‘I understand,’ he said then took Pat to one side. ‘Don’t worry, this looks very promising. Things are moving, I know it, but it might take a while. Do you remember Bewley’s Café in Grafton Street that I pointed out to you?’ Pat nodded. ‘Wait for me there. I could be two hours or more, but you must stay there until I come. Do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ she said and briefly touched his arm, ‘be careful, William.’
Pat didn’t go directly to Bewley’s. Instead she wandered towards the Liffey and stood looking down into the dirty brown water, trying to collect her thoughts. She understood that William’s mission to gain help for Belfast was important, but this morning anxiety seemed to have gripped him – he ate no breakfast and had barely spoken to her. He always pushed himself hard and constantly worried about what could be done to protect Belfast, but now he was filled with a mixture of excitement and desperation as though something more hung in the balance.
Last night his behaviour had been erratic. When he had pulled her on to the bed she had been frightened by his caresses and passionate words, then suddenly he was on his feet pacing the room talking again about a chance to change the course of the war and asking forgiveness for treating her disrespectfully. But, in truth, she was sad when he told her to go back to her own bed and she had lain awake for hours, sick with love and longing to have his arms around her.
‘You’re troubled, I see.’ An old woman was standing a few yards away watching her. Her swarthy face was criss-crossed by deep lines, her head was covered with a black scarf. Pat walked away, but the woman called after her. ‘He’s a fine man, but he needs you to be his eyes and ears.’
Pat turned. ‘What do you mean?’
Sensing Pat’s uncertainty, the woman moved quickly towards her, her hand open. Another time in familiar surroundings Pat would have walked away. Instead, she took a sixpence from her purse. The old woman smiled and leaned in close. ‘Ach sure, he’s easy deceived. It’s up to you to watch over him.’
Pat stumbled backwards from the words and the whiskey breath.
In the café Pat chose a window seat to watch the street, hoping the coming and going would calm her. The gypsy had caught her off guard. What nonsense it was to be frightened, but she was glad that she’d given the woman money and avoided adding a curse to everything else she had to worry about. She ordered tea and it arrived on the table in an elegant flourish of silver pots and fine white china. The tablecloth had a fine weave and Pat reflected on how far she’d come from the Ulster Linen Works where she had painted designs on linen just like this. Now here she was in Dublin, a civil servant taking tea off the finest damask.
The teapot grew cold and there was no sign of William. The relaxed morning customers were replaced by the busy lunchtime crowd. She called the waitress and ordered more tea and a toasted teacake and went back to watching passers-by. She was struck by the dowdiness of the people compared to Belfast, but very occasionally she noticed someone of wealth and style, the exception to the rule, like the woman looking in the window of the jewellers down the street. Eau de nil dress, probably silk, a fitted navy jacket cinched at the waist. As Pat watched, the door of the jewellers opened and a man emerged. She caught her breath. William! The woman turned to watch him cross the road and as she did so she was joined by a man with his hat pulled low over his brow.
William arrived in the café looking more relaxed than she had seen him in weeks. ‘Have you eaten lunch? I’m starving.’
‘No, I’ve been waiting for you.’
‘I wasn’t too long, was I?’
‘No, not too long.’ Pat would have waited all day, three hours was nothing. ‘It went well?’ she asked.
His smile said it all. ‘Better than I could ever have hoped.’ He leaned across the table and whispered, ‘The papers outlining the agreement we reached are being drawn up. I’ll have them to take back to Belfast tomorrow morning.’
Pat wondered why there was a delay. Surely the agreement could have been drawn up this afternoon, but she didn’t want to dampen William’s elation.
‘So, we’ve the rest of the day to ourselves,’ he said and reached across the table to take her hand, ‘in fact we have the rest of our lives.’
The afternoon was glorious with clear blue skies and some warmth to the sun. They caught the tram to Phoenix Park, where they found a quiet grassy spot and spread their coats on the ground. They sat quietly for a while. William seemed distant and Pat was content to watch him as he no doubt turned over the events of the morning in his mind.
When he eventually spoke his words startled her. ‘Hard to believe that this was the scene of such brutal murders.’
Pat wondered if she’d heard him correctly. ‘Murders?’
‘In 1882 the chief secretary for Ireland and his permanent undersecretary were stabbed as they walked to that building over there. The murders changed the course of history. Some say they put an end to the Home Rule Bill that might have given a united Ireland a peaceful transition to independence.’
Pat examined the impressive building and thought how randomly history is written – important plans so carefully laid could be obliterated in a moment. As she watched, a woman as indistinct as a smudge of eau de nil in an impressionist painting walked across her line of sight and sat on a bench under a towering oak tree.
‘What are you thinking?’ asked William.
She could have mentioned the woman, but what was the point of something so insignificant when she knew William expected something more? She needed to find a way to speak of this strange and wonderful time they had spent together before it was gone forever. The intimacy of it all had both frightened and thrilled her. ‘Do you remember when you said you wanted to run away with me to Donegal? I never dreamt it would be like this.’
‘That’s because we’re in Dublin!’ he laughed.
