Thanks to Anna’s intervention, she and her father made the rest of the journey in the daylight. From Alushta the road turned to the southwest, past the summit of Mount Roman Kosh, and then wound its way up to dizzying heights. Since the road had no guardrails, the drive was a terrifying experience. Once over the crest of the Crimean range, however, they seemed to arrive “in a different country,” one dotted with cypress trees, “almost like Italy.” The snow was gone, and they immediately noticed that the air was much balmier than it had been north of the mountains.¹²

Just before dark, Anna and FDR finally passed through the town of Yalta. The city had once been a popular destination for wealthy members of the Russian aristocracy, whose palaces lined the shore. It also possessed a fine natural harbor, to accommodate the yachts that transported the wealthy from Sevastopol—the terminus of the train from Moscow—to this resort community on the “Russian Riviera.” Following the Bolshevik Revolution, many of these palaces were transformed into either sanatoriums or vacation hostels for Russian workers. The Wehrmacht, which had occupied the city from 1941, had made sure to render the harbor nearly useless by strewing the bay and the sea beyond with hundreds of mines. Hence, the USS Catoctin and most of the other support vessels had to weigh anchor in the harbor at Sevastopol, which had been cleared of mines. FDR was appalled by the destruction of the city itself. “There was no military reason for it,” he said to Anna. “Yalta had no military value and no defenses.” The sight of it “now made him want to exact an eye for an eye from the Germans, even more than ever.” Virtually all of the palaces within or close to the town had been destroyed or badly damaged by the Germans. The three intact ones were to be used by the British, American, and Russian delegations to the conference.¹³

THE AMERICAN CONTINGENT WOULD STAY IN THE LIVADIA PALACE, which was built by Russia’s last tsar, Nicholas II. The Livadia sat atop a ridge, overlooking the sea nearly 200 feet below. It had magnificent views in three directions, while the slopes surrounding the palace were covered with Mediterranean pine, yews, tall cypress, and craggy cedars. Centered on a small Italianate courtyard, the palace itself was not huge by the standards of the tsars, but still boasted over fifty rooms on three floors. The Americans also occupied two adjacent buildings, one used to house the president’s Secret Service detail and additional military personnel, the other refitted as a communications command center. To facilitate the ability of the president and his Chiefs of Staff to send secure messages to the USS Catoctin and then on to Washington and the Supreme Allied Headquarters in Europe (without the Soviets listening in), US naval engineers installed a landline between this building and Sevastopol, eighty miles to the northwest, over rugged terrain and deep snow at the higher elevations.¹⁴

FDR, who had been warned that he’d be put up in shoddy accommodations, was surprised as he was wheeled around the palace. There was a large ballroom, which would serve as the main conference room for the summit. To the left of the entrance hall were his quarters—rooms that had been Nicholas II’s study and bedroom suite. The retreating Germans had stripped the building of almost everything of value, including most of the plumbing. Thus all of the furniture, bedding, kitchen utensils, tableware, bathroom fixtures, and wall décor placed in the palace for the conference had been shipped from Moscow, which left many of the city’s hotels, including the historic Metropole, denuded.¹⁵

Since the building had been in a state of disrepair and was infested with vermin and insects, the Russian high command had sent, in the weeks prior to the summit, a contingent of soldiers, painters, plumbers, plasterers, gardeners, hotel staff, and housemaids, all of whom contributed to making the accommodations livable. Perhaps the greatest challenge, however, was the lack of toilets and hot water—not to mention the chambermaids’ custom of walking into toilet facilities without knocking. The Americans built latrines outside, and the naval medical team forewarned the delegates that cooperation and “a little good-naturedness on the part of all concerned” would be required. The medical advance team also sprayed every bed, bedspring, mattress, rug, and palace wall hanging with a 10 percent DDT solution to guard against lice and bedbugs.¹⁶

The Livadia Palace, 1940. (Imperial War Museum, London)

About twelve miles to the southwest of the Livadia was the Vorontzov Palace, to which the British delegation had been assigned. In contrast to the Livadia, its furnishings had largely been left in place by the Germans, so at first glance the Vorontzov appeared to be in better shape than the American accommodations. But as Churchill’s doctor, Lord Moran, discovered the first morning, first appearances were deceiving. The delegation soon learned that Churchill’s feet had been bitten overnight, that “a more thorough assault” had been carried out on Churchill’s valet, the indefatigable Frank Sawyers, and that “Eden’s right-hand man [Piers] Dixon had been eaten up.” Desperate, Lord Moran immediately contacted Dr. McIntire with the request that he send over his medical team to spray every nook and cranny of the Vorontzov with the same DDT solution.¹⁷ The toilet facilities at Vorontzov were not much better than those at the Livadia, although the British delegation did have the use of two bathhouses adjacent to their villa. These were attended by two sturdy Russian ladies who, according to one of Churchill’s female stenographers, “always insist on scrubbing you all over.” This made it much more difficult for the female staff to gain access to the facilities, as there was “always such a run on this… especially by the men!”¹⁸

Stalin and the Soviet delegation were housed in the Yusupov Palace, named for the prince who had reputedly assassinated Nicholas II’s close adviser, Rasputin. At Yusupov, which was midway between the other two palaces, Stalin and his generals maintained contacts with generals on the Eastern Front, and refined their tactics to the approaching deliberations—their work supplemented, naturally, by daily intelligence summaries of the bugged conversations of the American and British delegations.¹⁹

ANNA’S FIRST ORDER OF BUSINESS AFTER THEIR ARRIVAL WAS TO SEND one of the Secret Service staff on a mission to procure gin for her father’s pre-dinner martini ritual. She soon learned that there was not only no gin but no ice or lemon as well. Anna then drew up a dinner list in consultation with her father and immediately sent word out to his chosen invitees.

