love and friendship in unexpected places. A short story from the author of The President's Lunch. Iris McIntosh is many things to many people - advisor to President Roosevelt, friend and confidant to First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt, lover to one man, and girlfriend to another. But when the flamboyant Alexander Woollcott comes to stay, Iris begins to question everything that she had previously taken for granted. As she struggles to maintain the façade that splits her heart between two men, an unexpected evening with Aleck shows that they have more in common than Iris knew, and a simple game unravels both the mystery surrounding his past and the truth that she has failed to admit, even to herself. Jenny Bond has worked as a teacher, journalist, copywriter and researcher. Her non-fiction titles have been published in Australia and the USA. Writing about the stories behind great novels led Jenny to write her own first novel, Perfect North (Hachette 2013). Her second novel, The President's Lunch, again incorporates real-life figures with fictional ones, a technique that allows Jenny to imaginatively interpret historical events. While researching the novel, Jenny spent two months in Washington D.C. visiting the places where the Roosevelts lived and worked. She lives with her husband and children in Canberra, Australia's capital. Visit her at Jennybondbooks.com

Release date: August 22, 2014

Publisher: Hachette Australia

Print pages: 41

Sample

A short story by Jenny Bond

Washington DC

February 1941

Iris stood by the window in the Yellow Oval Room looking over the balcony towards the South Lawn and beyond to President’s Park. When she began working at the White House eight years earlier she hadn’t believed she would ever take that view for granted. But she realised, sipping her martini, that she hadn’t looked beyond the White House in years.

‘You look very pretty tonight, McIntosh.’ The president startled her as he approached.

Iris turned suddenly, her cocktail lapping precariously against the sides of the glass. He offered her a cigarette.

As he lit it, he observed, ‘Gazing out the window like that, it’s as though you’re expecting someone.’

‘Just the guest of honour, sir.’

‘What do you think of Eleanor’s actor friend?’ the president asked.

‘To be honest, sir, I’ve not spent a great deal of time with Mr Woollcott, but he’s a character, that’s for sure,’ Iris remarked with a grin. ‘And he’s certainly got Mrs Nesbitt on the hop.’

‘Well, you have to admire him for that,’ Roosevelt said wryly. ‘Party games at two in the morning, theatre types carousing in the corridors … I wish I’d thought of such a ploy during my first term.’

Iris laughed quietly then paused for a moment before continuing. ‘But I admire him too, I suppose. He’s reinvented himself successfully so many times.’

‘You two have quite a bit in common then?’ Roosevelt commented, examining her over his pince-nez.

Iris lowered her eyes towards her glass, her cheeks reddening. She had never been a comfortable recipient of praise, especially from the president. Then, from the corner of her eye, she noticed the door opening. As she turned, Roosevelt wheeled around in his chair. He touched her arm affectionately and moved off to greet the guest. Iris stared at the doorway for a moment, finally exhaling when she heard Monty Chapel’s familiar baritone.

He stood just out of sight. Despite the low murmurs in the room, Iris could hear him talking to Fields, the head butler, who was framed in the doorway. She heard Bill Dickey and Red Rolfe mentioned. What was it about men and baseball, she wondered. Monty was the president’s unofficial envoy to the British prime minister, yet he still dreamed of playing for the Yankees.

When Monty finally entered, he scanned the room, seeking her out – offering a wink when he found her. Welcomed by the president and handed a drink, Monty bid Harry Hopkins, Roosevelt’s lanky Secretary of War, a cursory hello, followed by Missy, the president’s secretary. He eventually made his way to Iris.

‘Well, look who the cat dragged in,’ Iris said, attempting to remain composed.

‘You didn’t think I’d miss this, did you?’ he replied. He leaned in and gave her a lingering kiss on the cheek. Iris closed her eyes, taking in the lemony scent of his skin. ‘You look gorgeous, kiddo.’

‘If I’d known you were coming …’ She smiled and raised an eyebrow. Then she placed her hands on her waist, hoping to show off her new purchase to its best advantage. The gold Elizabeth Hawes cocktail dress had cost her a week’s pay.

‘A surprise?’ he asked.

‘A nice surprise,’ she murmured, leaning her forehe. . .