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Caroline de Camp Kennedy tossed restlessly in the chancellery double bed.
She had known well-beforehand that she would be meeting Jimmy and Peggy at
the cocktail party. She just hadn't expected it to affect her like this.
She had tried to tell herself that she had married better than Peggy. How
she was now the wife of the cabinet member, Senator and now US ambassador,
and, who knows, the next President of the United States of America. Whereas
that scheming bitch, who had spiked her cocoa with laxatives all those years
ago, all she had won for herself was a comic-opera lord and failed
backbencher.
But it was no good. Caroline was simply doing what all her in-laws, all
those Kennedy women were doing, defining herself by the success of her
husband. Looked at objectively, Peggy herself was a highly successful
politician, a member of the shadow cabinet, who when Labour won the election
that was due by next year would have her hands on the levers of power,
reshaping the British economy along socialist lines.
"Whereas I'm just Bobby's wife!"
Bobby stirred. She hadn't meant to say it out loud.
He placed a strong arm around her. "Honey, relax. London isn't so bad," he
said, reassuringly, although unaware of what ailed her. "I don't have to
commute to Washington, the pace of work as an ambassador is pretty relaxed,
so I'm seeing loads of you and the children. And the kids love the
international school. Most anytime we want we can pop down to the West End,
see a show or the new Monroe flick. I know it's a bit topsy tervy at the
moment with Lyndon staying here but he'll be flying out to Thailand after
breakfast..."
"It's not that darling," she gently pushed him away. He was a good man, but
it was always so hard to get Bobby to understand. When he'd first become
Attorney General he thought the job was to play gangbusters, like some
latter-day Eliot Ness. She had to nudge and nudge him that the job could be
more, that he could nibble away at entrenched inequality and privilege.
"State's rights, honey!" he'd plead. Patiently she'd explain that there
were already a number of Federal laws that would protect civil rights but
there was no means to enforce them. Of course, there needed to be stronger
Federal laws to protect the rights of the Blacks but all the laws in the
world would be no good if the enforcement was simply left up to Sheriff
Billy-Bob and his goons. There needed to be a Federal Police Force.
At the time Bobby nearly rolled his eyes. "Honey, we can't have that. The
public would never stand for it!" She had replied that it simply depended
on how it was sold. After all, there already was a Federal police agency
- the FBI. However, that had traditionally been used against working class
interests. Same with the McGarran Act[1]. What was needed now was an
agency to work in favor of working class interests, in support of laws that
protected the rights of working class Americans. Bobby had sighed, "There
you go, honey, bringing 'class' into it again." But he knew when he was
whupped.
One thing about her country never ceased to amaze Caroline. Unlike Britain
with her House of Lords, America had no constitutional body expressly
designed to represent privilege and impede reform. Nevertheless, the Civil
Rights Act[2] and the Federal Marshals Establishment Act were not passed
until 1965, by which time Bobby was no longer Attorney General.
Caroline had finally work out what was troubling her.
She looked into her husband's eyes, as his head lay on the other pillow. "I
want to do something about civil rights."
"Huh? But honey, America is thousands of miles away."
"Not there. Here."
"Well sure black folks are discriminated against. But they still have the
vote, just like..."
"Not the Blacks. Northern Ireland. The Catholics."
"Don't they have the vote?"
"Barely. There's gerrymanders. Housing discrimination. Job
discrimination. The local legislature rides roughshod over them. The
tyranny of the majority."
She had Bobby's interest now. "Yes. That does sound bad." Caroline was
suspecting Bobby was calculating how it would play back home. Catholic
civil rights would strike a chord in Massachusetts, Maryland and New York,
that was for sure. But how would it play in Peoria?
"Do you have something in mind?" he asked.
She had to think. There was that letter the other day. What was it?
"Yes. I've had an invitation to speak by the Derry Housing Action
Committee. The week after next"
Bobby chewed his lip reflectively. "They sound safe enough. OK. But
you're doing this in a private capacity, not as the wife of the American
ambassador. You don't mention the Administration or the present British
government. Deal?"
"Deal," she said enthusiastically. She relaxed. For the first time in ages
she felt like she had her own purpose.
Bobby looked at the clock on the bedside table. "Little John and Rose will
probably come running into the bedroom in a couple of hours. We've still
got some time to ourselves." They were the Kennedy's two youngest children.
The older ones were at boarding school, Stateside. He kissed Caroline
tenderly, just above each eyelid. Caroline smiled, ruffled his hair with
her fingers, then let her hands slide down to stroke his chest.
Bobby's lips slipped down to kiss her on the lips. "Bobby, we have to keep
our eyes on the prize," she told him.
He looked deeply into her eyes, "I am honey, I am."
[If you'll just let me continue.]
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