July 1944

Bretton Woods Monetary Conference

Mt. Washington Hotel

A thick mash of blue slowly drifted across a white horizon. Below, the scumbled beginnings of the mountain were etched into the canvas. A flick from the sable hair brush was followed by a deft turn of the wrist. The Prime Minister took a step back and regarded his work.

“Audacious of me, I know”

“I think it’s quite nice”.

He turned his head, his cigar leading him as his left eye squinted against the sun and his left brow arched accusingly.

“I mean, it does capture the grandeur of the scene, doesn’t it? Really, I don’t know how you do it”.

“Oh, my friend. I give no prudence to its merit, but it has been a source of pleasure.”

“Yes. Uh, no. I mean,”

“Yes, yes, I know. It’s no masterpiece, but it does lend me peace and I am content. You really should give it a go.” He held the brush towards his friend who politely declined.

Winston Churchill smiled. His face consorted with the sun as the beaming Prime Minister stood aside his latest work.

“And there you are, and…”