A Great Beauty

by A. O'Connor

  “You’re quite wrong, John Lavery! This is one of the most important dinner parties every hosted in London. I do not exaggerate – it could mean the difference between war and peace!”

  “Yes, dear!” He rolled his eyes as he passed her and continued up the stairs to his studio.

  As advised, Michael arrived early and had a drink in the drawing room with Hazel and John before the others arrived.

  “And do not spend the whole night just talking politics,” Hazel told him. “Ask them personal questions, get to know them. Dear Winston is incredibly witty when you get to know him.”

  “I haven’t seen much evidence of it in Downing Street so far,” said Michael, downing his whiskey in one.

  The footman who was standing by the drinks cabinet hurried over with a decanter and refilled Michael’s glass.

  The doorbell rang, sending a shrill through the house. Hazel raced across to one of the windows and looked down on the street below to see a fleet of automobiles parked outside.

  “They’re here! Everyone to their places!” Hazel pulled Michael up from his armchair, took the glass from his hand and placed him in an imposing position in front of the fireplace.

  Then she quickly beckoned John to stand beside her, facing the double doors leading into the room.

  “And smile, everybody!” she commanded as she heard Gordon lead the party down the corridor towards them.

  There was a knock, then Gordon pushed open the double doors and announced:

  “Mr. Winston Churchill … Lord Birkenhead … Sir Philip Sassoon … and Mr. Eddie Marsh.”

  “Welcome, everybody!” Hazel smilingly approached the men and greeted each of them with a warm kiss.

  “A pleasure to be here, Hazel,” said Winston, giving Michael a wary look.

  John moved forward and shook hands with the men.

  “And, of course,” said Hazel, “you all know Michael.”

  “Oh, yes, we all know Michael,” said Birkenhead with a note of despair.

  “Excellent! Gordon, drinks for everyone!” She sashayed over to the drinks cabinet where Gordon stood at the ready and whispered, “Keep the alcohol flowing, Gordon – all night!”

  Conversation flowed smoothly over dinner as Gordon and the footmen served the main course of roast pork with crackling, roast potatoes, various vegetables and a delicious gravy and apple sauce.

  Winston observed Michael throughout the night, trying to learn more about him than what he had seen at Downing Street. He saw that Michael had an element of social awkwardness and was still not very comfortable being in their company. But he was far more assured than when he had first arrived in London. As Winston observed the close rapport between the Irishman and Hazel, he was certain she was the main reason behind the transformation. By the time the dessert of rhubarb tart smothered in custard had been consumed, he and Michael were even on first-name basis.

  “I hear you attended a poetry recital recently, Michael?” said Winston.

  “I did – part of the Bloomsbury set, I believe they are called.”

  Birkenhead grimaced. “That crowd of communists! Where was this recital?”

  “Why – here in Cromwell Place, Lord Birkenhead. In the drawing room!” said Hazel.

  “Of course! Where else? Is there a rich man, poor man, beggar man or thief that has not passed over the threshold into your salon, Lady Lavery?” asked Birkenhead.

  “Not a one! And there have been plenty of tinkers, tailors, soldiers and spies as well!” said Hazel, causing everyone to erupt with laughter.

  “I certainly believe that spies have,” said Birkenhead, causing the laughter to end and be replaced with an uncomfortable silence.

  Hazel suddenly stood up. “Shall we retire to the drawing room? You can have your port and smoke there in comfort.”

  “We have fought for our independence for hundreds of years. We are a separate nation and a separate people. We deserved to take our place among the nations of the world,” said Michael, speaking passionately in the drawing room,

  “Hear, hear!” said Hazel.

  “Nobody is denying you are a proud nation, but you can be that within the empire,” said Winston.

  “And you must understand that Northern Ireland now has its own parliament and will not be ruled from Dublin,” added Birkenhead.

  “But these are deal-breakers as far as we are concerned. I can’t go back to the Irish people, after all these years of bloodshed, without bringing back a republic,” said Michael.

  “The reality is Ireland has become ungovernable by the British,” said Hazel. “You need the Dublin parliament to bring order to the country.”

  “Hazel, as it we keep reiterating – it is not a parliament – it is an illegal assembly,” said Winston.

  “Well, whatever it is – you need it to restore order!” retorted Hazel.

  “And you need Washington to continue loaning you money,” said Michael. “If you don’t settle the Irish question favourably, they’ll call in your war loans.”

  “Nonsense!” dismissed Birkenhead.

  “Really?” said Michael. “There are demonstrations in New York and Washington calling on the US government to do that right now.”

  “If the treaty negotiations collapse and war resumes in Ireland,” said Hazel, “the British government will condemn itself in front of world opinion – do you really want that?”

  Winston suddenly stood up and began to pace up and down, cigar in hand. “You are deluded if you think Ireland will be granted independence by Lloyd George. He has said it over and over again. It would be seen as marking the beginning of the end of the empire and he will not allow it. You need to be practical and see things as they are. The fact is, if the Irish do not change their stance and the negotiations collapse resulting in a return to war, then the Lloyd George government will most likely collapse along with the treaty.”

