by A. O'Connor
“I see.”
They reached the bottom of the stairs and walked across the hallway to the front door where they halted and faced each other.
“So that is now all the Irish delegates caught on canvas,” said Hazel. “Apart from the continued exception of Mr. Erskine Childers!”
“Ah, I think you’ll never get him in here – he would not succumb – not even to the great charms of Lady Lavery!” Michael’s voice dripped sarcasm.
But the sarcasm was lost on Hazel. “Oh dear! Such a pity!” she said.
He looked at her, puzzled. He usually used wit and sarcasm with women, and found they enjoyed giving as good as they got. But Hazel seemed not to work like that.
“Childers has sworn off fraternising with the enemy,” said Michael.
“Well, I am not the enemy,” said Hazel, looking hurt. “I’m his friend, if he let me be. I’m friend to all of you – if you could just understand that I want to help – and I am in a position to help. The Irish cause is very dear to me – it means everything to me.”
“It’s just hard to understand a great lady like you, with no real connections to modern Ireland, wanting to identify herself so much with us … I don’t say that to be cruel or rude, but just to try to understand.”
“Yes, I do identify with you – I have even converted to Catholicism. Michael, Ireland runs through my veins as much as yours – I won’t be shut out or worn down or frightened off. I’m in it for the long haul.”
He stared at her with a sense of awe and wonder.
“So, if you need anything – anything at all – you come here to me,” she said. “You know where I am now.”
“Thank you,” he said, opening the door. He paused. “You’ve converted to Catholicism, you say. You know, I’m not very religious, but I promised a priest before I left Dublin that I would attend Mass every morning and pray for success. I go to the Brompton Oratory – just up the road from here – for eight o’clock Mass. Do you ever go there?”
“Yes, I do – it’s such a wonderful church.”
“Well, I might see you there,” he said with a grin as he walked out.
She watched him hurry out and into the waiting automobile. Then suddenly they were gone.
She turned around and closed the door then leaned against it, her mind spinning.
She had been mesmerised by Michael. Shocked by the power his presence exerted on her.
He had sat for his portrait now and she should draw a line under it and him. But she knew she couldn’t – his magnetism was too powerful.
All that evening Michael couldn’t get Hazel out of his head. The way she had walked down the staircase when he saw her first with the light from the window at the top of the landing streaming down around her. She had looked magical. Her beauty had stunned him, and almost frightened him. Her confidence and allure and the way she had told the story from her childhood … He had never given Lady Lavery a thought previously, except to wonder was she a British spy. Now he realised what all the fuss was about and why she had London society at her feet.
He sat at the bureau in his bedroom, writing a letter to Kitty. He described having his portrait done that day. He smiled to himself as he knew that would entertain Kitty much more than any descriptions of the events that were unfolding in Downing Street each day during the negotiations.
He put down his pen and looked out the window as his thoughts switched back to Hazel.
“Mick – dinner is served!” came a shout from downstairs.
“Coming!” he replied.
He smiled to himself. He expected it to be another evening and night of high jinks. The fun they were all having at Cadogan Gardens was immense and he was so glad he had insisted on his own house for his own people. He could only imagine the austere and dutiful atmosphere up at Hans Place where the other delegates were staying. His staff, his people, worked bloody hard, were dedicated to the cause, were completely trustworthy and loyal, and deserved to have time in the evenings when they could unwind and enjoy themselves. He had ordered several more hampers from Harrods that day.
CHAPTER 41
Hazel attended Mass next morning at the Brompton Oratory. She entered the magnificent church, chose a pew and kept alert, looking to see if Michael would attend. To her delight she saw him arrive in just before the priest came out on the altar. He sat across the aisle from her, spotted her and gave a small wave over. She smiled and gave a discreet wave back as the organ music began to play.
As the Mass ended and the priest left the altar, Hazel stepped out onto the aisle and waited for Michael to join her.
“What an amazing church and wonderful Mass,” he said.
“I find it so,” she replied.
They walked down the aisle and out onto the street.
“What time are you in Downing Street today?” she asked.
“Eleven. Can I offer you a lift home?” He pointed to his automobile which had two of his bodyguards waiting inside.
“It’s only a few minutes’ walk and it’s such a nice morning I thought I’d stroll back,” she said. “Would you like to join me – if you have time?”
“Yes, I would, thank you,” he said, and signalled to the driver to follow them at a distance.
They walked on side by side.
“How is the portrait?” asked Michael.
“Excellent! John is very pleased with it, he says.”
Michael was wearing a trilby hat and kept his head down as his eyes darted from right to left.
“You should not be scared of your fame, Michael,” she said.
“It’s not fame I’m afraid of but an assassin’s bullet!”
“Yes, it must be very unsettling. You are in a unique position of being loved by so many and hated by so many as well.”
“Unique isn’t the word I’d use for it!” smirked Michael.
“But I do also think you are frightened of the fame that you have found – or rather the fame that has found you. But it is an asset and you should use it.”
