by A. O'Connor
Alice gently opened the door of Hazel’s bedroom a little and peeped inside. The curtains were drawn, and Hazel was lying under the covers.
“Mama?” said Alice gently as she crept across to the bed and sat down. “I’m sorry, Mama, I truly am.”
Hazel turned her tearstained face to Alice then sat up and hugged her tightly as they both cried.
“Shit!” muttered Michael under his breath in his suite at Claridge’s as he saw the ‘sweetheart’ comment in the morning’s newspaper. He sighed loudly as he flung the newspaper across the room. This was all he needed – loose allegations like that appearing in the press with the general election in Ireland coming up. It would be seized by his opponents as evidence he was in bed – literally this time – with the British. After the Princess Mary allegation, he did not need any more insinuations that he was a playboy in London, hobnobbing with high society. Nor did he need the scandal of being associated with a married woman, with an electorate as deeply Catholic as Ireland’s. He needed to be more careful, but the reality was that Hazel had become his closest ally and he just couldn’t do without her. He could not imagine life without her. He could tell her everything and anything. When he was with her, he was looking into a mirror almost, they were so close, and he knew she felt the same way. But he needed to try to curb how he felt. This was a losing game that had no future. His future was Kitty.
“Kitty!” he muttered. He needed to make light of the ‘sweetheart’ comment in the press and write to her immediately to dismiss it as farcical. He raced to his writing desk.
Kitty reread the letter she had received from Michael that morning.
My Dearest Kitty,
Please see enclosed a cutting from today’s newspaper. With great amusement I see they have labelled Lady Lavery as my ‘sweetheart.’ Between bouts of laughter I am contemplating having a word with my solicitor to bring lots of lovely libel action!
I’m meeting Lloyd George at noon, so will sign off for now. Things not great here, terrible pressure, I long to see you,
M.
CHAPTER 66
The following night Hazel was in Michael’s suite at Claridge’s as they discussed the day’s events.
Hazel stood up and, taking their two empty glasses, went to the drinks cabinet.
“Lloyd George is furious,” said Michael. “He said the Irish have proven what everyone was saying – that we can’t run our own affairs. He said if the situation in Dublin is not resolved, the British will have to intervene.”
“And what did you say?” asked Hazel.
“I told him I’d fucking wrap up the country as a present and hand it back to him myself!”
He closed his eyes with exhaustion. She stood up and went to the drinks cabinet.
“More champagne?” she asked.
“Why not?” he said, before giving a cynical laugh.
“What’s so funny?” she asked, handing him his refilled glass and sitting beside him.
“This!” he said, gesturing around. “This is exactly what my enemies accuse me of! If they could see me now – sipping champagne in a luxury suite in Claridge’s with a very beautiful titled lady!”
“With your sweetheart – even?” She looked at him cynically.
“You saw the newspaper?”
“Of course. It was shown to me by my daughter, who was rather upset by it. We managed to calm her down.”
“We?”
“John and I.”
“He wasn’t upset by the article?”
“Well, initially he threatened to sue, but no – these things wash over John quickly.”
“I don’t know if he’s a saint or a fool,” said Michael.
“Why should he be either?”
“I think no matter how much time I spend in your company, I will never understand the upper classes,” he sighed, shaking bis head.
She shrugged. “Why bother trying to understand – what’s there to gain from the exercise?”
He turned and looked at her, trying to understand her apparently nonchalant attitude to life.
“The trouble is – if the truth be known, Hazel, and leaving aside my need to see you – it’s no longer a chore for me to come to London. I never thought I’d say this, but I look forward to being here. I enjoy it here – I enjoy the people I know, the new friends I’ve made. I admire them and that is not being in any way a traitor to my own country – just a recognition that there are admirable people on this side of the Irish Sea too.”
“I’m glad,” said Hazel. “That is what I’ve been working to achieve. It’s the only way forward.”