In lieu of martinis that evening, the maître d’ brought FDR and the hastily assembled dinner party “some sweet concoction” that apparently was a mixture “of just about everything.” Dinner, which included Secretary of State Stettinius, Admirals Leahy and Brown, General Watson, Anna, and Ambassador Harriman and his daughter, Kathleen, was a relaxed affair. An accomplished journalist who was fluent in Russian, Kathleen found FDR “absolutely charming.” She also thought he looked “in fine form” and did not fail to note the irony that their first meeting took place so far from their native New York. Over the coming week, she and Anna, as the only two female guests among the American delegation, would become fast friends, joined by Sarah Churchill, who, like Anna, was there in part to keep her “unruly father” in line.²⁰

The eight-course meal included caviar, cured fish, game, skewered meat and potatoes, two kinds of dessert, white wine, red wine, champagne, and vodka—all of it topped off by a liqueur and coffee. Afterward, FDR was ready to head straight to bed but had to wait until Drs. McIntire and Bruenn checked his blood pressure and heart rate, which were much improved since the flight—a change that Anna attributed in part to her determination not to let any of FDR’s advisers ride with him on the drive from Saki.

Over dinner, FDR instructed Ambassador Harriman to extend an invitation to Stalin to visit the president at the Livadia at 3:00 or 3:30 the next afternoon for a “purely personal talk.” This would be followed by the first plenary session of the conference, which FDR wanted to devote to military matters. Then, if agreeable to the Soviet leader and his foreign secretary, FDR would host them for a small “unofficial dinner” at the Livadia.²¹

With FDR safely ensconced in his bedroom, Anna took the opportunity to drop in on Harry Hopkins, who had arrived at the palace from Malta earlier that day. Hopkins’s relationship with FDR went all the way back to the latter’s days as governor of the state of New York. As the two men became better acquainted, a mutual respect and affection developed between them that was unique among FDR’s inner circle. This closeness was partly due to their shared conviction that “human welfare is the first and final task of government.” But it also resulted from Hopkins’s uncanny ability to sense when FDR wanted to discuss affairs of state and when he wanted “to escape from the awful consciousness of the Presidency.” In this respect Hopkins was not unlike Daisy Suckley, in that FDR found he could relax in Hopkins’s company when the two of them were not engaged in business. FDR also had a profound sense of trust in Hopkins’s judgment and ability to act on his behalf as an overseas envoy to both Churchill and Stalin during the war.²²

Yet by the time the two men had reached Yalta, Hopkins’s stature as the president’s most intimate and trusted adviser seemed a thing of the past. Anna found “Harry in a stew” over the fact that FDR had refused to confer with Churchill before the summit. As soon as Anna arrived, Hopkins launched into a tirade.

“FDR must see Churchill in the morning for a long meeting to dope out how those two are going to map out the conference,” he told Anna. After all, “FDR had asked for this job, and whether he liked it or not, he had to do the work. It was imperative that FDR and Churchill make some prearrangements before the big conference started.”

“Don’t you think this might stir up some distrust among our Russian brethren?” Anna asked.

Brushing off Anna’s comments with a dismissive wave of the hand, Hopkins made no comment. At which point Anna, in her role as her father’s protector, asked: “Why don’t you and Stettinius and Eden get together beforehand?” This would certainly be “ok,” she went on, promising to raise the matter with the president in the morning.

Hopkins still did not reply. “It certainly did not appear,” Anna later recorded, that “Harry’s mind was clicking or his judgment good.” Perhaps this was understandable, given Hopkins’s chronic health issues, which included terrible bouts of dysentery exacerbated by his penchant for coffee, cigarettes, and late nights and his tendency to abandon the dietary restrictions placed on him by his doctors. “Or maybe,” Anna mused, “it was just that I never realized how pro-British Harry is.”²³

Of course, Hopkins’s anger may also have been a sign of his mounting frustration over his diminishing influence within the administration. This could be attributed not only to his health struggles, which necessitated a number of long absences from Washington, but also to Anna’s ascendance. She now occupied a boundary area between her father and the man who once had been his most intimate adviser. No fool, Anna was convinced that Hopkins was resentful over this change of roles, and probably had taken some offense at her determination to act as FDR’s protector—a determination that would be tested in the days ahead. For now, though, it was time to retreat to her room, with its tiny wrought-iron bed. It had been a very long day.