A Great Beauty

by A. O'Connor

  He had a heavy heart as he thought of Kitty and Hazel. He felt torn in two. The same as he felt politically. He had so much pressure being heaped onto him to attack the insurgents and oust them from the law courts. But how could he do that? How could he order an attack on his former friends and colleagues? Including Harry. Kitty had written to him that he had visited her. A few months ago, knowledge of a visit like that would have inflamed jealousy in him. Now he just felt hope that all was not lost with Harry. That perhaps he could rely on this old friendship – that, when push came to shove, Harry could not abandon him.

  Michael sat at his desk and thought hard as he began to pen a letter to Harry, appealing to him not to take the side against him.

  The week after the Irish general election, Sir Henry Wilson was returning to his home in Eaton Square in London. Sir Henry was a man who regarded himself as Irish and had a home in County Longford, a celebrated hero from the Great War and the military advisor for the Belfast government. He got out of his taxi and was making his way to his front door when two men appeared beside him and opened fire. He was shot six times in the chest, two of the shots being fatal. Two police officers and a chauffeur were also shot and wounded as the men tried to escape. They were surrounded by a crowd and arrested by other policemen. The men were Irish Republicans.

  The assassination sent shockwaves throughout Britain. The establishment and public were outraged at the coldblooded murder of such a respected war hero and politician. Rumours began to circulate the assassination was on the orders of Michael Collins. If not him, then the insurgents in the Four Courts in Dublin were blamed and Michael’s lack of will to crack down on them was blamed.

  Either way, John felt the wind of change in public opinion changing – and changing for the worse. A stack of hate mail arrived for him in the days that followed the assassination. And the hatred was not just reserved for the Laverys but directed at Lloyd George and Churchill as well for indulging the Irish nationalists.

  “I am being accused of being the friends of a coldblooded murderer!” declared Winston to John and Hazel in their drawing room.

  “Well – so am I, if that makes you feel any better!” said Hazel.

  “Madam – it does not make me feel in any way better! How could it? The fact that I and my good wife have socialised here with Collins and his ilk, in this very room, has us all tarred with the same brush!”

  “We are sorry, Winston, if we have led you into any embarrassment,” said John.

  “But not sorry for trying to smooth the path to peace!” said Hazel.

  “What path to peace has been paved when a man like Sir Henry is coldbloodedly murdered on his doorstep by Irish Republicans?”

  “What’s happened is tragic, Winston. But we can’t let it derail the progress we’ve made,” urged Hazel.

  “Madam!” shouted Winston, slamming his hand on the arm of his chair. “I and the British public have had enough. I am announcing an ultimatum in parliament tomorrow. Either Collins goes in and takes back the Four Courts and brings order to Dublin, or we will send in the British forces. Last chance!”

  “To fight with his countrymen – or fight you!” said Hazel.

  “Yes! Now – I must get back to Westminster and prepare my speech for tomorrow.” Winston stood up

  John rang for Gordon.

  “Show Mr. Churchill out, Gordon,” said Hazel, sighing. “Good day, Winston!”

  “Good day!” said Winston as he marched out of the room.

  “Poor Michael! He’s being put in a terrible dilemma!” said Hazel as she paced up and down.

  “Hazel – I wonder should we go on a holiday for a while. Tangier perhaps? Until all this quietens down?” suggested John.

  “Tangier! Certainly not, John!”

  “I am just worried about where all this will lead! It seems to be getting worse and I am very concerned about our safety.”

  “Let’s not panic, John!”

  “When an MP is being shot outside his home in London and we are in the thick of it, I think there is every reason to panic.”

  There was a knock on the door and Gordon came in.

  “Yes, Gordon?” said Hazel irritably.

  “Forgive me, my lady, I didn’t want to announce it while Mr. Churchill was still here, but there are two other guests waiting to see you – friends of Mr. Collins.”

  “Friends of Michael’s! Well, show them in at once, Gordon!” said Hazel.

  “And who the blazes are these men!” snapped John in despair.

  A few minutes later Gordon showed two men in. Hazel recognised them as being part of Michael’s entourage when he was staying at Cadogan Place.

  “Good afternoon, Sir John and Lady Lavery,” said the darker-haired man, handing Hazel an envelope. “Mick asked me to give you this.”

  Hazel opened it, pulled out a letter and quickly read it.

  “Due to the heightened atmosphere since the assassination, Mick has appointed us as protection for you,” said the man.

  “Protection?” asked John.

  “Bodyguards,” said Hazel. “Very good. I’m sure you are famished. Make your way down to the kitchen and Cook will make you lunch. Tell Gordon that you can sleep in the rooms over the garage. Ask him to make up beds. It’s quite cosy there.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” said the men and they left the room.

  “Hazel – have those men got guns on them?” asked John.