“But, most of all, Hazel, I look forward to meeting you. I miss you when I’m not with you. When I am in Dublin, I turn to discuss something with you or get your opinion and feel sad – sometimes angry – that you are not there beside me.”
“Michael,” she whispered. “I feel the same. Life is empty without you.”
“I’ve never met anybody as beautiful or sad as you, Hazel. And I just want to make you happy.” He reached forward and stroked her face gently.
“What about John? What about Kitty?” she said.
He pulled her close and began to kiss her.
Hazel looked at her reflection in the mirror and, biting her lip, looked back at Michael who was asleep on the bed. Her mind was whirling, confused, upset, but at the same time elated. She looked at her watch and saw it was three in the morning. She thought of John at home and was overwhelmed with guilt. She needed to get home quickly. She tiptoed across to the bed, taking a last look at Michael before slipping from the room.
CHAPTER 67
Kitty did not need to be told by Michael about the article in the newspaper referencing Hazel as his sweetheart, as she had been already told by enough people about it and had ordered a copy.
Reading his letter again, she didn’t think Michael was in any way serious about suing for libel – he wouldn’t have time for such things in the first place. He was dismissing the remark as a joke not to be taken seriously, but Kitty had been hurt by the remark. Michael was her fiancé – everyone knew it by now. They had even been photographed by the press together at the races last month. For him to be associated with another woman, a married woman, was disrespectful to all parties concerned. But she, Kitty, hadn’t done anything to attract this attention. Michael and Hazel Lavery had, by being in each other’s company continually. Kitty knew Michael had come to rely on Hazel completely in London as his go-between with the British government. But why had he, or the Irish government, come to rely on a society artist’s wife? Surely there must be better diplomatic channels?
Kitty didn’t think she was an overly jealous person but she knew there was something going on between Michael and Hazel – she had seen that letter he had written. But how serious their relationship was, she didn’t know. Her instincts still told her to be cautious. She knew how strong an emotion jealousy was and could be. Hadn’t she used it during her own romantic machinations to capture Michael’s heart? She needed to control it.
“You have a guest!” announced Molly, standing in the doorway of the parlour.
“Who is it?” asked Kitty, looking up.
“Good afternoon, Kitty,” said a voice, and Harry stepped into the room.
“Harry!”
They stood staring at each other, Harry with a speculative look on his face while Kitty couldn’t conceal her shock.
“Sit down, sit down, Harry,” she said, taking a seat herself. “Great to see you. Tell me how you’ve been keeping.”
A loud knock sounded and Molly appeared at the door, hands on hips.
“I suppose ye’ll be wanting tea now?”
“Yes, Molly,” said Kitty.
“And cake with it?”
“Yes, Molly, of course.”
Molly grunted and left.
“She’s as hopeless as ever,” Kitty said to Harry.
“So I see,” he said with a smile.
Having managed to regain her composure
, Kitty began to chat about things as mundane as the weather while waiting for Molly to bring in the tea – which she soon did, slapping down the tray unceremoniously and departing.
Kitty poured and they settled back to sip tea and nibble fruit cake.
“You look very well, Kitty,” Harry said.
“Thank you, Harry.”
“Mick’s still in London?”
“Yes, I think he’s back in a few days,” she said, blushing despite herself.
“In time for the general election,” said Harry.
“I suppose so.” She shrugged.
“Whether he wins the election or not, Kitty, I and the others will never accept the Treaty. Does he not understand that?”
“I’m not sure, Harry. You’d have to talk to him yourself about it.”
“He’s become impossible to talk to. He has such tunnel vision – his way or no way,” said Harry, his voice becoming bitter.
“He’s just trying to achieve peace,” said Kitty.
Harry sat forward. “But does he not understand that he is leading us into anything but peace? There’s going to be a civil war, Kitty. The country is going to be ripped in two.”
“Is this what this visit is about, Harry? You’ve come to canvas me to change Michael’s mind. You’ve had a wasted trip if that’s the case, as he would never seek my counsel on such matters.”
