A Great Beauty

by A. O'Connor

  “Yes,” she said under her breath.

  “I know I don’t talk about Kitty much with you – we’re too busy talking about the treaty. But it’s been a long journey for Kitty and me to get to where we are – there’s been a lot of hurt caused along the way – not just to us, but to other people so we can be together. I can’t and don’t want to throw that away.” He sat down beside her and faced her. “You can understand that, can’t you?”

  “Of course,” she nodded.

  “And from what you told me the journey for you and John to be together has been even more arduous … would you really throw that away?”

  “No … of course not. I’m being rather silly,” she sighed. “I just can’t help how I feel … I’ll get over it, I know I will … but it will take some time. I just have never had such strong feelings before. How ridiculous of me to lose my head at this stage of my life – I really must be getting old!”

  “No, no, Hazel, you’re not being silly. I feel very strongly about you too. If there weren’t so many obstacles in the way, who knows what other destiny there might have been for us?”

  “Now I fear you are just being kind to try and save my damaged pride,” she said, smiling at him.

  She took out a handkerchief and began to dab her eyes. He took the handkerchief from her and wiped her eyes for her. She nestled into him as he put his arms around her. Then they stretched out on the couch, holding each other tightly until they fell asleep.

  Hazel stirred in her sleep and woke up. She blinked a few times before sitting up. She was still on the couch in her sitting room. A blanket had been put over her but there was no sign of Michael. She saw it was still dark outside and the flurry of snow was still coming down. She got up and went to the window.

  She could see Michael’s frame down in the street, his back to her as he walked away. She watched him until he disappeared from sight. Turning, she went back to the couch and sank down on it, staring into the embers of the fire. What had she done? Why had she said what she had said? What had she expected him to do? Why was she risking everything over a stupid infatuation? But the overwhelming feeling she had was loss. She felt she had frightened Michael away from her – from their friendship. And the feeling of loss was overpowering.

  CHAPTER 54

  Michael was not at Mass at the Brompton Oratory the following morning. Hazel waited in their normal pew for him to arrive, but he didn’t. Afterwards she walked back to Cromwell Place on her own. She felt despondent. She knew he had a very heavy day ahead of him as she had been the one to inform him the British were going to present their final proposal that day. He also had got home very late after their time together. All this meant there were many reasons why he would not be at Mass that morning. But she knew deep down that normally he would have seized the opportunity to get her counsel before facing such an important day at Downing Street.

  She waited anxiously all that day and evening for a visit from Michael but there was none.

  Gordon brought the evening newspaper to her as she and John sat in the drawing room. She read the headline: IRISH DELEGATION TO RETURN TO DUBLIN TO PRESENT BRITISH FINAL PROPOSAL

  Hazel felt strangely isolated as she read through the article. She had been such a central figure in the talks for so long, a go-between, a confidante to the players, that it felt wrong to be reading the day’s events in the newspaper like everyone else.

  “Are you alright, Hazel?” John asked.

  “Yes, fine – just a little tired and worried about what’s happened in Downing Street today,” she said. “It says here that the Irish delegation is to return to Dublin to present the British final proposal. Look.” She handed the paper to him and he scanned the article.

  “So Michael probably won’t be joining us for dinner tonight?” he said.

  “Probably not.”

  “Well, it will be nice to have the house to ourselves for a change,” he said.

  “Yes,” she said and managed to smile at him.

  It was well after lunch the next day when Hazel awoke and rose from her bed. She sat at her huge dressing table looking at her reflection in the mirror. She was overcome with insecurities. She had been parading around London for so long as a famous beauty that she realised that she had become somewhat deluded. Allowing herself to fall in love with a man ten years younger than her and expecting him to reciprocate that love was ridiculous. She was so used to men pursuing her that this feeling of rejection was unfamiliar and painful. She knew that sounded vain, but she didn’t care. And it was only going to get worse as she got older. When her looks and youth continued to fade away – who would pay her attention then? How could she cope without the spotlight when it was all she had ever been used to? She wondered was Michael a desperate middle-aged woman’s last attempt to hang on to her youth, to convince herself of her attractiveness. She sighed loudly and began to brush her hair.

  She spent the day wandering around Knightsbridge, desperately trying to fill her mind so as not to think of Michael. She visited art galleries and museums. She went to the boutiques and Harrods. There was an eerie fog descended on the city and a December chill in the air. Even the stores with their Christmas trees and decorations did not give any illusion of warmth. As she wandered about there was a strange feeling in the city, almost as if everyone was on tenterhooks, fearing that war in Ireland could soon erupt again.

  As the evening drew in, Hazel couldn’t stand the suspense anymore and got a taxi up to Park Avenue to visit Philip Sassoon.

  “What a pleasant surprise, Hazel!” Philip greeted her as she was shown into his opulent drawing room.

  “I hope you don’t mind – I was passing and thought I’d drop in,” she said.

