A Great Beauty

by A. O'Connor

“All – that – is over now?” he asked.

  “All that is over,” she confirmed.

  Michael was being driven back to his quarters at the barracks. As he looked at the shattered glass, he realised he had been lucky yet again – despite his massive carelessness. What madness had made him venture out without his bodyguards? And walk unprotected along a country road at night? If they had opened fire while they walked, he and Hazel would now be dead. But, of course, they would have had to follow at a distance, park their automobile and approach stealthily on foot. He must have been watched all evening by his enemies. Clearly, they knew about his relationship with Hazel and that had made her a target as well. Due to her connections with the British government, the relationship would be viewed as dangerous in some quarters.

  What he and Hazel had was wonderful, but he had to now move away from her and let her follow her own destiny and her own life. He would not be responsible for her death.

  And his life was with Kitty. He hoped it wasn’t too late.

  CHAPTER 78

  The next day Kitty received a letter hand-delivered to her from one of Michael’s aides. She sat in the hotel conservatory and carefully opened it.

  My dearest Kitty,

  This is, as ever, a short note as I am about to leave for Cork. My heart and mind have been tormented since we last met when I think of your beautiful and sad face. As soon as I arrive back from Cork, we need to set a date for the wedding. Tell Gearóid and Maud, no more delays – if they want to have a double wedding with us then they need to get a move on! Counting the days until I see you again,

  I am sorry for everything I put you through and I love you dearly,

  With all my love,

  Michael

  Kitty folded the letter and held it tightly.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, smiling to herself.

  Hazel was having a nightmare as she twisted and turned in the bed at the hotel. She was seeing Michael and was desperately trying to reach him, but he was always out of reach.

  “Michael … Michael!” she called in her sleep and then suddenly she sat up and screamed.

  “Hazel?” gasped John beside her as he struggled to sit up and turned on the light.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Her face was as white as a ghost’s.

  “He’s dead,” she whispered. “Michael’s dead … I saw it as plainly as I see you.”

  “Nonsense, you were having a nightmare, that’s all. Probably brought on by the shock of the gunshots a couple of nights ago.”

  “He’s dead. I know he’s been killed,” she whispered again as she reached out, grabbed John and began to sob loudly.

  Kitty was putting on her hat in her hotel room. She had planned to go into the city that day and do some shopping. She planned to visit some bridal shops and start looking at wedding dresses.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Coming!” she called and went to answer it.

  There was a man standing there, with two police officers behind him.

  “Kitty, I am a friend of Mick’s – Brendan. I live here in Greystones,” said the man.

  “Ah, yes, I’ve heard him mention you many a time – so nice to meet you!” Her smile faded as she saw all three men had tears in their eyes.

  “Is something the matter?” she asked, a chill running through her.

  “Mick was killed in an ambush in Cork last night, Kitty – he’s gone,” said Brendan as the tears fell down his face.

  Kitty turned and went silently to a chair and sat down.

  “Was it quick?” she whispered.

  “We don’t have the details, Kitty … not yet … Can we do anything for you?”

  She shook her head, feeling numb.

  CHAPTER 79

  The tall elegant woman made her way up the steps of the Royal Marine Hotel and across the lobby to the reception.

  “I am here to see Lady Lavery. Can you tell her Elizabeth, Countess of Fingall, is here.”

  “Elizabeth?”

  She turned to see John standing there.

  “John!” She went and threw her arms around him. “Isn’t this the most awful news about Michael Collins? Why, we had dinner with him at Kilteragh on Saturday!”

  “We are all quite shocked. Though in a way I don’t know why we should be – Michael was going around with death at his shoulder for a long time – he had that many lucky escapes.”

  “In a way that makes it worse – he gave the impression he was indestructible. To find out he was merely human like the rest of us …” She shook her head. “Do you know any of the details … how he was killed?”

  “He was travelling in a convoy through the countryside in Cork, a remote area, when the convoy came under attack – an ambush. The others wanted to flee but Michael insisted they stay and fight. They got him with a single bullet, to the back of the head.”

  “How horrific – the poor man!” Her hand sprang to her to mouth in shock. “How is poor Hazel?”

  “Distraught! Inconsolable! Come, and I’ll take you to her. You are very good to come so quickly.”

  Taking her by the arm, he led her upstairs.

  Elizabeth was sitting beside a weeping Hazel on her bed, attempting to console her. John had left the two women alone.

  “Such a terrible shock for you,” said Elizabeth. “It’s impossible to think he is gone.”

  “I’m heartbroken, Daisy. I don’t know how I’ll survive. I love him.”

  “Everybody knew how close you both were. You were the best of friends.”

  “It was more than that. I loved him and he loved me. He wanted us to run away to America together!” Hazel blurted out.

  “I see!” Elizabeth was shocked. “I knew there were the rumours about the two of you but I never for a moment believed them.”

  “He was my soul mate. John knew. But in the end I couldn’t leave John. We’ve been through too much together.”