“No, I guess I’d be better off speaking to Hazel Lavery.”
Her eyes widened in shock at his comment.
“I’m sorry – that was – unnecessary,” he said. “Old friends shouldn’t say things like that to each other.”
“Are we still old friends, Harry? All of us – you, Mick and I? Are we friends at all after everything that has happened?”
“I’ll always have your best interests at heart, Kitty. I’ll never stop caring about you, despite everything.”
“But not Mick? The friendship is gone?”
“We are just on two different sides of the fence – there’s time yet for him to pull this back from the brink. If he doesn’t – I don’t know where this is all going to end.”
She suddenly shivered.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
She nodded. “Somebody must have just walked over my grave. I sincerely hope the decisions you are taking have nothing to do with my rejection of you, Harry … no, I don’t expect you to answer that … but it was the hardest decision I ever had to make, because I cared – care – about you greatly. But I fell in love with Mick and nothing could shake that, nothing can shake that … I had to go with my heart.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “But I hope you can forgive me if I treated you in any way unkindly or carelessly. I am truly sorry for any pain I’ve caused you, Harry –” She broke off as she tried to stifle the tears that now streamed down her face.
“Oh, Kitty, come here to me!” he said, getting up quickly and going to sit beside her on the couch where he put his arms around her.
“It’s all such a mess,” she said as she sobbed into his shirt.
“It will all work out, my darling, it will all work out for the best,” he said as he stroked her hair.
“Are you sure you won’t stay for dinner?” Kitty asked as she walked Harry to the door.
“No, I’ll be on my way. I have an election meeting this evening in my constituency.” Harry was defending his seat in Roscommon, the neighbouring constituency in the forthcoming general election.
“Will we see you again soon, Harry?”
“Of course, sure you are on my way down to my constituency so I can drop by any time.”
“I hope you do … you’re welcome any time,” she said.
He nodded and walked across the pavement to his automobile.
“Look after yourself, Harry!”
He nodded and smiled before starting the automobile.
She watched him drive down the busy street until he disappeared.
CHAPTER 68
As the insurgents were still occupying the Four Courts buildings in Dublin, the British government’s frustration with Michael grew. Hazel feared that Lloyd George would order British troops still stationed in Ireland to attack the buildings and take back control of them. She knew if such action was taken the Treaty would be dead in the water, along with Ireland’s fledging independence.
In those first few days of June she tirelessly tried to arrange meetings for Michael with British politicians to try to smooth over the situation. But they would not even meet him. Hazel’s charms could not even work this time on Winston whose frustration had built to extreme anger.
In a way the heightened political turmoil was something Hazel was grateful for, after her night with Michael. Neither of them discussed it as they threw themselves back into politics. It was as if they were so close they didn’t have to mention it or discuss what had happened. But as Hazel looked at Michael, she knew it had brought them even closer together as soul mates. She didn’t regret what had happened, but she did feel very guilty over John.
Hazel called in as many favours as she could, particularly with Shane Leslie, and finally managed to get Winston to agree to a meeting with Michael.
Winston was staying at Philip Sassoon’s country house in Kent and Hazel drove Michael down.
He looked out at the beautiful countryside as she drove him along the country roads.
“Do you know what I wish?” he said as he looked out at the beautiful countryside. “What?”
“I wish the two of us could just keep driving. Just keep driving further and further away from all this shit.”
“Run away together?” she said, smiling at him.
“If you would have me,” he said and smiled back.
“Don’t, Michael. It’s too hard to even think about. Sometimes I wish I had never met you … and sometimes I wonder how I ever lived without you.”
Michael and Hazel waited anxiously in the reception room of Philip Sassoon’s huge manor house.
“For goodness’ sake!” snapped Hazel as she paced up and down. “Where is he?”
They had been waiting over an hour. Hazel marched over to the bell and rang it.
A footman arrived in a couple of minutes later.
