Jean Grainger Box Set: So Much Owed, Shadow of a Century, Under Heaven's Shining Stars

by Jean Grainger

  Chapter 21

  ‘James, darling, you look simply marvellous!’

  James found himself enveloped in his mother’s fragrant embrace as Otto took his bag and all three of them emerged from the gloom of Kingsbridge station into the bright sunshine. Together they walked to Otto’s Deusenburg.

  ‘It’s a beauty!’ James gasped at the sight of the car. ‘Did you import it from Germany?’

  ‘Of course,’ Otto grinned. ‘You can try driving it later, if you wish.’

  ‘Can I?’

  Edith smiled at the sight of her son in such high excitement. ‘Of course you can, darling. Has it only been two weeks since your last visit? It seems much longer. Oh, we have missed you! Now, let’s get you home and have some lunch – you must be ravenous after that interminable journey from Dunderrig!’

  James laughed. ‘Well, it does take a while all right, but imagine what it will be like if they ran out of coal and have to use turf. The ticket inspector was telling me about the changes that will happen if coal rationing comes in here. It would take months to get up from West Cork.’

  Over lunch in the garden of their exclusive Ballsbridge home, James questioned Otto about the war.

  ‘Ah, my dear James, it is difficult to know what will happen. Lucky for me, I am here in your charming country because my fellow countrymen and women are not faring so well in England. Most of them are being rounded up and imprisoned as enemy aliens. It is very worrying…’ Otto shook his head.

  ‘It’s simply outrageous, that’s what it is!’ Edith exclaimed. ‘Firstly, why is England even involved? Herr Hitler is only reclaiming what is rightfully the property of the German people. They were treated so badly after Versailles, typically duplicitous and devious behaviour of the bloody British Empire. They have always thought themselves superior to every other nation on earth and now, here they are again, butting into something that does not concern them…’

  Edith was so adamant that James was reluctant to interrupt her, but his conscience insisted. ‘But Mother, Poland is not part of Germany, never was, and some of the things that Hitler has been saying… Well, I’m not sure I’d want to live in a society where his ideals were law.’

  Edith tinkled a little laugh. ‘Oh my darling, you are so young, it is delightful to see, isn’t it Otto? The world can be harsh at times, but one must consider the greater good. Of course, initially, some people in the annexed areas will be a bit disgruntled, they are bound to be, but they are being elevated to the culture of the people of the Third Reich. This Lebensraum is necessary for the further development of Germany, something that has been denied us since 1918. This is the nation that produced Wagner and Dürer and Nietzsche. There will be a period of adjustment, of course, but in the end, the Führer is, in fact, doing these people a favour.’

  James looked at his mother and wondered at her use of the word ‘us’ to describe the German people. He found it peculiar that she expounded such pro-Nazi views, though she was undoubtedly Irish when her husband – if indeed that’s what he was – seemed much less vehement. His attitude seemed vague at best, while she was full of opinions. He’d never heard Otto refer to Hitler or the Nazis at all, in fact.

  James accepted the glass of wine Otto was offering. Lunches at their home were so convivial, and he felt really listened to. What he wanted, how he felt about things, really interested Edith and Otto. Edith had taken the news that he’d dropped out of college with delight – she’d never thought he should have been a doctor in the first place. His father, on the other hand, while accepting his decision to quit medicine, was clearly still not enamoured with the idea of his son being an artist. He had been true to his word and had presented no obstacles as such, but James knew he wasn’t happy about it. He stayed around Dunderrig in the weeks after Juliet’s departure but although he was painting all the time, he felt like a dropout. During those first weeks, Solange was so caught up with getting Juliet out of Dunderrig after the Danny fiasco that it felt like she’d barely said two words to him. He’d not heard a word from Juliet, who was having the time of her life, no doubt, in Belfast, and obviously didn’t give him a passing thought. She’d been there three months now and might not even come home for Christmas. She’d not written to him, so he’d only heard about her adventures second-hand from Solange, to whom Juliet wrote every week.