  “And what about the girl Michael was engaged to? The one whose photograph was in the newspapers?”

  “All I know is that Michael loved me with all his heart and now he’s gone.” Hazel started sobbing again.

  “Oh, dear, dear!” said Elizabeth, taking Hazel into her arms and soothing her. “I understand they are bringing his body back to Dublin by boat along the coast?”

  “They said it would be easier that way, rather than by road with all the bridges and roads destroyed around the country due to this bloody war!”

  “Will you go see him – when he arrives?”

  “Of course,” said Hazel.

  “Well, I shall go with you. You need your friends at a terrible time like this.”

  On the Thursday Michael’s body lay in the chapel at St Vincent’s Hospital in Dublin. He would remain there for twenty-four hours for family and friends to visit before being brought to lie in state the next day. Hazel steadied herself as she walked up the steps into the hospital, holding Elizabeth’s hand.

  John had not accompanied them as he had been given permission to paint Michael later that day.

  “It’s a great honour for you, John. Capturing this for posterity. I imagine it will be the most important painting you will ever do,” Elizabeth said.

  John indeed felt honoured. His own emotions were going through a maelstrom. There was something peculiar about painting the portrait of the dead man his wife was in love with. For John, work came first. Art came first. There was no life if it could not be captured in art, there was no art if it could not be captured in life. He had spent his own life capturing moments, everything from weddings to baptisms to war on canvas. Michael’s death was the next instalment in that mission, and he must put aside his own personal involvement. Besides, John was grateful this gave him an opportunity to see Michael alone and for Hazel to pay her respects without him being there. John felt this was one thing they needed to do separately.

  “He looks so peaceful,” whispered Hazel as she stared down at Michael’s body laid out. There
was a bandage across the top of his head.

  “Apart from the bandage you would think he was just sleeping,” said Elizabeth.

  “Was it all worth it – was any of it worth this?” said Hazel.

  Elizabeth looked at her friend with real concern. Hazel had gone into deep grief. Michael’s death had shaken her to her core. She wondered how she would ever recover.

  The door opened and a nurse came in. “I’m sorry, but there are more guests expected to arrive shortly.”

  “Ah, I see, we’ll go now,” said Elizabeth, taking the hint that they had outstayed their allotted time.

  “I’m not going yet. I’m staying with him,” said Hazel.

  Elizabeth looked at the nurse and shrugged.

  “It’s Mr. Collin’s fiancée who is expected to arrive shortly. The family have asked all other guests to be gone before she gets here. Naturally, she wants time alone,” explained the nurse, trying to sound as sympathetic as possible.

  “Of course!” said Elizabeth.

  She turned to Hazel and put both her hands on her shoulders.

  “Hazel, we really have to go now.”

  Hazel silently allowed herself to be led from the room, her eyes never leaving Michael.

  As Elizabeth was helping Hazel into the automobile outside the hospital, another automobile pulled up and two women got out dressed in black. One woman was crying but it was the other woman who drew Hazel’s attention. She recognised her as Kitty Kiernan from her photographs in the newspaper.

  As Kitty walked up the steps of the building, Hazel gazed after her. It struck Hazel that both of them knew Michael so well and yet they didn’t know each other at all. Almost as if Michael had two separate lives. In a way, Hazel reasoned, he had.

  CHAPTER 80

  The morning of the funeral Elizabeth waited for Hazel and John in the hotel lobby of the Royal Marine. She sat on a couch reading the headlines of the newspaper which were all about the funeral.

  “They say there will be hundreds of thousands of people there,” said the waitress as she cleared away glasses from a table.

  “I daresay there will be,” said Elizabeth, putting the newspaper aside as she saw Hazel and John come down the stairs. Then her mouth dropped open when she saw what Hazel was wearing.

  She got up and hurried across to them.

  “Hazel! You’re wearing widow’s weeds!” she gasped.

  “Yes, what of it?” asked Hazel from behind her black veil.

  “But you simply can’t!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you are not his widow! Honestly, Hazel, you must go back upstairs and change at once!”

  “I will do no such thing! Michael would have expected me to wear widow’s weeds.”

  Elizabeth looked at John who appeared shell-shocked and broken.

  “Pardon us a moment, John,” said Elizabeth as she grabbed Hazel’s arms and pulled her to a quiet corner of the lobby.

  “Hazel! You simply cannot attend the funeral wearing widow’s weeds! You will be the talk of the town! Not just this town but London too – and Paris and New York and every other town there is!”

  “Let them talk, I don’t care! I want everyone to know what Michael meant to me and what I meant to him.”

  “You are trying to advertise your relationship with him! You are blatantly trying to claim him as yours and you don’t care if you disgrace yourself in the meantime and humiliate John and Kitty Kiernan as well!”

  “I just miss him so much and I don’t want to be forgotten. I want people to know we loved each other.”

  “But it’s not your place to do so at his funeral. It’s Kitty’s. Whatever went on between the two of you in his life, Hazel, leave him to her in his death. Do the decent thing.”

