by A. O'Connor
“They are what?” questioned Charlie, his voice rising.
“We want to capture this for history – the British cabinet portraits are to be painted as well,” said Hazel, preparing herself for the full wrath of Charlie’s temper which was about to come her way.
“I just can’t believe you! Hazel – you have crossed the line of decency! How can you allow those murderers into your home? What do you hope to achieve except a disgusting notoriety?” Charlie’s face was red with anger.
“I am not looking for notoriety – you take that back, Londonderry!”
The waitress nervously began to unload a silver teapot with accompanying milk, sugar and strainer.
“Hazel, I am one of your oldest and dearest friends in London but if you persist in this ridiculous pursuit of republican politics, of which you know nothing, then you are putting our friendship at risk!”
“You are just being a bully, Charlie! A horrible and uncompromising bully! You can’t dictate what I believe in politically and you cannot dictate who I receive in my house … this bullying is exactly what I am talking about with the British establishment in Ireland. You expect everyone in Ireland to just blindly accept your will and cannot take it when the Irish fight back! You cannot take it that I am not on your side, Charlie, and you are now using threats to end our friendship if I don’t bow to your will!”
“Hazel!” pleaded Charlie, trying to calm her down as people from the other tables were staring.
The waitress was hovering over her trolley, waiting to unload the three-tiered silver stand laden with sandwiches, scones and cakes.
“I will not be bullied by you, Charlie – not one little bit! If that means our friendship must come to an end – so be it! As dear as you are to me, I have no doubt life will continue without you. But I can assure you that it will be you who’ll be the loser in the long run. For there are many titled aristocrats in London who I can replace you with at my dinner table, but there are not nearly as many entertaining, witty and intelligent American women in London who can replace me! And if you can find one then please introduce me to her as I would love to make her acquaintance!”
As the two of them stared at each other in silent anger, the waitress seized her opportunity and placed the three-tiered stand on the table between the opponents.
“Shall I pour the tea, Lady Lavery?” she asked then.
Hazel tore eyes away from Charlie and glanced at the afternoon tea and its accoutrements.
“No, that will be all, thank you,” she said.
The waitress made a little curtsey and hastily departed with her trolley.
The other diners began to talk again as Hazel picked up the teapot and poured the tea.
“I didn’t realise you were quite so passionate about it all,” said Charlie quietly, embarrassed by the scene that had just played out in public.
“It means the world to me,” said Hazel.
“Well, we will just have to agree to differ,” said Charlie. “I was wrong to threaten to end our friendship … I could never do that – you mean far too much to me.”
She nodded. “And the last thing I want is to fall out with you, Charlie. But I will not be attacked for my beliefs.”
The waitress wheeled the trolley into the kitchen.
“May I take my tea break now?” she asked her supervisor.
At the woman’s nod she walked quickly through the kitchen, out to a corridor and on to a quiet corner at the back of a stairs.
She glanced around and then sat down on one of the bottom steps. She took out her notebook and pen and began to write down the whole conversation and scene she had just witnessed between Lady Lavery and the Marquess of Londonderry. She would have the report despatched back to Dublin Intelligence that evening and in Mick Collins’ hands by the next day.
***
At the sorting office in the post office in Kensington a line of postal workers sat at a long bench, working diligently on sorting the stacks of letter before them. A young woman called Rose, as she sorted through the post for Cromwell Place, kept a keen eye out for post addressed to Lady Hazel Lavery. Once she spotted what she was looking for, she swiped the letters and stashed them under her apron, confident nobody had seen.
When it came to lunchtime, Rose stood up along with the rest of her co-workers.
“Are you coming to the new café around the corner for lunch, Rose? I hear you can get a bun for free with your sandwich and tea there,” said a colleague.
“I can’t today, Sylvia – I have to run an errand for my mother.”
Rose waved Sylvia and the rest of her friends off outside the sorting office. She waited until the girls had turned the corner and then she hurried back into the building, down a corridor and into an empty office, locking the door behind her. She put the kettle on the stove to boil then took out the Lavery letters and placed them on a desk. Once the kettle was boiling, she held the letters over the steam and began to unseal them. She would have all the letters read and documented, resealed into their envelopes and back on the sorting desk by the time the girls got back from their sandwich, tea and free bun at the café.
Michael sat behind his desk in Harcourt Street, having studied all the information his intelligence had gathered to date on the Laverys.
“Well?” asked Gearóid who was sitting across the desk from him.
“Nobody has managed to get anything damning about the Laverys. They seem innocent enough, though slightly perplexing,” said Michael, scratching his head.
“The Yank probably has too much time on her hands and nothing to do with it,” Gearóid suggested.
“She has a young daughter and a famous husband, that should keep her busy enough,” said Michael. “Anyway, from reports on her conversations at restaurants by our girls and boys working on the ground and our team reading through her post, she seems to be a genuine supporter of an Irish Republic. However, she could be just a very good actress. Her husband is a Protestant from Northern Ireland and so their natural allegiance shouldn’t be with us. There is nothing to stop Dev from visiting their house and getting his portrait painted – but advise him to tread with extreme care and we’ll keep Hazel Lavery under careful surveillance.”
