A Great Beauty

by A. O'Connor

  “How long do we have?” asked Kitty.

  “I should be getting back to Dublin before dark.”

  “How long will you be in London for?”

  “Who can tell?” He shrugged.

  “But it could be months. It might be months until I see you again . . . I can’t go through this again, Mick. The way I did with Harry when he went to America. I can’t live in this – limbo.”

  “But sure London isn’t like America. If it drags out, you can visit easily and I can come back to see you.”

  “In the middle of negotiations with Lloyd George?” she asked sceptically. “I’ve spent too long waiting for men – waiting for Harry and for you – I just can’t go through the waiting game any longer!”

  “Well, don’t wait then!” he said as his smile turned to a frown.

  Her heart jumped with fear thinking she had pushed him too far. That she had pushed him away.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, terrified of his answer.

  “Marry me … then you don’t have to wait.”

  Her eyes widened in shock. “You’re asking me …?”

  “I am asking you to marry me.”

  She jumped out of her chair, embraced him and kissed him.

  “Yes.”

  Michael had arranged for an automobile to take Kitty back to Longford that evening. As they stood in the forecourt of the hotel, another automobile was waiting to take Michael back to Dublin.

  “I’ll write to you every day,” he said.

  “Will you, Mick? Promise me? Even if you’re so busy you can only write a short note – that will do me, just to know you are alright.”

  “But of course I’ll be alright – aren’t I the luckiest man, getting engaged to the most beautiful girl in the world?” He smiled at her.

  “It’s I am the lucky one,” she said as she put her arms around him and kissed him.

  “I’d better go. They’ll be waiting for me in Dublin.”

  She nodded and whispered, “I love you, Mick.”

  “And I you.” He smiled at her as he helped her into the back of the automobile and closed the door.

  As the driver started the engine and they drove out of the forecourt, Kitty looked back at Michael standing there waving at her. She waved back at him until they turned the corner onto the open road.

  She felt happier than she ever had in life. But she couldn’t stop a feeling of terror overtaking her. She fought the overwhelming desire to tell the driver to turn back so she could beg Michael not to go to London.

  CHAPTER 36

  On the Monday, Michael and his party left Dublin for London. There was a large group of people travelling with him, from a publicity department to his squad of bodyguards to his assistants.

  When they arrived in England they were met by a police escort who took them to a private train supplied by the British government to take them to London.

  “If you need anything, then just call for us,” said their constable. “We’ll be in the front carriage.”

  “Thank you.”

  Michael watched them walk away before turning to Emmet and saying, “Keep two men posted at the door to our carriage – just in case.”

  The train began to depart from the station.

  “We should have checked the train to make sure there isn’t a bomb on it planted by Lloyd George,” said Michael, only half in jest as he looked around the luxurious carriage.

  “I wouldn’t put anything past them,” said his assistant Emmet.

  “The British government would never do that,” said their recently hired head of publicity, Malcom. “It would be a worldwide publicity disaster if anything happened to any of the Irish delegates while under the protection of the British government.”

  “Still, we are to remain on guard at all times.” Michael pulled back his jacket to show the gun he had inside. “We could be a target for anyone from a disgruntled British soldier who served in Ireland to a lunatic released from an asylum. We have been this country’s enemy for a long time and that still makes us targets – truce or no truce – particularly me as the press has focused on my part in waging the war.”

  “Speaking of the other delegates,” said Emmet, “rumours have been circulating that some of them are angry that you are bringing such a large contingent of people and that you have chosen to stay in a separate house in Chelsea, apart from the main headquarters of the Irish delegation.”

  “I couldn’t give a fuck if they are angry or not!” snarled Michael. “I don’t want to even be fucking here – so I’ll bloody well come on my own terms!”

  Michael sat back and stared out at the countryside as it whizzed past.

  The truth was he needed all these people, the people he relied on, who he had come to trust with his life over the years. He needed them around him to even be on that train. He was terrified of what lay ahead of him in London and he had no confidence that he would be capable of negotiating this treaty. The only thing that kept him strong was the thought of Kitty. They had agreed to keep their engagement secret. But he had to keep kicking himself to believe it. He was engaged to Kitty – he could soon begin to start living his life like normal people did.

  As the train pulled into Euston Station the British police officers who had been travelling on the train entered Michael’s carriage.

  “We have a police protection unit waiting to escort you to Chelsea, Mr. Collins. Perhaps my men can work with –” the chief officer glanced disparagingly at Michael’s squad of bodyguards lounging around the carriage, “with yours.”

  “It will be our pleasure!” called one of the bodyguards with a note of sarcasm in his voice.

  As Michael looked out at the platform he saw it was thronged with people.

  “We will have to move you quickly through the crowd, Mr. Collins, for your own safety,” said the police officer.

  When the train became stationary, he opened the carriage door.

  Looking out at the sea of faces, Michael said “Who are all these people? What are they waiting for?”

  “You! They’re waiting for you, Mick!” said Malcom, whose face always seemed agitated, his demeanour always stressed, his attire always immaculate.

