by A. O'Connor
Hazel riffled through the cards. “Invitations to openings, galas, dinner parties …” She pulled a card from the bunch. “Cordelia Wrighton! An invitation to her house for a dinner party!”
“Yes – do you know her?”
“Of course I do – as does half the regiment of the Grenadier Guards! No, no, no to Cordelia! That is not an association you want to make, I can assure you! Cordelia would do anything to get her face in the newspaper. She has about as much interest in Irish affairs as I have in learning Swahili!”
Michael burst out laughing.
“Leave Cordelia and these others to me – I will see you right, rest assured!” said Hazel.
Hazel stood at the front door and waved Michael off. She closed the door behind her and slowly walked down the hallway. John came out of the dining room.
“When he reached into his inside jacket pocket, I froze for a moment, thinking he was reaching for a gun and might shoot us!” said John. “I was relieved when he just produced those invitation cards!”
“Tut-tut, John!” Hazel was not amused by his comment.
“You love it, don’t you?” he said, smiling at her.
“Love what?”
“Taking a cause or a politician under your wing. It reminds me of when I get a new subject to paint – it kind of takes one over.” He laughed as he headed up the stairs to his studio.
Hazel bit her lower lip as she admitted to herself that Michael was far more than a ‘new subject’. She could not understand the feelings he was stirring in her, but she could not wait to go to the Brompton Oratory the next morning to see him at Mass again.
Later that morning, when Michael arrived at Downing Street, his thoughts were preoccupied not with the treaty but with Hazel. He had never met somebody who believed in him so much before. He couldn’t imagine Kitty speaking to him like that – she would be too conscious of giving him a big head. But here in London, like a fish out of water, he was in no danger of getting a big head. He hadn’t realised it before, but he desperately needed support and unconditional encouragement such as Hazel was giving him.
As he stepped out of the automobile and saw the crowd of people and journalists waiting there for him as usual, he didn’t scurry into No. 10 as he always had before. He took his time. He smiled at them. He held his head high and even flicked back his hair as he had always done at home but had forgotten how to do in London. Waving at the press, he headed indoors.
“Absolutely not!” Winston Churchill said in a dismissive and angry fashion, causing the other diners in the restaurant at Claridge’s hotel to look over at the table where Winston was dining with Hazel.
“But why ever not, Winston?” asked Hazel.
“Because I have no desire to break bread with a man who has ordered the killing of countless of our proud army. I would choke on my pudding!”
“I don’t think there is anything to be proud of about the Black and Tans, Winston! A ragbag of rejects and ex-prisoners you cobbled together and let loose on Ireland. It’s an insult to the brave British army who won the Great War to be associated with them!”
“This is utterly untrue! I am shocked to hear you parrot that unfounded rumour! The so-called ‘Black and Tans’ are ex-army veterans who themselves fought in the Great War. And I am very surprised at you, Lady Lavery, the wife of a knight of this realm, having Michael Collins and the rest to dinner at such a salubrious salon as yours!”
“I don’t know why you are surprised – we’ve already had them all to have their portraits painted and I have given them an open invitation since the negotiations began.”
“You are playing with fire, Hazel,” Winston warned.
“Well, then so is your private secretary as he has accepted my invitation.”
“Eddie! Eddie Marsh is going to this – this – debacle?” Winston was outraged.
“He most certainly is. And don’t you dare try to intimidate him or force him to decline at this stage, or you will have me to answer to. You are behind the times, Winston. Dinner with Michael Collins is a hot ticket.”
“You can say that again!” snapped Winston.
“Half the society ladies in London have pleaded with him to attend their events – including a royal.” “I’ve always been of the opinion that half the society ladies in London are quite mad – you have just confirmed my long-held suspicions!”
“Be serious, Winston, for a moment. You’ve met Michael Collins quite a few times now at the conference table – what is your opinion of him?”
“Well, he’s just a – an intelligent, I’ll give him that – passionate – ambitious – peasant boy!”
