A Great Beauty

by A. O'Connor

  That night, after all the guests had left, Hazel paced up and down the drawing room excitedly as John stood by the fireplace.

  “This is the best news we could have hoped for! A chance for peace – real lasting peace in Ireland. This could be the one opportunity we get for peace for a generation. If it’s not grabbed in both hands by the Irish now, then all could be lost!”

  “Let us hope the Irish leaders seize the opportunity,” said John as he took a sip from his gin and tonic.

  “We can’t leave anything to hope, John! First thing tomorrow I must meet with Shane Leslie. We must make sure word gets through to all his connections with the rebels that the British are not joking and, if they reject this offer of peace, they will be playing into British hands and allowing them to obliterate Ireland!”

  “Shane Leslie!” grumbled John under his breath.

  “And you must play your part, John Lavery! Start writing letters to all the people you have painted on the Irish side so far, to impress on them to embrace this offer with both hands!”

  CHAPTER 24

  Michael sat in the parlour of De Valera’s house in Greystones.

  “So, after two years of suppression, murder, looting, burning – the British government now offer the Irish people an olive branch,” said Éamon.

  “Can we trust them?” asked Michael.

  “Of course we can’t trust them. But it shows how we have affected them, brought the mighty empire to its knees.”

  “My intelligence people report back that this is a ploy. It will be seen as an act of goodwill by the international community and, if we reject it, the British will have a licence to crush us and blame us at the same time.”

  “They haven’t crushed us yet, having thrown everything they could at us,” said Éamon.

  “But how much further can we continue? We don’t have the arms, the rifles, the men, to keep up the fight for much longer.”

  “They don’t know that,” said Éamon.

  “They have infinite resources compared to us,” said Michael.

  Éamon sat with his hands together in a spire-like pose in front of his face as he thought.

  “We must accept this truce and at least give peace a chance,” said Éamon. “But I will not go to Lloyd George with cap in hand as a beggar. I will not be grateful for any crumbs he throws us if, as surely will happen, an invitation to talk to him follows this truce. We will have demands attached to this truce.”

  “So will they,” said Michael.

  ***

  As Michael left the De Valera house, he was cautiously optimistic. He had been living in a war for so long it had become almost inconceivable that there could be any kind of truce. But he knew they were seriously low on arms and had lost a large number of men in the attack on the Customs House. He wasn’t sure the country could take much more fighting. What’s more, he himself craved a normal life. He was tired of living from day to day, never knowing where he would be sleeping that night.

  Since he had started courting Kitty, it had opened up a new world for him. A world of normality, or a glimpse of what a normal life could be like. He often didn’t know what to make of her. She could be laughing one minute and shouting the next. She never praised him or said anything loving to him. But then he didn’t either. He never had with women. With all the women he had met and courted, there had always been a kind of challenging going on. They would try to bring him down a peg or two and he and they sparred off each other. Kitty was the ultimate sparring partner. Helen had been a bit different. She had said kind words to him and words of praise that nobody had ever said to him before. He didn’t want to mess up with Kitty as he had with Helen. He wanted peace so he could have a chance at a normal life.

  He went straight to the Grand Hotel in the village where Kitty was waiting for him, having made the trip up from Granard. As he bounded up the steps of the hotel, he found himself excited at the thought of seeing her.

  She was waiting in the hotel bar. “You’re late!”

  He raised his eyes to heaven. “Sorry – I should have cut my meeting discussing the upcoming truce with Dev short and told him I had to go – that Kitty Kiernan was waiting in the bar up the road!”

  “Truce?” Her ears pricked up at the mention of the word. “Oh, Mick – is there going to be a truce!”

  “That’s what they’re saying! The Brits are holding out the olive branch.”

  “Well, I hope you grab it!” she gasped, full of excitement.

  “The decision isn’t mine – but if we can agree to each other’s demands, we might have a truce.”

  “Oh Mick!” She flung her arms around him and hugged him tightly. “I can scarcely believe it! That we could finally have peace and life could go back to how it was – before all this war started.”

  “That seems so long ago, I can hardly remember what peace feels like,” he said.

  “But think what this would mean for you, Mick. No more running around, no more hiding, no more living life on the run.”

  “If the truce did come, it might mean Harry could come home from America,” said Michael.

  She blinked a few times at the thought.

  “You’ve told him nothing – about us?” Michal asked.

  “No – I keep putting it off,” she said. “I’m a coward, I know that. But every time I sit down to put pen to paper, I don’t know what to say to him. We’ve never talked about the future, Mick. You’ve never told me what you want or expect from me. This could be just a dalliance for you, as far as I know.”

  “It’s not a dalliance.”

  “Then what is it – exactly? With Harry, I know exactly where I am – with you I don’t.”

  “But how can I plan for the future – how can I commit to anything when I’m not even sure where I’ll be sleeping tonight?” He thought of Helen’s words to him. “Somebody once said to me no woman could put up with what I am offering – this life of instability.”