  Michael was stunned at the size of the crowd.

  “That’s him! That must be Michael Collins!” screamed a woman and the gigantic crowd began to cheer and push forward.

  Michael’s bodyguards and the police quickly took control of the situation and he found himself being manoeuvred through the crowd.

  People were calling his name and surging forward to try and touch him. The press was there in force and they struggled to get near him.

  “How does it feel to be in London, Michael?” called a journalist.

  “Bless you, Michael!” came a scream from the crowd.

  As they approached the car, a pack of journalists were waiting there. Michael was pushed into the automobile by the policemen and his head of publicity got in beside him.

  “Get me the fuck out of here!” Michael shouted at the police driver.

  As the automobile started moving through the crowd people were jostling to get a view of him inside.

  “You can’t blame them, Mick,” said Malcom. “You’ve been an enigma for years – a name they couldn’t put a face to and suddenly here you are in full view.”

  “I spent years trying to hide my face and now they’ve all seen me,” said Michael in despair.

  “And the whole nation will see you tomorrow. You’ll be on the front page of every newspaper.”

  “Did they give the other delegates this reception when they arrived?”

  “No, but you’re the one they wanted to see. You know, everyone expected to see some kind of monster and instead they got a matinee idol. You’re going to be a star, Michael Collins.”

  Michael shook his head grimly. “It’s a long way from Cork.”

  As the cavalcade of automobiles arrived at Cadogan Place in Chelsea, Michael was shocked to see another huge c
rowd gathered outside the house they were to stay in. The house, 15 Cadogan Gardens, was one in a row of very large five-storey buildings.

  “I don’t like all this,” said Joe Dolan, one of Michael’s bodyguards who sat beside him in the vehicle. “This is a massive security risk – there could be any number of assassins in that crowd.”

  Michael understood Joe’s concerns. As one of Michael’s infamous Squad, he had spent the last years protecting and making sure he was hidden from view and danger. To a man like Joe, what was happening in London went against everything he had been trained to do over the past number of years.

  “We all need to calm down,” said Malcolm. “For God’s sake, don’t get trigger-happy and end up shooting a journalist – we don’t want a major diplomatic incident before we even sit down at the negotiating table!”

  “Where did you find this prick?” Joe whispered to Michael, causing him to burst out laughing.

  The automobile pulled up outside the house and the police who had been waiting there quickly pushed through the throng to open the car door. As Michael got out, he saw somebody had painted the words ‘Collins the Murderer’ across the pavement.

  “Michael – give us a few words! Do you expect the talks to go well?” cried one of the newspapermen.

  “It’s best you give them a quote – otherwise they’ll hang around the house for the rest of the day and night,” whispered Malcom.

  Michael nodded and, drawing a deep breath, turned on the steps leading into the house and faced the people. He raised a hand and the crowd fell silent in an instant.

  “Thank you! This is what we’ve been fighting for!”

  He stood there looking staring at this strange new world as the crowd erupted into full-throated cheering.

  “Well, at least it’s big enough anyway,” said Michael as he looked around the spacious house.

  “I apologise for the words painted on the footpath – we’ll have them cleaned off at once,” said the police officer.

  “Pity you couldn’t have cleaned them off before we arrived – some welcome!” snapped Joe.

  The police officer ignored him. “If there is nothing else, I shall leave you in peace. My men will be positioned at the front of the house for your security. If you need anything, please let them know.”

  Once he had left, Michael said to Joe, “Search the whole house – make sure it’s safe.”

  “Yes, Mick,” said Joe. He and the other bodyguards dispersed around the house.

  Michael wandered around from room to room.

  “All clear!” announced Joe, finding Michael in a bedroom on the top floor.

  Michael jumped in the air and landed on the beautiful big bed.

  “I’ll take this room!” he announced.

  “Ah, you’ve taken the best views!” complained Joe, looking out the window.

  Michael got off the bed and went over to the writing desk. He ran a finger over the beautiful writing paper waiting there. It would be from here he would write his letters to Kitty every evening.

  “Let’s see what there is to eat,” he said.

  As they scanned the larder Michael looked miserable.

  “Eggs! And bread!” he said, disgusted. “That’s all that’s here!”

  “Gone-off bread at that!” complained Kathleen, one of the secretaries, as she inspected it.

  “Lloyd George supplies us with a police escort and doesn’t think we might be starving when we arrive!” said Michael.

  “Probably a British ploy – starve us so we are weak when the negotiations start tomorrow!” said Liam, one of the other bodyguards.

  “Right!” said Michael, pulling up a chair and sitting down at the kitchen table. “Kathleen – take a note!”

  Kathleen sat down at the table with her notebook and pen and waited anxiously to take dictation for Michael as she had done countless times before. All of Michael’s party had gathered in the kitchen at this stage.

  “One slab of beef – two turkeys – six chickens – potatoes, bags and bags of potatoes – vegetables, turnips, cauliflower, parsnips …” Michael started laughing as he clapped his hands together. “One thing, lads, we won’t arrive weak from hunger at Downing Street in the morning. What else do we need – wine, twelve bottles – beer, six crates – what else, lads?”