“Right,” agreed Gearóid.
“On to more important things – the news from London is not positive,” said Michael. “The meetings are mostly between Dev and Lloyd George and Lloyd George is refusing to budge an inch. He says all that is on offer from their side is to give Ireland dominion status like South Africa or Canada and for us to remain in the empire.”
Gearóid laughed derisively. “In that case we’ll fight on! They have more to lose than we have – did they not learn anything from the last two years? We’re not asking for independence – we’re taking it!”
“Gearóid – what are we to fight on with? Three thousand rifles and a couple of thousand men? We’re on our knees and the country is on its knees and can’t take a continuation of this war.”
They fell silent, pondering on the situation.
“I wonder,” said Gearóid at length, “if Dev will be home for Tom Barry’s wedding next month?”
“If things don’t pick up in London, he may be home next week!” said Michael.
“The venue will be at Vaughan’s Hotel,” said Gearóid. “It’s hard to believe, isn’t it, that we can all go and celebrate Tom’s wedding in the open – like normal people – and not be looking over our shoulders like fugitives.”
“For the moment,” said Michael, with no joyful anticipation on his face.
Michael looked so troubled these days that Gearóid suspected his unease was not all down to the political situation. It must also be due to his personal life. Gearóid was as surprised as everyone when it became known that Michael had been seeing Kitty over the past few months. He knew they had grown close, but it was a very delicate situation that had arisen. Obviously, as he himself was great friends with Michael and also related to him, there was nothing he would like
more than that his future sister-in-law should marry Michael. But he didn’t want to see Harry Boland hurt either and everyone knew how much Harry was in love with Kitty. As for Kitty, Gearóid had tried to prise out of Maud what her intentions were but it was like getting blood out of a stone. According to Maud, Kitty was confused, indecisive and exhausted from the whole situation. Gearóid just hoped she made a decision soon, as the last thing the Republican movement needed at this critical stage was a falling-out over a woman. Gearóid was certain it would not be long until Harry returned to Ireland, now the truce had been declared, and the truth about Kitty and Michael would then emerge.
Hazel gazed at Éamon de Valera as he sat for his portrait in their studio.
“It’s such an honour for us to have you here,” said Hazel.
“So you’ve already said – several times,” said Éamon.
“We want you to treat our house as your house – avail of it any time you want,” Hazel urged.
“Thank you, but the Grosvenor Hotel supplies us with all our needs,” said Éamon.
John and Hazel exchanged looks. The legendary De Valera was proving to be a bit of a disappointment to Hazel. He seemed a little bored and uncomfortable to be there. She had hoped to become his friend but had to admit that even her charms were lost on him.
CHAPTER 26
Like everyone else in Ireland, Kitty could scarcely believe it when the truce was declared. After two long vicious years of war, people had forgotten what peace felt like. Slowly at first, people tentatively came out on the streets, looking around for Black and Tans or Auxiliaries, but realising they had gone. Frightened that the truce would break quickly, the men who had been in hiding, fighting the war, crept home to their wives and families. As days passed and the truce held, people began to go out in the evening. The bars and restaurants began to fill up again and courting couples queued to go to the new cinema houses that had been opening up. Dance halls began to open again, and stadiums began to stage sporting events without the fear of an attack or massacre by the Black and Tans.
And then, in the glorious weather of that July, the whole country exploded in euphoric joy, not just that people could go about their lives as normal again but because they saw the truce as victory. After centuries they had finally got rid of foreign rule.
For Michael, he felt he could breathe again for the first time in years. But he still didn’t let his guard down. He continued to nervously watch out for suspicious-looking people. Kitty was so excited about the truce that he felt he could not burst her bubble by letting her know that the news from London was not good. Lloyd George and the British were not compromising and were absolutely ruling out giving Ireland independence. After De Valera and the Irish returned to Dublin in mid-July, Lloyd George sent his official proposal on the twentieth. The proposal was just short of an insult to Irish Republicans and Michael could not see how it would be accepted.
Now with the British troops confined to their barracks, Michael was free to travel home to Cork to see his family without restrictions. And free to travel to Longford to see Kitty. On one such visit he drove the automobile through the country roads at high speed, Kitty beside him. The joy on the people’s faces they passed touched his heart. But he feared it would be short-lived and the truce would collapse.
“Slow down, you’ll end up crashing!” begged Kitty, but she was laughing.
Every automobile they passed was travelling too fast for the country roads, almost as if the drivers were drunk on the euphoria of peace. The automobiles were mostly driven by dashing young men with fashionably dressed young female passengers, heading off to tennis matches or horse shows or races or any one of the multitude of social events happening after years of suspension. It was as if the country had been transformed by the truce and the advent of peace.