  “That will result in the Conservatives coming into power with their leader Bonner as Prime Minister – and that will change everything,” said Birkenhead. “Bonner will never give you even dominion status. It will be a return to war for sure.”

  Hazel and Michael exchanged worried looks.

  “As bad as he is, we want to deal with Lloyd George rather than Bonner,” said Michael.

  “I shall take that as a compliment to my boss, shall I?” said Philip Sassoon.

  “For fuck’s sake!” said Michael, jumping to his feet and pacing up and down angrily.

  “I would say we are the lesser of two evils,” said Winston. “So, start compromising!”

  Michael stood in front of the fire with his hands on his hips, his expression angry from frustration.

  Hazel was trying to indicate discreetly to him to calm down – this was what Winston said about him being temperamental.

  “I don’t understand what is wrong with you people!” said Michael, his voice loud and angry. “Why the fuck do you want to be in a place that clearly and utterly doesn’t want you? It’s like being a guest at a party you aren’t invited to!”

  Hazel rose and went to stand by Michael. She placed a hand on his arm. “Calm down, Michael!” she urged.

  “Yes, listen to your girlfriend, Michael, and calm down!” said Birkenhead.

  Michael swung around, glared at Birkenhead and demanded, “What did you say?”

  “I suggested calming down!” said Birkenhead.

  “No – before that – what did you call Hazel?” Michael marched over to him menacingly.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake – I was just making a joke to try and lighten the mood!”

  “So, your idea of a joke is to insult your hostess who has gone to so much trouble for you here tonight?” Michael’s voice was low and angry.

  Hazel went to him. “Michael – it really doesn’t matter.”

  “It does to me. We don’t disrespect women where I come from.”

  She spoke softly. “He didn’t mean anything by it, Michael. Please forget it and don’t create a scene.”<
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  Michael looked at her pleading face and then turned and walked back to the fireplace.

  Birkenhead looked relieved that he had backed away.

  “Tell me more about this dominion status – how independent would we be?” asked Michael, as he flicked his hair off his forehead.

  CHAPTER 53

  The dinner party marked the beginning of numerous unofficial meetings at 5 Cromwell Place. On the other occasions Arthur Griffith and the other Irish delegates accompanied Michael.

  “All except Childers! He still won’t step over my threshold!” lamented Hazel over the breakfast table one morning as she prepared to host another luncheon for the delegates.

  “He is certainly a man of principle – one must admire how he never varies from his position,” said John as he began to open his post. “Ah! Another portrait commission!”

  “Who is it this time?”

  “The Duke of Arthington … I must say our involvement in the peace treaty has not affected my commissions as I had feared – I am busier than ever!”

  “Of course you are! We are being seen as political heavyweights and 5 Cromwell Place is now seen as the most important salon in London!”

  John opened another letter and sighed. “Not in all quarters, I’m afraid … another hate letter.”

  “Don’t even read it!” said Hazel, reaching over and snatching it from his hand. Crumpling it up, she threw it into the fireplace.

  “I have heard that our association with Michael is not stirring up controversy only in London,” said John.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I understand eyebrows are being raised in Ireland about his close association with us and others in British high society. It has all come as a surprise as he is the last man they ever expected to forge such alliances and friendships.”

  “Well, they like many others have underestimated Michael. He is an exceptional man with exceptional abilities. The Irish are very lucky to have him representing them here in London.”

  John was struck by the adoration she clearly felt for Michael which she did not in any way try to disguise.

  “But we have to think of Michael, Hazel. He is our friend and we do not want to be the cause of any unnecessary embarrassment for him.”

  “Embarrassment!” Hazel became angry. “How on earth could we possibly be a cause of embarrassment for Michael!”

  “He is discussing extremely important details of the treaty with you, instead of exclusively with his fellow delegates. Can’t you see how that could look compromising for him?”

  “Not in the least! I am Michael’s confidante – what of it?” She shrugged. “He trusts me and needs a guiding hand from someone who has his and Ireland’s best interests at heart. You’ve seen him, John, when he arrives here in the evening or late at night … he’s exhausted! We are his only oasis – the only place he can relax and be himself. I don’t apologise for providing that oasis for him!” Hazel’s eyes became misty as she spoke.

  “But –”

  “I don’t want to hear another word on the matter, John Lavery! I have a luncheon to organise – monkfish with sage and cranberry I think is called for today. I must go and discuss with Cook.”

  She stood up and marched out of the room.

  As November came to a close, the winter weather set in.

  Hazel and Michael were returning from a night at the theatre as a flurry of snow was falling. Hazel’s footman drove them through the Kensington Streets.

  “I have heard that tomorrow is going to be a crucial day.” Hazel kept her voice to a whisper even though glass separated them from the driver.

  Michael was used to receiving information from Hazel. He was never quite sure who she heard the information from, whether it was Winston or Eddie Marsh or Philip Sassoon or even Lloyd George himself. But he found she was never wrong. Forewarned is forearmed had become Hazel’s motto.

  “In what way crucial?” asked Michael.

  “The British are going to present their final deal and an ultimatum.”