  “Whiskey!” called one.

  “Brandy!” cried another.

  Kathleen stopped writing for a second, put up her hand and said, “Chocolate?”

  All the bodyguards roared together. “Yes – chocolate!”

  “Write it all down, Kathleen!” ordered Michael. “You’ll just about make Harrods if you’re quick. The police outside can give you a police escort up to Knightsbridge and bring back the shopping with you!”

  “Well, they did say ask if we needed anything!” said Joe, bursting out laughing.

  “I beg your pardon – Harrods? Is all this not going to cost a fortune?” said Malcom.

  “Of course it is – but, as Ireland’s Minister of Finance, I authorise payment,” announced Michael.

  “I’m not sure if the rest of the delegates staying at Hans Place would approve of the extravagance,” said Malcom.

  “That’s their business – what to approve or not to approve of. I can guarantee you Lloyd George is dining on the best tonight – and so will we.”

  CHAPTER 37

  The next morning Michael was in the drawing room in Cadogan Gardens riffling through paperwork with Kathleen and the other secretaries, preparing for the day ahead at Downing Street. The rest of the delegation in Hans Place would be collecting them on their way.

  “Have you got that last memo from Dev, Kathleen?” asked Michael.

  “Yes, it’s filed in this briefcase,” she confirmed.

  Malcom came into the room with a load of newspapers under his arm.

  He flung them down on the table in front of Michael.

  “I just went down to the newspaper stand in Sloane Square – you got all the front pages – The Times, Daily Mail, Daily Express – the lot!”

  Michael reached out for the newspapers and began to unfold them, his heart beating quickly as he saw his photograph on the front pages.

  “For fuck’s sake!” whispered Michael.

  “You’re famous, Mick!” said Kathleen excitedly.

  “I never expected – never wanted this,” mumbled Michael.

  As he looked around at his excited secretaries, typists and bodyguards poring over the newspapers, he knew they couldn’t understand the turmoil this was causing for him. They were the people he was closest to in the world, friendships forged through the fighting of a war over the past few years. But he still couldn’t confide in them his feelings on feeling totally exposed and vulnerable with this publicity. It was because he was their leader – they expected him to be strong and belligerent – he couldn’t let that image ever slip in front of them. If they ever saw him as vulnerable and weak, then they too would feel vulnerable and weak and the cause would be lost.

  “Will you clear this shite away from me!” he said, sweeping the newspapers on the floor. “I have to get my notes ready to meet Lloyd George and I have no time to be admiring myself in newspapers!”

  Everyone in the room erupted in laughter as they promptly continued with their work.

  “They’re here!” shouted Joe, looking out the window.

  “Right!” nodded Michael, standing up and going to look out the window. A row of automobiles was waiting there. “I’m to travel in the first car with Griffith and Childers. Joe, Liam, Kathleen – there’s room for the three of ye in the last automobile. The rest of ye remain here.”

  Michael bit his lower lip as he saw there was a large crowd gathered outside again and the press were waiting.

  He went to the front door and breathed in deeply.

  “Best of luck, Mick!” said one of the typists as she leaned up and kissed his cheek. “We’re all depending on you – we all believe in you.”

  “Thanks, M
ary,” he whispered and winked at her before nodding at Joe to open the door.

  Michael walked confidently down the steps.

  “There he is!” shouted a journalist and there was a rush towards him.

  The police were either side of him as he strode confidently towards the first car in the procession. A woman suddenly broke free of the crowd and raced to him – flinging her arms around him, she kissed him.

  Michael looked at her, startled, as the police manhandled her away and ushered him into the front automobile.

  Arthur Griffith and Erskine Childers were seated inside, Arthur looking every bit the statesman with his large moustache and spectacles and sincere face. Although he was only fifty, he seemed older than his years, and Michael worried that the strain over the past few years had taken its toll on his health. Erskine always seemed to have a permanent pained look on his stern face. Today his sharp features were set in an uncompromising expression.

  “Good morning, Michael, so glad you could join us!” said Arthur with a bemused air.

  “This place is a bloody circus!” said Michael as the automobile drove away with the crowd rushing after them.

  As the cavalcade of automobiles made its way through London to Downing Street, the footpaths along the way were teeming with well-wishers. Michael looked out the window in awe at everyone from schoolchildren to adults clapping and cheering or waving Irish flags or banners. Priests and nuns were praying along the route while choirs sang.

  “Where have all these people come from?” gasped Michael.

  “Most of them are Irish, I would say,” said Arthur, looking out at them.

  “Or communists!” joked Erskine.

  “Is there anyone left in Ireland or are they all here for the day!” exclaimed Michael. “We can’t let them down this time … we just can’t. We have to bring an everlasting peace.”

  “Well, it takes two sides to make an everlasting peace, Michael,” said Erskine.

  “Well, give them a wave, Michael – that’s what they want from you!” urged Arthur.