“Where is Mr. Churchill?” she demanded.
“He’s painting, my lady.”
“Painting!” she exclaimed in exasperation. “We are here trying to avert a bloody war and he’s painting!”
The butler appeared at the door. “Mr. Churchill will see you now.”
“About bloody time!” said Hazel as she marched out.
As they followed the butler, Michael urged, “Calm down, Hazel. Losing your temper won’t achieve anything.”
“Things must be bad when you are advising me to calm down!”
They were shown out onto the patio where Philip was sitting and Winston was at his easel, painting the grounds.
“Good afternoon, Hazel,” said Philip.
“Afternoon! Are you sure it isn’t evening we’ve been kept waiting for so long?”
“Young men must learn to have patience!” Winston said as he glared at Michael.
“And middle-aged men must learn to have manners!” retorted Hazel as she walked up to his painting and inspected it. “It could do with a lightening of the shade you’ve painted the grass – it’s too dark!”
“Really?” he said, peering at his own painting.
“I haven’t come all this way to talk about grass paintings!” snarled Michael.
Winston looked at Philip and raised his eyes to heaven.
“You are lucky I agreed to meet you at all,” said Winston. “Only out of respect for Hazel did I agree. You are putting us all in a very precarious position.”
“I am!” retorted Michael.
“Letting those vagabonds keep control of the law courts in Dublin! We are on the verge of sending in the troops and bugger your independence! Not to mention your half-baked crackpot of a constitution!”
“Winston!” said Hazel. “You must
not do anything at this stage to upset the applecart. We are days away from the election. If Michael and his party win then he has the people’s backing –”
“And if Mr. De Valera wins, we all have nothing!” retorted Winston.
“Can you not just wait a few days until the election is over!” Michael exploded. “Who has no patience now?”
Winston looked at Philip who nodded.
“I will call off the wolves in Westminster,” Winston said. “But I warn you, Michael,” he pointed at him, “if you don’t bring law and order to your country soon – I will!”
CHAPTER 69
Hazel hardly slept the night of the sixteenth of June, the night of the general election in Ireland. The next day she waited for news as the tallies of Ireland’s first election for its new parliament came in.
To her delight, the people overwhelmingly voted for Pro-Treaty deputies.
She raced to her desk in her sitting room to write Michael a letter.
My darling Michael,
Bravo! I am thrilled with the result of the election in Ireland and this clear declaration by the people of their support for you and the Treaty. I only wish I was there with you to celebrate this joyous day. I hope for everyone’s sake now the opposition will realise they are fighting a losing battle and give up their position. More pressing, Michael, is the continual occupation of the Four Courts by the insurgents. I know you are loath to take arms against your fellow countrymen but, Michael, the threat from Winston is quite real. It would be disastrous for Ireland at this stage to suddenly have British intervention on the streets of Dublin again! Oh, how I miss you, Michael … I think of that last night before you went home and the longing I had to go with you or keep you here! Either, as long as we would be together …
Michael read and reread the letter from Hazel. He held the notepaper close to his nose to see if he could smell her scent. He missed her terribly. He looked at the other letter he had received that day – from Kitty. She was discussing their wedding. She said she had been discussing with Maud the possibility of having a double wedding with her and Gearóid. She criticised him for not writing longer letters to her. She was always criticising him for that. He defended himself, saying he hardly had time to sleep, let alone write long letters. But the truth was he was writing long letters to somebody else – Hazel. He didn’t know why but every time he sat down to write to Hazel, he had so much to say to her. So much to discuss and ask her opinion on. So much information to give her to feed back to Churchill and the others. He just didn’t have anything like that to write to Kitty about, to fill up pages of notepaper. But he knew it was more than that. When he wrote to Hazel, he pictured her beautiful face reading what he wrote. He pictured her smiling or frowning or laughing. He wanted to stir those emotions in her. He even wrote her love poetry. All the time, he felt amazed that a woman like Hazel would be interested in a man like him.