‘I’m being serious,’ she chided. He put his arms around her and pulled her close and she was glad to be able to lean on his shoulder and speak her thoughts without him seeing her face. ‘When we’re at work I’m never sure what’s happening between us. Oh, I know we have to be formal and we’re dealing with sad things all the time, but sometimes I long for a smile or a kind word, anything to show you like me. I see that you’re furious with what’s happening in Belfast and I want to tell you I understand, but I’m scared you’d just turn away thinking I know nothing of what you’re going through. But I do, I see it in your eyes and the way your shoulders tense and your voice cracks with anger.’
‘Oh Pat, don’t you know? I couldn’t have got through these last months without you. If I didn’t show how I felt about you it was because–’
She put her finger to his lips. ‘It doesn’t matter, not since we were so close together in that little room all night. I lay there listening to your breathing and knew I’d only to cross the space between us and I could creep in beside you and feel your warmth. But I didn’t because that would have seemed …’ She knew of no words to explain what others would surely think. She willed herself to be bold and reached up to stroke his cheek. Bolder still, she spoke of the moment when she understood what love could be. ‘Last night when you took me into your bed and held me, I was frightened, but I know now that I shouldn’t have been.’
William took her hands and kissed both palms. ‘Pat, these last few days I’ve been entranced by you. I’ve been sitting in the meetings and, Lord knows, they’re so important, but I find myself struck by an image of you lifting your hair up from your face and letting it fall, or that sudden smile you give when you’re unsure. And today the memories of last night … it was wrong to do what I did and I’m glad I came to my senses before–’
‘I love you, William.’
‘Do you really? After all–’
She stopped him with a kiss.
When he spoke again, his voice was full of emotion. ‘And I love you, Pat, more than life itself.’
They had dinner at the Gresham Hotel: Dublin Bay prawns; steak au poivre; and a
bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. Pat was unaccustomed to such fine food and elegant surroundings, but she felt somehow that this world had been there waiting for her and now she was a part of it.
William had chosen each course, but when the dessert menu arrived he said, ‘Why don’t you choose for both of us.’
Pat read from the menu, ‘Peach Melba: a concoction of peach, meringue and raspberries, created and named for the famous Australian soprano. That’s the one I want.’
William laughed, ‘Perfect! For tonight you and I are Susanna and Figaro.’
‘Don’t tell me we’re singing for our supper!’ Pat laughed.
William was suddenly serious. ‘You’re so beautiful when you laugh. Aah, Pat, will you be Susanna to my Figaro?’
‘Of course I will, I love singing their opening duet with you,’ and she hummed the first few bars.
‘I was thinking more of the finale to act four,’ and softy he sang ‘La voce che adoro’.
Pat looked uncertain. ‘You mean–’
‘Pat, will you to marry me?’
The impact of his words was physical: her heart leapt, the room full of people seemed to disappear and there was only William’s face, full of love. He spoke again, as though she hadn’t heard, ‘I’m asking you to be my wife.’
Pat knew she had only to nod her head or whisper one word and William would be hers. She closed her eyes and held the delicious moment of exhilaration like the most perfect top C for as long as she could, then opened her eyes. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, ‘yes.’
‘Oh Pat, my darling, I promise I’ll make you happy.’ He placed on the table a small green box and inside, nestled on green satin, was a beautiful solitaire diamond ring.
Chapter 14
They finished the wine and drank champagne in the hotel lounge. Pat, unaccustomed to alcohol, was grateful to lean on William’s arm as they walked back to their hotel. The evening had turned chilly and the stars were sharp pinpoints of light in the clear night sky.
‘I hope there’s cloud over Belfast and not a bomber’s sky like this one,’ said William.
They turned into the hotel’s quiet street and William slowed to a stop.
‘What is it?’ asked Pat.
‘I’m not sure – listen. Is there a sound, something different?’
She heard nothing, but a sudden movement caught her eye. ‘William,’ she whispered, ‘there’s a man across the street watching us.’
He turned to look, but the man had already faded into the shadows.
‘Don’t be silly, darling. Let’s get inside,’ he said.
It felt like coming home, being back in their room again. Was it only yesterday that she had come here furious and embarrassed at the prospect of sleeping in the same room as a man? Now she longed for such intimacy with William who loved her. Emboldened by the wine and champagne she reached up and pulled him towards her. She had no idea how long they stood lips on lips, body to body, until he pulled away from her.
‘There’s something happening outside.’ He took her arms from his neck and went to the window. ‘I don’t know what it is. There are people on the road. I’ll go and have a look, you stay here.’ And he was out the door and away, before she could argue.
It was already after midnight and Pat thought about changing into her nightclothes, but decided against it. If there was something going on she’d be better able to deal with it fully dressed. She lay on the bed and wondered what had possessed him to go out into the street in a strange city at this hour?
He returned twenty minutes later, full of excitement. ‘The air-raid wardens have been ordered to their posts – there’s one at the end of the street. It seems a lot of planes have been flying over at high altitude.’
‘Germans?’
‘Yes, I think so; they often fly over Dublin to reach British cities. The planes that bombed Belfast would have come right up this coast.’
‘But why have they called out the ARP? They won’t bomb here, will they?’
