Hôtel Matignon
May, 1936. The man briskly walked down the hallway, stopped outside the door of the secrétaire général, and gently rapped on the open door. The secrétaire général stood up and said, “Come in.” He held out his arm to one of the waiting chairs. “Ah, Monsieur Moch, congratulations on your appointment as the new secretary-general at the Matignon.”
The man deferentially tipped his head and replied, “And congratulations on your appointment at the Élysée Palace. The President of the Republic will be well served.”
The secrétaire général replied with a certain abashedness, “Thank you.”
Moch added, “Your wife must be pleased.”
The secrétaire général looked thoughtful and smiled, “Beyond measure. She is very attached to the ceremonial.”
The secrétaire général folded his hands on the desk in front of him and came to the point of business, “We here in the administration centrale stand ready to support the orderly transfer of responsibilities.”
“Yes, let’s speak about that,” replied Moch.
The secrétaire général gave a small tour de horizon of the organization and concluded, “You will find our chef de bureau, Madame Lambert, to be highly competent and efficient.”
“Yes, so we have heard,” Moch replied, noncommittally.
The secrétaire général cleared his throat and proceeded to bring up a personnel matter of minor delicacy, “With regard to Madame Lambert, she holds permanent rank as a sous-chef at the ministry of labor. They have consented to her permanent promotion to chef de bureau subject to the new administration’s approval,” and the secrétaire général nodded in Moch’s direction.
Moch said evenly, without commitment, “Yes, of course.”
The secrétaire général continued, “They very much would like to have her back,” and he paused, “after completing the transition here at the Matignon, of course. We presume you want to use your own people in key positions.”
“Yes, for the most part that is true,” said Moch.
The secrétaire général was finding Moch a bit more reticent on this promotion matter than he would have liked. He looked inquiringly at Moch, his expression making the question.
Moch shifted in his chair and said, “Yes, we want to smooth the way. I will forward to you this afternoon a letter of approval for the promotion. I will leave in your capable hands the coordination with the ministry of labor.”
The secrétaire général beamed and replied, “Madame Lambert will be greatly pleased.” He paused for a moment’s reflection and said, “We are having a small reception here Friday evening for her and her fiancé; they are getting married Monday and taking a two-week honeymoon. She will be back well before the change in administrations.”
Moch listened, a minor disappointment seeming to cloud his expression, the secrétaire général thought. Moch said tentatively, “Yes, we heard she was engaged to an American diplomat.” The statement hung as a question.
The secrétaire général replied, “Yes, a junior attaché. But there is a sense among our people, confidentially, that he is well connected to important people high up in the American State Department. He seems to have some sort of parallel role here in Paris.”
Moch looked inwardly thoughtful and said, “Yes, so it would appear.” He had read a detailed report from the embassy in Washington. There were elements in the American government thinking about Europe’s future; they had men in Europe.
The secrétaire général thought to himself that Moch might possibly know more than he was letting on. He was after all a graduate of L’École Polytechnique; he must be quite smart, possibly capable.
Moch stood up and the secrétaire général came around his desk to escort the visitor out. Moch said, “Possibly I could come to the reception Friday evening? It would be a pleasure to meet Madame Lambert.”
“Why yes, of course.” The secrétaire général smiled.
The telephone rang in Dexter’s office. He picked it up, “Dexter Jones here.” He listened to the caller and wrote down some notes, “The new secretary-general at the Matignon…”
Dexter continued listening, periodically speaking into the mouthpiece, “Yes, I understand. No. Shorten the honeymoon? To the contrary, she will be very pleased. A change of plans? No, Saturday would be fine. No, I won’t tell her. Other announcements…we will look forward to Friday evening.”
Dexter hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair. He thought about what he had just heard. He smiled. Then he looked at his watch; he had an appointment. Time to leave.
As Dexter approached the entrance to Café de la Paix, he saw Geneviève Tabouis standing just outside waiting for him. He came up and said, “Geneviève, so nice we could meet.”
He held the door open as they entered; Dexter nodded at the maitre d’ who escorted them to a table along the windows overlooking the Place de la Opéra.
Geneviève started right in, “Ethiopia has been a terrible disappointment.”
Dexter responded sympathetically, “Yes.” The Italian armies had taken the capital Addis Ababa in what Mussolini had hailed as “The March of the Iron Will.” Emperor Selassie had abandoned the capital and left Africa on a British warship for exile. Ethiopia had been vanquished.
A waiter brought two chilled glasses of white wine and set them down on the table.
Geneviève continued, “Anthony,” she said referring to Anthony Eden, “made the case for collective security and the League as well as one could hope.”
“Yes, but at the end of the day force has to stand behind guarantees. One of the English MPs said that a dictator who was not afraid of losing his head would always win against politicians who are afraid of losing their seats.”
Geneviève slowly nodded in agreement.
Dexter continued, “Eden resolutely defends principle and policy; the sanctions against Italy remain in place. However, the chance to bring Italy back into alliance with France and Great Britain diminishes by the day. The strategic cost is great.”
Again, Geneviève nodded in agreement, “Time is working in favor of the dictators.”
Dexter nodded in silent agreement.
Geneviève brightened. “There is a rumor you are getting married.”
Dexter smiled, “The rumor will be confirmed shortly. A small ceremony. I will send a messenger with an invitation to you shortly.”
She raised her glass of wine and clinked glasses with Dexter, “À votre santé.”
Dexter smiled warmly.