nister Tansu Ciller of Turkey, two intelligent, very modern women leaders of Muslim countries, came to see me. Hillary was working on a book about families and children, and she was looking forward to making headway on it at the Rockefellers’ spacious, light-filled ranch house. Al came over late one night, at eleven, to minimize the chance of being seen by the press. It had taken a long time, and I was glad to know that at least the problem would be resolved before I left.
The two charges were inconsistent. Strangely, it was one aspect of Starr’s operation that was not leaked to the press. But on weekends, Hillary and I usually cooked for ourselves, and I drove the car to church on Sundays. Before that, they had taken place on the other side, facing the Supreme Court and the Library of Congress.
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