  “I expect so – otherwise they wouldn’t be very good protection, would they? I knew Michael wouldn’t abandon us and would make sure we were safe.”

  “But do you not see how dangerous the situation has become for us, if even Michael feels we need bodyguards?”

  “Purely a precautionary measure, I am sure,” said Hazel. “Now, I had better write to Michael without delay and tell him that Winston is on the warpath – literally!”

  CHAPTER 70

  Michael felt it was the hardest thing he ever had to do. He had been doing everything to avoid giving the order to attack the insurgents in the Four Courts for weeks. He was loath to take up arms against his fellow countrymen. But now, fate had taken the decision out of his hands. It was either take back the Four Courts forcibly or have another British invasion, the Treaty torn up and a return to foreign occupation.

  On the twenty-eight of June, the order was given by Michael and the Irish government to reclaim the Four Courts. Vicious fighting broke out and the buildings were in flames two days later. An explosion and fire destroyed the Public Records Office which was part of the complex, together with census returns and thousands of baptism, marriage and burial records. Fighting broke out on the streets of Dublin and the city’s main streets were reduced to rubble as the country descended into civil war.

  Charged with leading the government forces, Michael resigned his position of minister in the government and was appointed Commander in Chief of the army. Just as it was left to him to fight the war against the British, he now had to lead the fight against his fellow countrymen.

  Kitty and Michael wrote to each other continuously. But Kitty saw his letters were becoming shorter and shorter as the pressure mounted on him and the civil war spread throughout the country.

  He wrote to her, telling her he was now General Michael Collins, Commander in Chief of the army. All she could think of to reply was to write: More trouble I suppose.

  Everything in Michael’s life seemed to be trouble. They kept trying to arrange to meet, but it was next to impossible with Michael’s schedule and the war ongoing.

  Maud walked into Kitty’s bedroom.

  “Kitty – you’ve been in your room all day – are you ill?”

  “No, I’m not ill,” she said, turning around. “Just writing to Michael.”

  Maud came and sat beside her. She saw she was clutching a letter.

  “Another letter from him?” she asked

  Kitty nodded. “Only a short letter – he was rushing – as usual. This time to fight this new war against h
is former friends … including Harry.”

  “Gearóid said Mick is under terrible pressure. He’s never seen him so bad. He fears he’s at breaking point.”

  “I can tell that from what he writes – but why doesn’t he turn to me to support him?”

  “Perhaps he feels he doesn’t want to burden you. Perhaps he feels you can’t cope with it?”

  “Perhaps he’s right,” said Kitty, throwing the letter on the dressing table. “Another bloody war – and Mick in the middle of it. What kind of a life can we ever have together?”

  “You knew all this when you got together with him, Kitty.”

  “But I fear he’s changed. I fear he doesn’t look at me the way he used to. I feel I’m not good enough for him anymore, now he’s used to all that high life in London.”

  “That’s nonsense, Kitty! Mick adores you, it’s plain for everyone to see.”

  “When was that?” asked Kitty.

  “Sorry?”

  “When was the last time anyone saw us together? I fear I can’t give him what he needs. They say the women in London were chasing him. They said he couldn’t leave the house without him being propositioned as if he were some movie star!”

  “Sure Mick wouldn’t be interested in any of that, Kitty!”

  “Something has happened to him … I’m not stupid. I can sense it … there is somebody else in his life. Somebody I have to fight to get his love back from her.”

  Hazel had received another lengthy letter from Michael that morning. She devoured the letter, absorbing every detail about the new war that had enveloped Ireland. He poured his heart out to her, telling how it was unbearable for him to now have taken up arms against his former friends and colleagues. She savoured the passages where he wrote that he needed her and missed her.

  He had asked her and John to come to Ireland and she was making plans for them to visit. She longed to see Michael again, to support him and to help carry the load. She had decided that John should be there in his capacity as a renowned war artist, to paint the scenes from the civil war that was unfolding there.

  That afternoon, John’s daughter Eileen paid them a visit.

  “I passed two unsavoury-looking men sitting in a motorcar outside the house on my way in,” said Eileen.

  “Ah yes, they would be our bodyguards,” said Hazel with a giggle.

  “Bodyguards?”

  “Michael arranged them for us. Purely a precautionary measure. It makes me feel rather like the Queen!”

  “Of Ireland, perchance?” said Eileen, raising her eyes to heaven.

  “Speaking of which – we are to go to Ireland.”

  “Good lord – when?”

  “At the earliest opportunity.”

  “But is there not a war – another one – unfolding there?” asked an astonished Eileen.

  “Of course – that’s what takes us there! It’s what your father does best – documents war!”

  Eileen looked at her father. “But, Papa, you are now sixty-six years old – is it not time to take life a little easier rather than put yourself in the middle of a war?”

  “I feel I should be there to paint what is unfolding – the birth of a nation,” answered John.