“We won the war! We won the war!” shouted an intoxicated young woman who was swinging a bottle of champagne in the passenger seat of a passing car.
“She looks like the only thing she ever won was a drinking competition!” said Michael, causing Kitty to burst out laughing.
The Irish demand for complete independence was outright rejected by Lloyd George and his government. As July slipped into August, the British proposal was hotly debated by the provisional Irish government in Dublin before it was officially turned down on the tenth of August. As Ireland continued to bask in the long hot summer of peace, nobody wanted to see a return to the war and frantic diplomacy was being carried out between London and Dublin to try and organise a new set of negotiations and maintain the fragile truce that was in place.
Tom Barry’s wedding on the twenty-second of August brought a welcome respite in the midst of this political intensity. As Tom was one of the leaders of the Republican movement, the elite of the Republican membership and the provisional government were all there.
“It’s a wonderful day,” said Gearóid as he and Michael arrived at the church. “Here we are, free to do as we want. Like a normal group of friends celebrating a friend’s wedding.”
“We may as well enjoy it as it might not last for long,” said Michael.
They entered the church and took their seats, nodding to all the familiar faces in the congregation.
“I don’t believe it! Look who it is!” Gearóid hissed to Michael.
Michael turned to where he was indicating and saw Harry Boland sitting across the aisle from him.
“Did you know Harry was coming back from America?” Gearóid whispered.
“No – I hadn’t a clue.”
Harry smiled over warmly at them and waved. Michael gave a salute to him.
As the organ music began to play and the bride began her advance up the aisle, Michael’s face clouded over as he thought of Kitty.
After the marriage ceremony the congregation filed out into the church yard. Attention was lavished on the bride and groom but many of the guests descended on Harry, thrilled to see their friend back and congratulating him on the tremendous job he had done in America.
“Six million pounds raised! Well done!” shouted a man as he clapped Harry on the back.
“Well, Dev had a hand in it too!” said Harry, nodding over to Éamon who was standing nearby.
But there was only one person Harry was interested in seeing as he cut his way through the fawning crowd to Michael.
“Well – Big Fella! Where’s my greeting?” he demanded with his arms outstretched.
Harry hadn’t changed a bit since his time in America. His face had lost none of its friendly honesty – there was kindness in his eyes and always a ready smile on his lips.
“I thought you’d have a Yank accent by now, the amount of time you’ve been over there!” teased Michael.
“I can have any accent that the audience requires when I’m making speeches, as long as there’s big enough donations afterwards! Come here to me!” said Harry, pulling Michael into a bear hug. “Sure it’s great to see you, Mick. I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you.”
“Me too,” said Michael, but as he hugged Harry tightly his smile dropped.
At Vaughan’s Hotel, the photographer lined up all the guests in the back garden for the official photograph.
“For fuck’s sake!” Gearóid whispered to Michael. “What the British government wouldn’t have paid for this photograph a couple of months ago. An up-to-date photograph of all the Republican leaders!”
“If we don’t get back into negotiations with London quickly then this photograph might be valuable to them again in the near future! I’m keeping my head down for the camera in any case!”
“Doesn’t she make a beautiful bride?” smiled Harry as Tom’s new wife Leslie chatted to the guests in the garden.
“She does surely,” agreed Michael.
“And a brave one. She was one of the last women to leave the GPO the week of the Easter Rising,” said Harry, full of admiration.
“I know – wasn’t I there, Harry?”
“True!” laughed Harry. “I�
�m so used to talking to Americans, explaining over and over again who everyone is to them!”
Michael felt incredibly awkward. He and Kitty usually tried to avoid talking about Harry – it was like the elephant in the room everyone was ignoring. But there was no ignoring him now.
“Kitty wrote that Helen had got married,” said Harry. “I was sorry to have missed the wedding.”
“Yes, it was a fine day.”
Harry placed a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “It must have been hard for you – I know you had a great respect for her. But, sure, there’s plenty more fish in the sea, as my mother says! I can’t wait to see Kitty!”
“She has no idea you’re home?”
“No, I’m going to surprise her!” laughed Harry.
“I see.”
“You’ve seen a bit of her over the past year, I understand? She always writes about you and says you’ve been in contact.”
“Yes, well, I tried to keep . . .” Michael searched for the right words to say but couldn’t find any. He felt the truth needed to be told to Harry quickly, but it needed to come from Kitty. He would have to continue the charade until he had a chance to speak to her and decide how to tackle the situation.
“Thanks, Mick, for all you’ve done for her. I worried about her when I was away all the time and it just made me more relaxed, knowing you were here to make sure she was alright.”
“Well – eh – least I could do, Harry.” Michael went red with embarrassment.
Éamon came up to them. “If we can drag ourselves away from the festivities of the day – Michael, Harry – I need to speak to you.”
“There’s a room upstairs we can use,” said Michael, grateful of the distraction as he silently cursed Kitty for not being more assertive with Harry and explaining to him where he stood – where they all stood.