  ‘Anyway, that’s enough of this war talk.’ Otto changed the subject. ‘Tell me, what did you think of the National Gallery exhibition last time? Impressive, no? Wait until you see what we have planned for you this time.’ Edith and Otto filled his days during his increasingly frequent visits with outings to exhibitions and art galleries, as well as visits to their friends, some of whom had wonderful private collections.

  ‘It was wonderful. I could look at them all day. The whole collection is so impressive. The tragic loss of Hugh Lane will never be forgotten but neither will his legacy. How much of his collection went down with him on the Lusitania will probably never be known. It’s so interesting and so vibrant, the whole art scene here in the city. I can almost feel a part of it.’ James became embarrassed at his own admission – he didn’t normally verbalise his deep feelings about art.

  Edith and Otto exchanged a glance.

  ‘What?’ James asked, noting the slight smile playing on Otto’s lips.

  ‘Well,’ Edith began. ‘It’s only a tentative enquiry, but a friend of ours – of Otto’s, really – is connected to the director of the National College of Art, and we asked him to investigate the possibility of you studying there. Now that you’ve ruled out medicine, we thought you might consider it. You could live here with us, study and paint and enjoy everything the city has to offer.’ She looked at him hopefully. ‘What do you think? Is that something you’d like to do, my darling?’

  James was speechless. Was it something he would like? Thoughts raced around his head. Well yes, it was exactly what he wanted to do, he knew that. But living here, moving to Dublin, leaving Dunderrig, telling his father… It all seemed so outlandish. He’d not even found a way to tell him that he and Edith were in contact, let alone broach the subject of moving in with her and actually studying what his father thought of as a hobby and not a real career. It was all too much to take in.

  If only Juliet was here, she could advise him… Though, remembering how his sister felt about their mother, he reconsidered. That was how things used to be, him and Juliet, two sides of the same person – but not anymore.

  ‘Say something,’ Edith said softly, and reached for his hand. ‘I know it’s a big move, but we would love to have you, wouldn’t we, Otto? You could follow your dream of being an artist. Nothing would make us happier than to help you make your wishes come true.’

  James had noticed early on in his relationship with her that Edith very seldom referred to Juliet and never mentioned his father, Solange, or even Dunderrig. She seemed to live for his visits and while he was in Dublin, everything was for him. She learned his favourite foods and made sure they were on the menu; she took him to plays and concerts as well as exhibitions; she bought him clothes and books. Of course, none of her gifts could be brought back to Dunderrig. Solange and his father thought he was spending time with school friends or possibly even a girlfriend and didn’t question him too much. Just last week, he explained his frequent trips to the capital by saying he was interested in cityscapes. His father had looked up in surprise and asked him if he was thinking about architecture. It shocked him how easily he was able to lie to them, and he hated deceiving them in this way. He wished he could tell Solange the truth, but he knew she would make him tell his father, and he just wasn’t ready for that yet. Perhaps, if Richard had ever brought up the subject of their mother, he would have found it easier, but as things stood, that conversation was simply impossible.

  ‘I…I don’t know what to say. Of course, it’s what I want – more than want, it’s what I dream of – but to leave home? I don’t know. Dad still hopes I’ll do something p
rofessional, and Juliet…’

  ‘But James, my love, can’t you see, you must do what is right for you, not for your father, not for Juliet. I know it will be difficult for them to accept after everything that has happened, but they love you, as I do, and they will want what’s best for you.’ Edith was pleading. ‘Please consider it. You are my son, I want to help you realise the person you have the potential to become. Down there, you are just the local doctor’s son, but here, you are Professor James Carney’s grandson, someone to be noticed. With mine and Otto’s connections, you really could become someone.’

  James studied his mother’s eager face. The question that he’d avoided asking came bubbling to the surface, to be ignored no longer. He knew that this conversation would have to happen sometime, but she had shown such kindness and generosity to him since they’d been reunited, he never could find the right time. If he were going to consider such a huge life change though, he would have to know.