  “A baptism of fire, more like. Well, I think it is quite insane!”

  “Well, you would, Eileen,” said Hazel. “But your father and I are more community-minded. The new Irish government needs our support.”

  “I take it you mean Michael Collins needs your support?” Eileen said cynically.

  “Amongst others. They have even offered us the Viceregal Lodge to stay in during our stay – we declined naturally.”

  “That was wise – it might be bombed! So where will you be staying?”

  “Well, all our Irish friends have invited us to stay – the Earl of Kincard, Daisy Burke-Plunkett. But we’ll stay in a hotel – we’ll have more freedom that way.” More freedom to come and go to see Michael, she thought.

  “And what of Alice while you are on this excursion? I take it she’ll not be accompanying you?”

  “No, of course not. I have a full itinerary organised for her during our absence – she will not be bored!”

  There was a knock on the door and Gordon entered, announcing, “Mr. Eddie Marsh, my lady.”

  Winston’s private secretary entered the room.

  “Eddie!” said Hazel excitedly, jumping up and going to embrace him and greet him with a kiss. “So glad you called! I received a letter from Michael this morning.”

  “Good, Winston wants to know what exactly is going on over there.”

  “Let us retire to my sitting room and we shall discuss it,” said Hazel, linking Eddie’s arm to lead him out. “Neither Winston nor anyone else could accuse Michael of being soft on the insurgents now! He has shown the world he is on the side of law and order – at great personal cost, may I add. Soon I will be in Dublin and will be able to send first-hand accounts of the war back to Winston directly! I shall be in the thick of it!”

  Eileen watched Hazel and Eddie walk out, leaving her alone with her father.

  “I often wonder is she quite mad!” she said, shaking her head.

  “Because she does not want to spend the day in Harrods but has a keen interest in the political world?” said John cynically.

  “But who in their right mind would want to go into the middle of a war? Do you want to know what I think?”

  “Not really.”

  “I think she is a sad and lonely woman who is seeing her youth and beauty slip away and she sees Ireland as a way to make her relevant again. It makes her feel important. She has built Ireland into some romantic notion in her head with, of course, Michael Collins as the romantic hero and herself as the heroine!”

  John became angry. “Don’t you start on those ridiculous affair rumours!”

  “Are you sure it’s not true, Papa? For I have never seen anyone so anxious to rush into a war. My generation lived through the Great War, Papa. It was my generation that suffered the most – so many were killed or wounded. And I can tell you this – men, or women, do not rush off to a war unless they are desperately searching for something that is missing in their lives.”

  “I want Hazel to be happy!” John slammed his fist on the arm of his chair.

  “I know! But can’t you see – you are so desperate to make amends for not being an attentive and good husband to Mama before she died, that you are going way over the top to be the ideal patient and loving husband to your second wife! And all the time you are actually repeating the same mistake with Hazel as you made with Mama!”

  “How?” demanded John.

  “By throwing yourself so much into your work – into your bloody paint pots – that you cannot see what is going on under your nose! Hazel is clearly in love with Michael Collins!”

  He looked at her but didn’t respond.

  She grabbed her gloves and stood up. “I’d better go. William will be wondering where I’ve got to.”

  “William – who you had an affair with when your first husband was fighting the Germans on the front – and he subsequently divorced you for your adultery? Perhaps you should judge people by your own standards, Eileen.”

  “Or perhaps I am more qualified than most as an expert on human behaviour after my own follies and divorce,” she said as she walked to him and bent down to kiss his cheek.

  He watched as she left the room and closed the door behind her.

  CHAPTER 71

  Michael sat at his large desk in his rooms at the Portobello barracks where he had moved since the civil war erupted. He had a large map of Ireland stretched out on the desk before him.

  Dublin, although the city centre was in ruins, was now under the control of government forces again. He had just finished writing a letter to Kitty. Now the city was safe again, he was attempting to organise for her to come to Dublin. The push to bring the whole country under control was still ongoing. What would be most difficult to regain control of were the vast sou
thern areas of Cork and Kerry.

  There was a knock at the door and Gearóid came in.

  “We need to keep up the push into the South,” said Michael, gesturing at the map.

  “Mick …” said Gearóid, his voice trembling.

  “What is it?” said Michael, looking up and seeing Gearóid was close to tears.

  “It’s Harry … he’s been shot,” said Gearóid as Michael went white as a ghost.

  Now that Dublin was back under government control, Kitty had been planning to go there as quickly as possible for a reunion with Michael. But then news came of Harry being shot. She had run down to the church and spent hours praying and lighting candles. She anxiously awaited news from Dublin where he was in hospital.

  Three days later, when she came back from the church, she found Maud crying in the parlour.

  “Maud?” asked Kitty, her voice trembling.

  Maud looked up and shook her head. Kitty rushed to her and they held each other as they sobbed.