‘I shouldn’t think so, although …’ he hesitated, not wishing to alarm her. ‘Although back in January they did drop some bombs to the south of the city.’
‘But why would they do that when Ireland’s a neutral country?’
‘True, but the Germans got a bit anxious that Ireland might be tempted to help the British by letting them have naval bases in the south.’
‘So was it a bit of a warning to the Irish to stay out of it?’
‘Hmm,’ said William and sat on his bed, deep in thought.
Pat heard it first and looked up at the ceiling, William did the same. It was a noise anyone from Belfast would instantly recognise – the drone of German planes low overhead. Seconds later, there was a loud whoosh followed by a bang and the room was bathed in light. William ran to the window, Pat followed and together they watched arcs of light flying upwards into the Dublin sky.
‘It’s all right,’ said William, ‘they’re just flares to tell the German pilots they’re over neutral territory.’
‘There’ll be an air-raid alert, won’t there, if there’s any danger?’ asked Pat.
‘I wouldn’t count on it. Remember how long it took in Belfast – the bombers were practically over our heads before the sirens sounded.’
Pat went lay down on her bed again and watched William silhouetted in the window. She must have dozed off because she awoke to the unmistakable sound of a bomb exploding some distance away. She was instantly on her feet. ‘Should we find a shelter?’ she shouted.
‘It’s probably too late for that now, best to stay here rather than be caught on the street. Get under the bed; it’s a strong metal frame and the mattress will protect you from flying glass. I’ll push mine next to it and there’ll be a wider canopy for you to shelter under.’
William grabbed her arm. ‘Quickly now.’
‘Wait a minute, are you not taking shelter?’
‘No, I’ve things to do. I want you to stay here until I come back for you.’
‘Where are you going?’ she cried.
‘To see if I can help.’
‘Help?’ Pat was incredulous. ‘This isn’t your responsibility. You’re not in Belfast now! Leave it to those on duty.’
‘Pat, those men at the ARP post haven’t a clue. I can get them organised; the sooner they’re sorted the more lives will be saved.’
‘I’m coming with you!’
‘You can’t, you’ll be in the way.’
‘I’m not staying here on my own.’
‘Yes you are. Now get under the bed. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
‘William, don’t go!’ she cried.
‘I have to, don’t you see? It’s what I do!’
Pat had no idea how long she lay under the bed. There were two more explosions, both of them further away than the first, and then, sometime after that, there was the terrifying sound of planes low over her head and, almost simultaneously, the deafening detonation of a huge bomb so close that it lifted both her and the bed off the floor. The pain in her eardrums was excruciating, and would have left her screaming in pain had it not been for the fact that the air had been sucked from her lungs. In a blind panic, struggling to breathe, she crawled to the blown-in window and lay there gasping for breath. When she had recovered a little, she pulled herself to her feet and looked out at the street. The sky was bathed in an orange glow.
Whether she would have followed William’s instructions and stayed there or acted on instinct and left the hotel in search of him, she would never know, because at that moment there was a sharp knock on the door. When she opened it, a woman brushed past her into the room.
‘You’re Patricia Goulding, yes?’ Her Dublin accent was refined and well-educated. She wore a tailored camelhair coat with a velvet collar, a cameo necklace just visible at her throat. Her hair and shoulders were dusted with ash.
‘Who are you?’ Pat demanded. ‘I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?’
The questions were ignored and the woman w
ent on, ‘Please get your coat and come with me.’
‘Now look here,’ said Pat, ‘I’m not going anywhere with you. I’ve no idea who you are, or–’
‘There isn’t time.’ The woman picked up Pat’s handbag from the dressing table and pushed it at her. ‘You’re to come with me.’
‘No! I’m waiting here for–’
‘William Kennedy, yes we know that, but he won’t be coming back.’
Pat’s eyes widened in fear. ‘Why, what’s happened? Is he all right?’
‘Get your coat and I’ll take you to him.’
A dark saloon car was parked outside the hotel with its engine running and it moved off at speed as soon as they got in.
‘Where are you taking me?’
‘To the Mater Hospital.’
Pat grabbed the woman’s arm. ‘Has something happened to William? Is he all right?’ Her voice rose in panic.
‘I don’t know.’ It was clear to Pat that she did.
‘Has he been hurt in the bombing?’
‘We’ll be there in ten minutes.’
The roads around the bombed area were clogged with emergency vehicles and people who were distressed and injured. Many injured people lay on the ground while others stood staring at the buildings that had been demolished or were ablaze. All the time Pat prayed, ‘Please, God, let him be all right.’
At the hospital, ambulance men were juggling stretchers, passing the blood-soaked injured through the crowds. Inside, the walking wounded queued at the desk, but many more lay on the floor, incapable of moving or speaking for themselves – the lucky ones lay on trollies. Those whose injuries were life-threatening were receiving treatment in one of the handful of cubicles. Pat scanned the room in horror, taking in the dead and dying; the bloody and mutilated; family members and friends, distressed beyond measure at the suffering of their loved ones.
‘William where are you?’ she screamed, but her cries were lost in the chaos.
Golden Sisters Page 15