  “Not at all!” he said as he bade her sit down. He was sure she had come armed with information from Collins and the Irish delegation that Lloyd George could use to gauge their mindset.

  “So how did yesterday go?” Hazel asked.

  “Well – we presented our proposal. Michael looked as if he was going to explode in anger.”

  “Oh dear!”

  “He looked so angry and frustrated and desperate! First, he demanded more concessions, then he almost begged for them! What has he told you?”

  “Well – I haven’t seen him, and I understand they have returned to Ireland?”

  “Yes, they have gone back to discuss it with De Valera et al!” said Philip, very surprised that Hazel had not been in contact with Michael. “Did you tell Michael that Lloyd George was not bluffing – that the final proposal meant it really was the final proposal?”

  “Yes.”

  “And how did he react?”

  Hazel’s temper suddenly gave way and she snapped, “He reacted in anger and temper. How else should one react when they are being bullied and trapped in a corner?”

  Philip was taken aback to see Hazel lose control. He had never imagined she could ever be anything but calm, charming and good-natured.

  “I apologise, Philip,” she said. “I guess we are all a little tense over the deadline.”

  “Yes. The whole city is tense. It might be a good idea to be a little careful, Hazel. If there is a return to war in Ireland, I imagine there will be some heavy anti-Irish sentiment, which may be directed at you because of your involvement with Collins et al.”

  Hazel nodded before standing. “I’d better get back home.”

  “But will you not stay for tea or indeed dinner?”

  “I had better not, Philip. I have been out most of the day and John will be wondering where I have got to.” She embraced and kissed him, saying, “Dear Philip!”

  As Hazel was shown through the sumptuous house, she was reminded of all the parties she had been invited to there over the years. She wondered, if the war did break out again in Ireland, would she become a social pariah?

  Philip said goodbye to her at the front door, kissing her cheek.

  It was dark now and the fog that had been hovering all day was now thick and heavy. P
hilip glanced out at the street where there was little visibility.

  “Your automobile?” he enquired.

  She pointed. “Just there,” she said with a wave and set off down the street.

  She pulled her coat around her as she walked down Park Avenue. Philip had assumed she had her automobile with her, otherwise he would have insisted his chauffeur drive her home. But she hadn’t wanted to put upon him – bad enough to arrive uninvited and then lose her temper with him. She had thought she would be able to get a taxicab without a problem, but as she walked along the footpath the fog was so thick it was impossible to distinguish any taxi that may have been passing. She headed down to Knightsbridge on her way to Kensington. Every so often she would see the lamps of an approaching automobile and would try to see if it was a taxi but to no avail. The fog was so bad there was very little traffic or people out. She continued through the maze of streets. She could hear laughter somewhere and shouting.

  And then she became aware there were footsteps behind her. She stopped and tried to peer back into the fog, but she couldn’t see anyone. But the footsteps had stopped once she had stopped. She began walking and the footsteps started again. She began to feel very nervous. And she remembered Philip’s words that she could be a target if the war broke out again. She then thought of all the letters she had received – the hate mail and the death threats. She speeded up her walking and the pace behind her quickened too. She turned the corner into another street and suddenly three men stepped out in front of her, causing her to gasp in shock.

  “What do you want?” she demanded as she shook with nerves.

  She could see they were roughly dressed. One took out a torch and flashed it in her face.

  “I’m just on my way home, I don’t live far,” she said.

  In the light of the torch she saw that one of the other men was holding a handgun.

  “Get home quickly,” one of them said before they slipped away into the fog as quickly as they had emerged from it.

  She took several deep breaths and then hurried along. The footsteps that had been following her had stopped and she realised that whoever the three men were had scared whoever it was away. She turned the corner into Cromwell Place and raced down the street and up to the front door of her house where she pulled the doorbell loudly over and over again until Gordon opened the door.

  She raced in and slammed the door behind her.

  “Are you alright, my lady?”

  She nodded quickly as she struggled to get her breathing back to normal.

  “Can I get you anything?” asked Gordon.

  She shook her head. “Is John home?”

  “No, my lady, he hasn’t returned from the commission he went out to do today.”

  She nodded and then quickly walked down the hallway and up the stairs. She hurried into the drawing room where she poured herself a large whiskey and drank half of it quickly. She wondered who the people in the street had been. Who had been following her and who were the three men who had stepped out carrying guns? She realised that she was a person of interest to everybody from the British Intelligence to Irish terrorists. The people she had encountered that night could have been either, neither or both. She took her drink to the couch and sat, trying to calm down.

  She got up and went over the windows and peered out to see if anybody was outside, but the fog was too thick to see.

  Gordon knocked on the door and came in.

  “Is John home yet?” she asked.

  “Not yet, my lady.”

  “Has he the automobile with him?”

  “Yes, and Tim is driving him.”

  She was relieved to hear this.

  He handed her an envelope.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  “It was delivered by a girl this morning. She didn’t say who she was but had an Irish accent.”

  Hazel examined the handwriting on the envelope and recognised it as Michael’s.