  ‘If you love me, why did you leave us? We were only children, and yet you just walked out the door and never came back, never wrote. So much happened, and you should have been there. Like the time Juliet fell out of a tree when we were nine and broke her arm, or when I won an all-Ireland hurling medal at school, or the day we got our Leaving Cert results, where were you? You say you love me but how can you turn love on and off like that?’ James’s voice cracked with emotion. He’d never intended his tone to be so accusatory, he knew he sounded like Juliet, but now that he’d asked his questions, he needed answers. If he was going to consider allowing Edith to be his mother again, they would need to be on a clear, honest footing.

  Silence descended on the room. Edith looked as if someone had struck her. Otto’s face was filled with concern as he rushed to her defence.

  ‘James, your mother…’ Otto began.

  ‘It’s all right, Otto, I should explain myself,’ interrupted Edith, recovering her composure. ‘Of course, you have questions, my darling. And you deserve answers. Perhaps, I should have written, tried to explain things, but you were so young, and I knew Richard had no desire to ever hear from me again. Several times as you got older, I wanted to make contact, but I was afraid. While you were children, I could only contact you through your father. After I left, perhaps a month later, I received one letter from a solicitor ordering me to stay away from Dunderrig and warning me that if I attempted to make any contact whatsoever with my children, your father would drag my name through the mud. The tone of the letter was as rigid and cold as your father himself, and brooked no argument.’

  James tried to consider this new version of his father as a hard, bitter man. Edith would not lie about something so important, of that he was sure, but this portrayal of the man who reared him was entirely at odds with his own experience. Reticent, certainly – frustrating occasionally – but he could not believe his father was capable of such deliberate cruelty.

  ‘If you had wanted to, you could have written to us when we were older. He would surely have allowed that. You knew where we were.’

  ‘Of course, I knew where you were. But I was afraid of what your father might say to you if I tried to contact you – perhaps he would set you against me forever. Even writing to you when I did was incredibly frightening, but I had to see you.’

  ‘Why did you leave in the first place?’ James looked deeply into his mother’s eyes.

  Edith sighed. ‘When I met your father, I was in deep grief. My own father was not long dead – murdered by the British for supporting the lockout. Your grandfather was a wonderful man, James, kind and gentle, yet strong and such a proud Irishman. You would have loved him, and he, you. You get your artistic talent from him. He knew everyone: Yeats, Pearse, Lady Gregory, and the Gore-Booths, and I had such wonderful times with him as a child. I was distraught when he died. Your father was just what I needed at the time – strong, solid, but kind. He seemed not to want too much from me emotionally. I didn’t love him if I’m honest, but I felt we could get along. I was wrong. I should have made it clearer to him just how much Irish freedom meant to me. I assumed we stood for the same things but when he put on that British uniform, any feelings I had for him died. I begged him to let me stay in Dublin, but he insisted I go to Dunderrig. I had no choice. The Cantys disliked me from the start – no woman would have been good enough for their precious Richard. Old Dr Buckley was pleasant, but Richard’s mother was ridiculous, the way she idolised him. I stuck it out as long as I could, even after Richard came back and you two were born. I really did try, but everything I attempted to do to bring us closer as a couple failed. He was so cold, so unreachable and anyway, I just couldn’t forgive him. Maybe he didn’t care anymore by then. He had another…he had other things on his mind.’

  ‘Do you mean Solange? Did you imagine that he had feelings for her? Because if you did, then you were utterly wrong. There has never been anything between him and Solange. She stayed in Dunderrig because she was our mother.’

  He could see the effect of his words on his mother’s face, but he wanted to hurt her, for her to feel the pain of rejection he and his sister had endured on some level since they were five. They did not pine for her – the truth was they barely remembered her – but nonetheless the hurt of having his mother walk straight out of his life without a backward glance still lay buried deep within him.

