entered her office, Sheila had already placed all three of his books on her desk and was spreading out some sheets of yellow paper.
He placed the containers of coffee on the corner of the desk and then sat down across from her.
"Thank you," she said. And then, to break the ice, asked, "Do you miss Cambridge at all?"
"Yes, I do. Though Washington does have its compensations. At Harvard one has one's share of glory, but working at the White House, there is that scintilla of power. Which I confess I quite enjoy."
"I admire your candor."
"In any case, if and when this administration's voted out, I do hope I'll be asked back here. If they'll welcome a prodigal son."
"Oh, they will," smiled Sheila, "especially since your books will have been reissued and updated."
"Well, I can see I'm being buttered up to do serious revisions," he said. "But to speak with that same candor you approve of, I was really thinking along the lines of, you know, 'Preface to the second edition' sort of thing. And then I could plead Washington pressures for not being able to revamp the whole business."
"Well, in that case, you don't need me," Sheila replied pleasantly but firmly, "and I don't think
the Press would reissue your books with nothing but cosmetic changes."
Wilson shifted a bit uneasily in his chair, took a sip of coffee and then looked at Sheila.
'Tou're not too bad in the candor department, either." He smiled. "Uh—what sort of things did you have in mind?"
''Well, these are only first impressions. Tve only been able to skim the books since Evelyn called me. But take The Re-Emergence of Postwar Germany. It was the best thing published in its time. It's not your fault that it came out just before Brandt began his Ostpolitik.'*
He affected a shght frown. "Mmm," he said. 'Tm afraid you're right. Anything else?"
*Tes, Fm sorry. But there are a lot of things we'd have to go over in detail. Still, if I were you, Fd take the time. Now that you're in the papers a little more than the average Harvard professor, some of your academic colleagues—which is to say everybody who didn't get appointed to the Security Council—will start trying to punch holes in your scholarship."
He smiled broadly. ''How do you know university politics so well?"
"My husband's a professor at MIT."
"Really? What's his field?"
"Statistics."
"Oh, a real brain. Fm always self-conscious when I meet that sort of mind. I can barely add a column of figures."
"Neither can Bob." Sheila smiled. "That's my job at the end of every month."
"Oh," said Gavin Wilson. "Then my admiration for you knows no bounds."
And now his smile did not seem to be solely for Sheila's arithmetical abiUty.
In any case, considering the ice fairly well broken, Sheila got back to business.
''So you can see you've got even more at stake in these revisions than we do/'
'Tes, but if I understand your drift, you're asking for an enormous amount of work."
She nodded. "But your editor is willing to do her share."
''That's a genuine inducement/' said Wilson, "so let's get on with it. I'll try not to be too depressed."
"May I continue to be frank?"
"By all means be brutal. Rather you than the critics. Besides, I have a resilient ego."
"Well," Sheila continued, ''Anglo-American Ke-lotions needs an updated epilogue, but otherwise it's in fine shape."
"Bloody lucky. Especially since that one got me my Harvard appointment. How about my Common Market thing?"
"Well," Sheila answered slowly, searching for tactful words, "even as we speak, that picture's changing. And you did make occasional predictions that have proved—well—somewhat off target."
"Dead wrong, you mean. Like there'd never be a European parliament and all that. I'd make a pretty bad clairvoyant, wouldn't I?" He said it all with good humor, and then added, "Now I have a rather serious question."
"Yes?"
"What do you hear about a restaurant called Harvest?"
"Uh—it's quite good."
"Let's go then, shall we?"
Margo would
He placed the containers of coffee on the corner of the desk and then sat down across from her.
"Thank you," she said. And then, to break the ice, asked, "Do you miss Cambridge at all?"
"Yes, I do. Though Washington does have its compensations. At Harvard one has one's share of glory, but working at the White House, there is that scintilla of power. Which I confess I quite enjoy."
"I admire your candor."
"In any case, if and when this administration's voted out, I do hope I'll be asked back here. If they'll welcome a prodigal son."
"Oh, they will," smiled Sheila, "especially since your books will have been reissued and updated."
"Well, I can see I'm being buttered up to do serious revisions," he said. "But to speak with that same candor you approve of, I was really thinking along the lines of, you know, 'Preface to the second edition' sort of thing. And then I could plead Washington pressures for not being able to revamp the whole business."
"Well, in that case, you don't need me," Sheila replied pleasantly but firmly, "and I don't think
the Press would reissue your books with nothing but cosmetic changes."
Wilson shifted a bit uneasily in his chair, took a sip of coffee and then looked at Sheila.
'Tou're not too bad in the candor department, either." He smiled. "Uh—what sort of things did you have in mind?"
''Well, these are only first impressions. Tve only been able to skim the books since Evelyn called me. But take The Re-Emergence of Postwar Germany. It was the best thing published in its time. It's not your fault that it came out just before Brandt began his Ostpolitik.'*
He affected a shght frown. "Mmm," he said. 'Tm afraid you're right. Anything else?"
*Tes, Fm sorry. But there are a lot of things we'd have to go over in detail. Still, if I were you, Fd take the time. Now that you're in the papers a little more than the average Harvard professor, some of your academic colleagues—which is to say everybody who didn't get appointed to the Security Council—will start trying to punch holes in your scholarship."
He smiled broadly. ''How do you know university politics so well?"
"My husband's a professor at MIT."
"Really? What's his field?"
"Statistics."
"Oh, a real brain. Fm always self-conscious when I meet that sort of mind. I can barely add a column of figures."
"Neither can Bob." Sheila smiled. "That's my job at the end of every month."
"Oh," said Gavin Wilson. "Then my admiration for you knows no bounds."
And now his smile did not seem to be solely for Sheila's arithmetical abiUty.
In any case, considering the ice fairly well broken, Sheila got back to business.
''So you can see you've got even more at stake in these revisions than we do/'
'Tes, but if I understand your drift, you're asking for an enormous amount of work."
She nodded. "But your editor is willing to do her share."
''That's a genuine inducement/' said Wilson, "so let's get on with it. I'll try not to be too depressed."
"May I continue to be frank?"
"By all means be brutal. Rather you than the critics. Besides, I have a resilient ego."
"Well," Sheila continued, ''Anglo-American Ke-lotions needs an updated epilogue, but otherwise it's in fine shape."
"Bloody lucky. Especially since that one got me my Harvard appointment. How about my Common Market thing?"
"Well," Sheila answered slowly, searching for tactful words, "even as we speak, that picture's changing. And you did make occasional predictions that have proved—well—somewhat off target."
"Dead wrong, you mean. Like there'd never be a European parliament and all that. I'd make a pretty bad clairvoyant, wouldn't I?" He said it all with good humor, and then added, "Now I have a rather serious question."
"Yes?"
"What do you hear about a restaurant called Harvest?"
"Uh—it's quite good."
"Let's go then, shall we?"
Margo would
Similar Books