“How?”
“Fame is power. I should know, I’ve had it long enough. It has brought me to where I want to go, given me access to people and places … and your fame will do the same for you, if you use it correctly and wisely.”
“I don’t think fame is an asset – it’s a curse. Having people chase you around all the time – it’s awful!”
“It’s just very intense and new for you. But it’s power, Michael, never underestimate that. Everyone wants to know you and know about you – that’s a huge advantage in dealing with Lloyd George and the British delegation.”
“In what way?”
“Each headline and article that appears of you in a newspaper adds to your power. They can’t ignore you, not when you command that much attention. It’s your currency and only a few people have the ability to get it. I’ve had it myself for many years and you have it now. Use it wisely.”
“I could be on the front page of the newspapers every day of my life and Lloyd George wouldn’t respect me. Every time I walk in to meet them, I feel their eyes on me, Churchill and Birkenhead, looking down on me – seeing me as a peasant boy.”
“Winston and Birkenhead are aristocrats who see you as a murderer and the enemy – they always will, unless they get to know you personally and you can prove otherwise. Lloyd George has a lot more in common with you than you might think. His father died when he was young, like yours, and he was brought up by a widowed mother like you. He is Welsh, a fellow Celt, who worked up the ladder like you. He was even involved in having the Welsh get Home Rule when he was younger. He’s more a kindred spirit of yours than you think, Michael!”
“I never looked at it like that. I just see this bunch of toffs looking down on me.”
“You must never let them see or sense that. If they sense that, they will smell blood. These are incredibly experienced negotiators. Lloyd George is fresh from the Versailles Treaty for goodness’ sake! They will try and take advantage of your yout
h and relative inexperience. But they are also frightened of you, Michael. You cracked British Intelligence and reduced it to a laughingstock. They know how intelligent you are – and you should never stop reminding them of your intelligence either!”
They turned into Cromwell Place from Brompton Road.
“Ah, here we are – home! Won’t you come in for breakfast?” she asked.
“No, I’d better be on my way – but, thank you, Hazel. Thank you for the advice.”
“It’s my pleasure,” she said, smiling at him.
He turned and signalled. His automobile zoomed up beside him and he jumped into the back.
He smiled and waved at Hazel as she stood at her front door and rang the bell.
All Hazel could do for the rest of the day was think about Michael. She had actively pursued him for so long that it seemed surreal that she had finally managed to have captured him for the portrait. Like everyone else she had built up this impression of what Michael would be like. The most surprising thing was that at the back of her mind she had expected to be disappointed when she had finally got to meet him. He had been built up to be such an enigma that he could hardly be anything but a disappointment. The fact that not only was he not a disappointment but surpassed even the wildest exaggerations of her imagination left Hazel feeling intoxicated and exhilarated.
Hazel looked in awe at John’s portrait of Michael in his studio.
“Well – is it a good likeness?” he asked.
“You know it is,” whispered Hazel. “It’s wonderful. It captures him perfectly – the determination, the vision, the sincerity mixed with the slightest tinge of vulnerability.”
“I am just glad the fellow managed to sit still long enough for me to paint him! Imagine, having finally got Collins into my studio I was unable to paint him as he had ants in his pants!”
“I believe it is just his nature. He was the same when I walked back with him from Mass this morning. It’s only to be expected when he has been living as a fugitive for so long.”
“You met him at Mass this morning?”
“Yes, at the Brompton Oratory. I think I shall attend tomorrow morning as well.”
John shook his head in amusement. “This newfound religious zeal has nothing to do with your determination to be the first hostess in London to land Mr. Collins as a dinner guest?”
“Well, the competition is intense out there, John! A girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do! I’ve even heard Edith wants to meet him now!”
“Paah! Edith may want but it will be over Charlie’s dead body that a Fenian will ever get over the threshold of Londonderry House!”
“You might be surprised, John!”
CHAPTER 42
The next morning Hazel sat in a pew before Mass at the Brompton Oratory, anxiously looking out for Michael. She couldn’t see him and, as the priest walked on to the altar and the congregation stood, she felt her heart sink in disappointment. Suddenly a large figure stepped into the pew and she looked up to see Michael there standing beside her. They exchanged warm smiles and blessed themselves as the Mass began.
Afterwards, Michael walked Hazel back to Cromwell Place again.
“It is like we are at an impasse with the negotiations,” he said. “Lloyd George is very good at making you feel he is giving you what you want when in fact he is giving you the crumbs off the table and keeping everything for himself!”
“Yes, well, that’s why they call him the Welsh Wizard. His skills in negotiation are extremely well honed after Versailles and I imagine he thinks of the Irish delegation as easy pickings after what he had to deal with there. When I first met him I came away from the meeting under the impression he had agreed with everything I said, only to find out a couple days later that he was only pacifying me and didn’t agree with me at all!”
“So how do you deal with somebody like that?” questioned Michael, his own mind searching for an answer.