  “Thank you,” she said, waving him away.

  As Gordon retreated from the room, Hazel went to the couch and sat down before quickly tearing the envelope open.

  She straightened out the paper and read.

  Dearest Hazel,

  I’m writing this quickly before I leave for Dublin. I was so sorry to leave you the other night after the wonderful evening we had at the theatre. You were a beautiful vision as I left you. I should be in Dublin no more than a couple of days before returning to London early next week. Whatever the next few days will bring, let us hope and pray we all make the right decisions. I apologise that I did not have time to come and see you before I left London but will call as soon as time allows when I get back. I feel strong knowing you are there waiting for me, my champion and supporter – I can never thank you enough for everything,

  M.

  Hazel stared at the letter and was overcome with a feeling of relief.

  “He hasn’t abandoned me,” she whispered, holding the letter close to her heart.

  CHAPTER 55

  It was not just Hazel who was on tenterhooks for that weekend but the whole of London, waiting for the Irish delegation to arrive back with their answer to the final proposal. Hazel could only imagine the pressure Michael was under and longed to be with him to offer support.

  On Monday, December 4th, the Irish delegates arrived back in London.

  Every time somebody called to the house, Hazel’s heart jumped, thinking it might be Michael, but he didn’t come. She kept in contact with all her friends throughout the day and heard that evening that there had been a private meeting between Lloyd George and Michael that afternoon in the home of Philip Sassoon.

  “It’s a pity I didn’t just happen to be passing at the time and call in!” lamented Hazel.

  “You would hardly be allowed into a private meeting between the Prime Minister and the leader of the Irish delegation, Hazel, at this stage of the game,” John said.

  “You’d be surprised what I can wrangle myself into, John Lavery! It goes to show how the British see Michael as the one to convince. If they get Michael on side, the others are sure to follow – even Childers!”

  “He has metamorphosed into a leader,” agreed John. “Does he appreciate that you are the reason for that?”

  “I don’t want appreciation, John – I just want –” Hazel stopped herself as she thought how to finish the sentence. What did she want? What did she really want?

  The next day the fog still swirled around London, creeping like a menace around the elegant buildings of Kensington, seeping along every street and into every crevice.

  Hazel stood looking out at Cromwell Place through one of the front windows as the afternoon darkened into evening. There seemed to be people hovering around outside in the street. It was hard to see them plainly as the fog swirled around the lampposts. She wasn’t sure if she was being paranoid, or if it was the general tension in the city, but there seemed to be unusual activity outside.

  The doorbell rang and she tried to look down at the front door to view who it was, but was unable to see.

  She waited for Gordon’s arrival with either a guest or a message.

  The door opened and Gordon walked in, announcing, “Mr. Collins, my lady.”

  Hazel could hardly believe it as Michael’s large frame came through the doorway.

  “Michael!” she exclaimed. “Thank you, Gordon, you may leave us.”

  Gordon retreated from the room and closed the doors. Hazel and Michael stared at each other for a short while before she rushed to him and threw her arms around him. She felt his arms glide around her and hug her tightly back.

  Michael sat on the couch with Hazel beside him, John sitting opposite them on an armchair. Hazel had never seen him so angry or upset.

  “I am being bullied,” he declared. “Lloyd George at the meeting today gave me an ultimatum. He said we either accept his final proposal or it’s all-out war. That he would flood Ireland with British forces and bring the whole force of the empire down on
the country! Martial law. He said we have until ten o’clock tonight to decide.”

  “He’s certainly trying to force your hand!” said John. “Could he be bluffing?”

  “He’s not bluffing, John,” said Hazel. “I have had it confirmed by every source I have that this is the final proposal and the treaty can go no further. But this! To give you so little time to make such a momentous decision!”

  “I’m outraged!” Michael got up and, red in the face, began to stomp up and down, clasping his fist in his hand. “The British troops are back on the streets of Dublin! I saw them myself at the weekend – walking around and stopping people, looking for identity papers. Letting their presence be known. Showing us their power.”

  “But that’s in breach of the terms of the truce!” said Hazel.

  “They are letting us know they are getting into position if the treaty isn’t passed and the truce collapses. It’s the same here. Scotland Yard are teeming around the city watching us all the time. There’s a load of them positioned outside my headquarters in Cadogan Place and the other delegates’ at Hans Place.” He went to the window and looked out at the fog. “They are even out there in Cromwell Place. I spotted them on my way in. They are watching us right now.”

  “How dreadful!” declared Hazel, all her worst suspicions confirmed. She went over to the windows and hastily closed the curtains.

  “Who knows what tomorrow will bring if we don’t sign tonight,” said Michael. “I and the other delegates may be not be permitted to leave London and could be arrested on the spot!”

  “They couldn’t do that!” said Hazel, horrified.

  “Why not?” said Mick. “If war is declared tonight, are they really going to let the leaders to travel back to Dublin to wage a war against them?”