  She sighed. “And yet I’m still here – trying to see into the future – trying to see if there is any way this could work.”

  He reached out and took her hand. “All we can do is live for the moment, Kitty – there’s no other way for me to live, at least until this war is over. Hopefully now with a truce …”

  She couldn’t hide the worry and concern spread across her face.

  CHAPTER 25

  The British government and the Irish, after much deliberation, finally declared a truce on the eleventh of July 1921.

  The demands on both sides were agreed to. Most importantly, all British Tans and Auxiliaries were to be confined to barracks while all attacks on British personnel by the Irish were to cease.

  Michael was not included in the delegation that was to travel to London on the fourteenth of July – it was to be headed by De Valera.

  John could hardly remember a time that he had seen Hazel so elated and full of optimism. The truce in Ireland had thrilled her and now she was hoping and praying that the oncoming talks between the British and Irish sides would bring about permanent peace.

  He glanced up from his book and over at his wife. She was still lost in thought, her expression changing from worry to excitement.

  “John!” she said, suddenly rising quickly to her feet, her hands clasped together.

  “Yes, my dear?”

  “I have been thinking – about the upcoming peace conference – this is the perfect opportunity to paint the Irish leaders we have been so anxious to capture on canvas for our Irish collection.”

  He put down his book and looked at her. “I sincerely doubt they would have time to sit for a painting with such important negotiations being conducted, Hazel.”

  “But don’t you see? That is exactly why they must pose for paintings – not just the Irish side but the British as well – to capture this momentous occasion for posterity.”

  “The Irish wouldn’t want their images captured in such a permanent and exact way – they are fugitives –”

  “We
re fugitives, John, past tense. They are now politicians – representatives of a free and independent Ireland.”

  “I doubt the British press and a great swathe of the British public will view them as such. To them they are still murdering thugs.”

  “Regardless of all that, this needs to be captured on canvas – the cornerstone of our Irish collection! And who better to do it than you? You were awarded a knighthood by the government for documenting the Great War on canvas. This is just an extension of your work as a political and social documenter.”

  He thought for a while. “Yes, I can see the importance such paintings will have in the future. If they agree . . .”

  “Oh, they will agree, leave that to me! I’ll get Winston on side straight away – as a committed artist he will understand the importance of the paintings and, of course, as part of the British delegation he no doubt will revel in his own portrait being part of the collection. I will also personally write to all the delegates, including Éamon de Valera in Dublin – Shane will get the letter to him.”

  “We don’t have much time to lose,” said John. “I would say the conference will be starting within days.”

  She nodded in agreement before throwing her hands in the air. “John, I have had a splendid idea!”

  “Another one?” He almost feared to hear it.

  “What do we do best, John?” she asked excitedly.

  He shrugged. “Paint?”

  “Yes, but also – we host! We are famous for being the best hosts in London. I suggest – I propose – that we offer 5 Cromwell Place as a home from home to the Irish delegation – a place where they can come and unwind and relax after a hard day’s work at the conference table.”

  He looked at her in horror. “Have you lost your mind, Hazel?”

  “No – I have not lost my mind, John Lavery. In fact, I have never thought with such clarity in all my life! It makes perfect sense. Not only we will offer our home as an open house to the Irish, but invite the British delegation here as well. A place where both sides can get to know each other informally and socially away from the conference table.” She was relishing the prospect of it.

  “Good Lord, Hazel, these men are sworn enemies! They are not going to politely have tea and crumpet in our drawing room and discuss cricket!” He wanted to burst out laughing but didn’t for fear of upsetting or hurting her.

  “Why not? Why not drink tea and discuss cricket? Though I doubt the Irish side will be too interested in that particular subject. They need to stop seeing each other as ogres and start seeing each other as people. I am convinced that the solution to the problem of Ireland rests in talk and not guns. This is a once-in-a-generation opportunity to bring the sides together and for them to really talk to each other and get to know each other – once that happens they will begin to see the others’ point of view and compromise will follow – I am sure of it! They won’t get a chance to do that over a conference table, but they will here.”

  “With you as intermediary?”

  “Why not?” she said with a smile.

  “Placing yourself, ourselves, at the very heart of the peace conference – of Irish political affairs?”

  “It is my dearest wish!”

  “But, Hazel, you have not thought this through. You will be attracting far more than just controversy – indeed far more than just scandal – you will be attracting venom and hatred from many people in this country if you invite these men who many people view, as I said, as murdering thugs into our home.”

  “I do not care for people’s thoughts, John – I only care to do the right thing, and to help with this peace as much as I can. I know people think my involvement in Irish affairs is merely a fad of mine, a passing hobby, but it means everything to me and I don’t care what I risk to achieve what I want to achieve with it.”

  “You may find your role as a society hostess destroyed if you go ahead with this plan of yours. There might not be a drawing room in London that receives you after you have received the likes of De Valera in yours.”