  ‘Did you not want to take us with you?’ He realised he sounded like that hurt little boy again.

  ‘I wanted to take you, but Richard wouldn’t allow it. It was incredibly difficult to leave you, and Juliet too, of course, but I did what I did because I had no other choice. I knew he and Solange would look after you.’

  James realised that Edith had just confirmed what Juliet had always suspected. That their mother had preferred him to his sister. He’d always dismissed that idea as preposterous whenever Juliet raised the subject, arguing that she held both of them in equal disdain. But now he knew it was the truth.

  Silence lay heavily in the room. James rose and walked to the window, watching the hustle and bustle of the city below. Eventually, he spoke. ‘Why me? Why did you want to take me and not Juliet?’

  Edith crossed the room and put her arms around her son. Turning him to face her, putting her hand on his face, she whispered, ‘Because I loved you.’

  Traffic rumbled outside; a delivery cart rattled over the cobbles. Otto’s newspaper rustled. The words left unspoken seemed to suck the life from the room. James wanted to leave, to process this information. She loved him, not Juliet – just him. He looked around the room; Otto smoked his pipe in the large wingback chair beside the fire. Beautiful nature scenes covered the walls and the entire house felt cultured and welcoming. The smell of beeswax polish and apple wood logs burning merrily in the grate was inviting and homely. He loved Dunderrig, of course he did, but here he could be himself, an artist without any of the pressure to conform to what was expected of him. Had his father really been so heartless as to refuse Edith contact with them all those years?

  ‘So now you know the whole truth.’ Edith spoke without guilt or sadness. ‘What is it to be? Do you stay in Dunderrig and go back to study engineering or architecture, living out a life of boring repetition doing something that doesn’t excite or challenge you, something Richard deems suitable, or do you come here and follow your dream?’

  James turned to gaze out of the window once more, looking out at the world carrying on as if nothing had happened outside. He could feel the expectant gaze of his mother on his back, willing him to understand, to choose her over his father and Solange. James was under no illusion. If he decided to take up Edith and Otto’s offer, his father would be furious and deeply hurt. Even Solange, whom he had always relied upon to take his side, would never understand. He knew he was at a crossroads in his life. He could accept his mother’s explanation and allow her into his life, she would provide everything he would ever need in terms of his dream to become an artist, and would love him, it seemed, unconditionally
. The alternative was to reject her explanation and return to Dunderrig.

  His father would never understand his reunion with his mother, and neither would Solange or the Cantys. Juliet, while supportive of his career choice, had made her feelings quite clear on the subject of Edith.

  Whatever he decided, he realised, he was going to hurt someone.

  Chapter 22

  ‘Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.’

  Juliet tried to stay gazing up at Clark Gable as he dismissed Scarlet O’Hara.

  Normally, she became so engrossed in a film that everything else was ignored, but the intensely masculine presence of Ewan McCrae kept distracting her. His dark hair was swept back and cut in the military style; she glanced at him as often as she dared, hoping he didn’t catch her. He really was the most handsome man she had ever seen, including on the big screen. His dark blue eyes were like the sea in a storm, and she longed to run her hands down his muscular arm or put her hand on his leg. She smiled in the dark at her audacity – the nuns and Auntie Kitty would be appalled at her carnal instincts – but she knew Solange would be cheering her on if she could see her now. So far, Ewan had been the perfect gentleman – which both pleased and frustrated her. He didn’t try to put his arm around her or do anything that would have been unsuitable behaviour for a Sunday afternoon in her aunt’s parlour.

  As they stood in the foyer of the Astoria Cinema after the film, they watched the crowds dispersing into the night.

  ‘Well?’ Ewan asked. ‘Leslie Howard or Clark Gable?’

  ‘What about them?’ Juliet replied mischievously.

  ‘Which one of them would you choose if you could pick?’ Ewan casually offered her his arm as they walked out into the cool night air.