“My impression of Lloyd George is that he is pragmatic. He wants peace in Ireland, but he told me that he cannot give Ireland independence because it would mark the beginning of the end of the empire. Full Irish independence then is something he just cannot possibly give.”
“And anything less is not acceptable to us,” sighed Michael.
“Hence the impasse!” said Hazel as they reached her front door. “Won’t you come and see the portrait – it’s almost finished now.”
Michael glanced back at Joe trailing them in the automobile and nodded. “I’d love to see it.”
Michael looked at his portrait in amazement. “I think you’re flattering me, Sir John!”
“If anything, it doesn’t do you justice!” said Hazel.
“Now you’re flattering me!” said Michael.
“I’m very pleased with it,” said John. “And please dispense with the formalities – my name is John.”
“Alright – John,” agreed Michael.
“We are just about to have breakfast – won’t you join us?” urged Hazel, an almost pleading look on her face.
He glanced at his watch. “I’d love to. But my men, they haven’t eaten yet.”
“Gordon will make sure they are all taken care of, I can assure you!” gushed Hazel.
As Hazel, John and Michael sat having a breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon, Michael looked around at the splendid room which was on the ground floor with views to the street in front as well as the gardens to the rear. But he was wishing he was back in the Kiernan house having a slap-up breakfast with Kitty and her family. Where he could be himself and relax and have a laugh at their daft maid Molly.
“More tea?” asked Hazel, not waiting for the answer as she filled his cup. “As I’ve said before, please feel free to come here any time to have your breakfast, lunch or dinner.”
“We have an excellent cook who likes to be kept busy so, as Hazel says, please do avail!” said John.
“I imagine you haven’t been taking care of yourself since arriving in London,” said Hazel. “With your busy schedule, you’ve probably been skipping mealtimes.”
As Michael thought of the constant bills arriving from Harrods, he smiled to himself, thinking nothing could be further from the truth.
“You are very kind,” he said, smiling at both of them.
“I’ve been thinking about the impasse you speak of,” said Hazel. “I honestly don’t think it will be broken over the conference table at Downing Street. It is too formal, too intimidating for both sides. I’m going to suggest a dinner party here and invite you all – although I’d say I won’t get Lloyd George to attend – he’ll be too wary of how it might look. But I am sure I can get Winston and Lord Birkenhead – and certainly Winston’s secretary Eddie Marsh and Lloyd George’s private secretary Philip Sassoon – both dear friends of mine. The private secretaries are often the eyes and ears of their bosses – they hold great sway.”
“I’m not very good at big social occasions,” Michael said. “I wouldn’t know what to say to such people socially.”
“Michael!” Hazel reached out and put her hand on his for a second, causing both of them to be startled by the touch. “This is my very point! How can you expect to strike a deal and find common ground if both sides are not prepared to get to know each other – as men – as people!”
“Hazel is right,” said John. “And we could pepper the guest list with some leading figures from the arts. J.M. Barrie and George Bernard Shaw if they available, amongst others. What do you think, Michael?”
“That would be interesting,” he said, brightening. “I admire both of them.”
“Excellent.”
“You are a statesman now, Michael – and a very important one,” said Hazel. “You can’t hide away and be socially shy or awkward. Let us be honest, Arthur Griffith is supposed to be chairman of the Irish delegation, but he is tired and older. It is you who need to take command and who everyone expects to take command. You are a future leader – Prime Minister, President, call it what you wil
l – of Ireland once independence is achieved.”
“President!” Michael looked at her, shocked. “It’s Dev is President, Hazel! I’m just the military, a soldier!”
“You forget I have met De Valera last summer and I can assure you, Michael, you stand head and shoulders over him as a future leader. Now accept your destiny and begin to prepare for it!” She slammed her fist on the table.
Michael looked at her in shock. He didn’t know if she was deluded, insincere or prophetic. However, her words and the way she delivered them were making him excited. He was seeing himself in a new light. While he looked at Hazel as she continued to speak in an animated fashion about him, her eyes widening in excitement, her hands dancing in the air, he felt hugely flattered that a woman as beautiful, connected and intelligent as her would think so highly of him.
She clicked her fingers as she pointed at his suit. “Clothes!”
He looked down at his suit. “What about them?”
“Your suits are perfectly adequate. But do you want to be – perfectly adequate? As an international statesman, you should be arriving in Downing Street in top tailored suits.”
“That is what Lloyd George and Winston will be wearing,” John said.
“I shall take you to Bond Street shopping,” said Hazel.
“Clothes maketh the man!” said John.
“My sister Hannie was suggesting the same thing,” said Michael as he looked down at his suit.
“A wise woman!” remarked Hazel.
“I wonder, Hazel, if I could ask a favour of you?” said Michael.
“Anything!”
“I wonder could you take a look through all of these and see what’s what?” He reached into his inside pocket, took out a stack of cards and handed them to her. “I was going to give them to one of my secretaries to go through – but, sure, they would only know as much about London society as I do!”