  Hazel began to weep but finally nodded. “I’ll go up and change.”

  “Jolly good – we’ll wait for you in the car outside.”

  Elizabeth shook her head and walked over to John.

  “I can’t get through to her – she isn’t making any sense on anything,” said John.

  “She’s in shock and grief-stricken, John. She doesn’t even know what she’s doing herself,” said Elizabeth, trying to make John feel better about seeing his wife in widow’s weeds for another man.

  Kitty stood by Michael’s grave in Glasnevin cemetery. Maud stood on one side of her and Gearóid on the other. Strange, she thought, how the four of them were supposed to be at an altar together getting married and instead they were at a grave. There weren’t many people left at the graveyard by the early evening. The funeral as expected had been massive, with Michael being given a full state funeral. But now most people had gone home.

  Kitty looked up from the grave and around at the small groups of people still gathered around, huddled together in small circles. She didn’t recognise any of them, but she was sure she would recognise all their names if she heard them, from all the stories Michael had told her.

  She suddenly spotted a very glamorous woman dressed in furs. She was with another well-dressed woman and an older man. She immediately recognised her from all the magazine photos.

  “That’s Hazel Lavery,” said Kitty to Maud.

  “What’s she still doing here?” snapped Maud.

  Kitty suddenly began to walk towards Hazel.

  “Kitty!” Maud hissed after her but was ignored.

  Hazel was speaking to Elizabeth. “I’m not sure how long we’ll stay in Ireland now –”

  “Lady Lavery?” Kitty called her from behind.

  Hazel turned around and was shocked to see Kitty there. They stared at each other, almost disbelieving, finally meeting someone each had heard and thought so much about.

  “I am –”

  “I know who you are, Kitty,” said Hazel.

  They continued to stare at each other.

  Hazel cleared her throat and said, “I’m very sorry –” but her voice broke as she began to cry.

  Kitty watched her cry for a few moments and then reached out and took her in her arms. The two women hugged tightly.

  EPILOGUE

  NINE YEARS LATER

  1931

  Cecil B Beaton stood back from his camera and studied his model. Lady Hazel Lavery was reclining on a chaise longue in her husband’s studio in their home at Cromwell Place. Cecil had been commissioned to take some photographs of the famous woman for Tatler magazine. He had become quite friendly with Hazel since he himself had become a fixture on the London social scene as a famous photographer. Like everyone, he found Hazel to be witty, charming and insightful. As he studied her that afternoon, he tried to guess her age. She had been around for so long that he reckoned she must be past the half-century mark and yet she still looked remarkably young. Many rumours circulated as to the source of Hazel’s continued youthful appearance. Cecil would like to believe the theory that amongst all those hundreds of portraits her husband Sir John had painted of her, there was one hidden in the attic at 5 Cromwell Place and that Hazel was a female Dorian Grey.

  “There is a rumour circulating that John is to be appointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland and you and he are to take up residence of the Viceregal Lodge in Dublin,” said Cecil as he fiddled with the camera.

  “There was talk of it, but I cannot see that happening at this stage,” said Hazel. “Times have moved on and I don’t think they would particularly want me in Dublin anymore. I’m too much associated with the past.”

  Cecil stopped fixing his camera and looked up at her.

  “With Michael Collins?” he said.

  “Not just Michael … the Irish want to move on and forget the past – the Civil War. They don’t want to know me anymore.”

  “I wouldn’t say that! They made you the face of their new currency – using your image as a personification of Ireland. Surely that shows the esteem they hold you in?”

  “Yes, we were thrilled when the Irish government asked John to design their new currency and I was so moved when he used my face as the i
mage.”

  “A great honour,” said Cecil. “It is usually only kings and queens that appear on currency notes.”

  “My reward perhaps for services done for the country … but I always saw it as a parting gift from Dublin as they didn’t want me involved in their politics anymore.”

  “Why, when you were such a good friend to them?”

  “Most of the people I had known and been friends with were either dead, killed or too old. Some resented the influence I’d had during the treaty negotiations – and afterwards the sway I held over Michael.”

  As Cecil studied her, he was eager to ask her about the rumours that circulated about an affair between her and Collins. But he suspected he would not get a straight answer from her.

  “Do you go to Ireland much these days?” he asked instead.

  “Not so much,” she sighed.

  “But in a way you’ll never leave there now – with your face on every pound note in the country!”

  Hazel’s eyes became misted over as she said, “Do we ever really leave the places we have been? Does a part of us haunt the places we have been – or do the places we have been haunt us?”

  “Your involvement with the Irish rebels and the foundation of the Irish state is fascinating, Hazel.”

  She smiled. “All I wanted to do was to help as best I could. Oh, people accused me of all sorts – people have always accused me of all sorts. They said I sought fame or infamy, excitement and danger through my relationship with Michael Collins and the others during that time. But when it comes to my time for leaving this world, I can look back at my life and say that it mattered. That I mattered and that my life had meaning. That I was more than just a face.”