  “Let them punish me if they will, I do not care … perhaps I have too much confidence in my own position in society but I believe that I will not be boycotted.”

  “My God, you are determined, come what may!” said John, admiring her now.

  “I most certainly am, John. Besides,” she said with a sudden mischievous smile, “I have a feeling, and I am rarely wrong on these things – that the Irish delegation are going to cause so much intrigue and attract so much attention that other society hostesses, rather than shunning me, will in actuality be quite envious once I have given them my seal of approval!”

  To John’s astonishment, Hazel’s plan was not dismissed by either the British or the Irish delegations as agreements came in from most of the major players including Lloyd George, Winston and De Valera to have their portraits painted.

  Of course it was Michael Collins that everybody wanted to see, and indeed who John most wanted to paint, but the surprising news came that he would not be part of the Irish delegation coming to London. Collins was to remain an elusive figure, John thought. Maybe it was a clever ploy, for the unknown quantity often carried more respect than the known. Perhaps if Collins had come to London, the disappointment of the world to see him as a mere mortal would be too great. As it was, he would remain a giant in people’s imaginations.

  The peace conference was to start the week of July 14th. De Valera and his delegation left Kingstown Harbour in Dublin and, arriving in Britain, got the train to London. Film crews followed their journey and even more were awaiting their arrival at Euston Station. Hazel and John were at Euston, together with hundreds of others, as well as the international press. The majority of the people were Irish sympathisers and cheered De Valera as he was given a police escort to an awaiting automobile. The delegation had declined the government’s hospitality and decided to stay at the Grosvenor Hotel instead.

  “I hardly thought there were that many Irish living in London!” Hazel shouted to be heard over the cheering crowds around them.

  “They’re not just the Irish,” said John, surveying the crowd. “There are plenty of trade unionists here, as well as pacifists and even a large amount of communists. The war in Ireland has attracted a most remarkable alliance of people you would not usually group together.”

  “Including the odd American society hostess!” smirked Hazel, striking a pose in her fur stole.

  “Indeed!” said John.

  “How things change!” said Hazel. “A couple of weeks ago those same policemen would have arrested De Valera if they got near him – now they are escorting him as a VIP.”

  “And things could change back just as easily. The same police who are escorting them today could arrest them next week. Despite the assurances and truce, I doubt the Irish can quite relax while they are on British soil.”

  “Well, they will be able to relax at our house, I’ll make sure of that,” said Hazel.

  John glanced at her and smiled. Although the parties had accepted the invitation to be painted, there had been no official acceptance of Hazel’s offer of hospitality. John was sure neither party quite knew what to make of the offer – or what to make of Hazel either.

  “Portrait! Dev has agreed to have his portrait painted!” exclaimed Michael and he shook with laughter as he sat behind his desk.

  “Yes, Sir John Lavery is going to do all their portraits,” said the intelligence man who had presented a report to him.

  “I suppose we can add vanity to Dev’s other attributes in that case,” said Michael as he quickly read the report his intelligence had gathered on the Laverys. “This is very odd. Hazel Lavery is an Irish sympathiser but she’s great friends with Churchill? She knows half the cabinet and is a good friend of Sir Philip Sassoon – what kind of a name is that? – Lloyd George’s private secretary.”

  “Well, she’s a society hostess.”

  “And she even has had private meetings with Lloyd George!” said Michael, his fa
ce clouding with worry. “And she wants everyone to go around to her house and be friends over tea? And our lads are all going in to get their portraits done there? Have they all lost their minds? Has Dev lost his mind? It could be like walking into the lion’s den.”

  He couldn’t make sense of it. Was it possible that their vaunted Irish allegiance was a front?

  “Get her watched and her letters looked at. I want a full report on this woman before any of our lads step into 5 Cromwell Place.”

  Hazel was in the Café Royal, about to have afternoon tea with Charlie Vane-Tempest-Stewart. A waitress began to set the table, unloading china, cutlery and napkins from a trolley.

  “You look very happy, Hazel,” said Charlie as he smiled across at her.

  “I am in particularly good form!”

  “And what has you in such good form?”

  “Why, the arrival of Éamon de Valera and his cabinet in London for the peace talks of course. Have you seen the newspapers today? Mr. De Valera and his friends are on all the front pages – he has come to London for peace – to find a lasting peace.”

  Charlie frowned as Hazel reached into her handbag and took out a copy of that morning’s Daily Mail. She unfolded the front page where there was a large photograph of Éamon de Valera taken with the other delegates at the Grosvenor Hotel under the headline ‘I WANT PEACE.’

  “What De Valera says and what he means are two entirely different matters, I should imagine.”

  “Nonsense, Charlie!” she said, putting the newspaper away again. “He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want peace. And the newspapers report that the ceasefire is continuing to hold in Ireland.”

  “We shall see,” he said.

  “They are all coming around to our house to have their portraits done,” said Hazel gleefully.