  “A good ultimatum or a bad ultimatum?” asked Michael.

  “Ultimatums are bad by definition, Michael. And I have heard that when Lloyd George says this is his final offer, he won’t be bluffing.”

  The automobile pulled up outside 5 Cromwell Place. Michael stared out the window, lost in thought at this news.

  “Nightcap?” suggested Hazel.

  “Yes, alright.”

  The footman got out and opened the door. Michael stepped out and then assisted Hazel down the step onto the pavement. He put his arm around her as they dashed through the snow and up to the front door.

  Michael kept his arm around her, trying to block out the snow and she nestled into him to keep warm. Finally, Gordon opened the door.

  “It is freezing!” said Hazel as she stepped into the hallway and shook the snow off her coat and hair.

  “It certainly is, my lady. I kept the fire in your own sitting room lit in case you might not be retiring to bed early,” said Gordon.

  “Good man! We shall go there for our nightcap. Has Sir John gone to bed, Gordon?” She handed her fur coat to him.

  “He has indeed, my lady, this past hour,” said Gordon, taking Michael’s coat, scarf and hat. “Will there be anything else, my lady?”

  “No, we can look after ourselves, thank you, Gordon,” said Hazel as she and Michael began to walk up the stairs.

  “Very good, my lady,” said Gordon, doubt sounding in his voice.

  “I don’t think he actually approves of you yet!” Hazel whispered, causing herself and Michael to erupt in giggles as they reached the landing.

  They turned down the corridor and walked past the main drawing room to Hazel’s sitting room which was at the end of the corridor.

  “Excellent!” said Hazel as they entered the room and saw the blazing fire in the hearth.

  “Whiskey?”

  “Yes, please.”

  She went to her drinks cabinet as Michael went to warm himself at the fire. He rubbed his hands together and held them close to the dancing flames.

  She waltzed over to him and handed him a crystal glass of whiskey.

  “So, what is this ultimatum, I wonder?” he said as he walked over to one of the windows behind Hazel’s desk and looked out at the snow falling. The street down below was now covered in a veil of snow.

  “That I couldn’t find out,” she said as she sat down by the fire with her own drink. “But be very careful how you react – as I said, they will not be bluffing.”

  Michael turned from the window and looked down at Hazel’s desk, deep in thought. He suddenly reached down and took up a letter that was resting there.

  “What is this?” he demanded as he quickly read through the letter.

  Hazel’s closed her eyes in irritation. She had received another death-threat in the post that day. In her haste to get to the theatre, she had neglected to either lock it away or burn it.

  “It’s nothing, Michael – nothing at all!”

  “This isn’t nothing – this is a vicious death threat!” he said, shaking the letter in the air. “Anonymous! Who would write such a disgusting thing?”

  “I don’t know, and I really don’t care who writes them.”

  “Them! You mean there have been others?” Michael was horrified.

  “One or two.”

  “What does John make of them?” asked Michael.

  “He doesn’t know, I haven’t shown them to him. He gets letters as well, hate mail, but no death threats like the ones I get. I don’t want to worry him.”

  “And what do the police say?”

  “I haven’t told them.”

  “Hazel!”

  “I do not take the letters seriously and I believe to make a fuss of them is only giving the writer what he or she wants. They are best ignored. Besides, if I did go to the police, I’d hazard a guess they’d say I had invited trouble by inviting the people who murdered their colleagues in Ireland into my ho
use in the first place. To conclude – I don’t think I’d get much sympathy from them!”

  “No – no, I don’t suppose you would, when you put it like that,” he said, putting the letter back on the desk. “But you should have told me. I had no idea – it never occurred to me – that your association with me would be putting you in such peril.”

  “A crank letter is not being put in peril, Michael! I am made of sterner stuff than that.”

  “Regardless – I can’t come here anymore,” he stated.

  “What?” cried Hazel as she quickly put her glass on a table and hurried over to him.

  “None of us, none of the Irish delegates can. It’s too risky. If anything should happen to you, I would never forgive myself.”

  “But you can’t just leave me! Not now – not after we have come so far!” She was horrified.

  “What choice do I have? It’s for your own safety.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “But you can’t just walk out of my life – don’t you see – don’t you understand – you’ve become the most important thing in it!”

  “I know the Irish situation means so much to you, but you have to think of your own safety, Hazel.”

  “It’s not just the Irish situation, Michael! It’s you! You have become the most important thing in my life. I didn’t want to, I don’t want to – but can’t you see that I have fallen in love with you?” Tears sprang from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

  They stood staring at each other in silence until Hazel tore herself away and walked to the couch. She sat down, quickly drying her eyes.

  “I fear I have just made a terrible fool of myself,” she said.

  “No, no, of course not,” he said, walking towards her slowly.

  “I believe I have. Strange, how with the amount of men who have declared undying love to me over the years, I choose to say it to the one man who doesn’t feel the same way.”

  “It’s not that I don’t have – feelings – for you. I’m very flattered – what man wouldn’t be? But you’re married – not just married but married to a great man. And I’m engaged to be married.”