“Winston! Michael is so much more than that, and you know it! He’s the acting Minister for Finance in Ireland. And he brought the British empire to its knees!”
“In my opinion, he’s a lout. He has no breeding, he is emotional –”
“Emotional?”
“Yes, very emotional … at the conference table, he gets too worked up. Too emotional!”
“Well, he’s not a cold fish like the rest of you! And that’s his strength, Winston. Can’t you see how the public can’t get enough of him? He’s got quality – and if you don’t see that soon and embrace it, then all will be lost with your treaty!”
“He might not be a cold fish, but he is a fish out of water. He’s dangerous, Hazel. He’s like a bomb ready to go off – and anybody who is standing too close will get caught in that explosion. And it will explode one day, Hazel, make no mistake about that. You have been warned.”
Hazel was sitting at the desk in her living room as she went through the invitations for the party. Gordon stood waiting.
“I think that is everyone – a nice eclectic mix. I always find the best ingredient for a successful night is to have as varied an invitation list as a menu! Speaking of which – Cook is fully versed?”
“Yes, my lady – all is in hand,” Gordon confirmed.
“Good. I know we are well used to entertaining, Gordon, but I cannot stress how important it is that everything is perfect for this night.”
“Have no doubt it will be perfect, my lady.”
“Gosh, is that the time?” she said, looking up at the clock and spinning out of her chair. “I’m meeting Michael at Savile Row in half an hour!”
Hazel sat in the elegant tailor’s establishment in Savile Row as Michael was measured for suits and the staff displayed different materials.
“Oh, yes, that’s perfect,” said Hazel as she reached over and felt one cloth. “Don’t you think, Michael?”
“It all looks a bit the same to me – black is black no matter how you look at it!”
“But it’s the quality of the tailoring and material that matters, Michael. Having said that, I get your point.” She turned to the store manager. “Can we see something in pinstripe and navy and black tie as well. And the black tie must be ready by Friday.”
“Very good, Lady Lavery. We shall be back with a selection shortly,” said the manager as he and his staff scurried off to search for different materials.
Michael sat down on the armchair beside Hazel.
“You will look dashing – dashing, I tell you!” said Hazel.
“I’ll take your word for it,” Michael said, raising his eyes to heaven.
She leaned towards him conspiratorially. “Unfortunately, I could not get Winston to agree to come to the dinner, try as I did. Same for Lloyd George, though I never thought he would come anyway, but their private secretaries and a lot of their cohorts will be there – so these are the men – and women – that you need to impress. Winston and Birkenhead have huge prejudices against you, seeing you as little more than a terrorist despite the publicity you are receiving in London.”
“Or because of it!” retorted Michael.
She leaned even closer and lowered her voice. “I’ve heard back – through my sources – that they see you as being somewhat emotional at the conference table.”
“Emotional?” He was sho
cked.
“Shouting one minute, nearly crying the next,” she explained.
“That’s me! I don’t pretend to be a cold fish – I wear my heart on my sleeve!”
“Darling, treaty negotiations are not the place to wear your heart on your sleeve. It’s a place where you should keep your cards close to your chest. It all adds up to you not being seen as a safe pair of hands for a new republic to be left in. If you want to convince the British that Ireland can stand on its own two feet as an independent and sovereign nation, then you need to come across as capable of leading that nation without falling apart!”
Michael stared at the wall in front of him as he thought hard.
“This party is a perfect opportunity to show your warmth and strength – to show the real wonderful you,” she said as she reached forward and squeezed his hand.
“Don’t forget – Friday morning is the latest for the delivery for that black-tie suit!” said Hazel as she and Michael left the store.
“It will be ready, Lady Lavery,” promised the manager.
Joe and Liam were waiting in the automobile outside the store. Parked in front of them was Hazel’s luxury Armstrong Siddeley automobile.
As she made her way to her vehicle Michael gave a long low whistle.
“Is this yours?” he asked, circling the car as he inspected it.
“It sure is,” she said as she got into the driver’s seat.
“Where’s your chauffeur?”
“I rarely use one. I am quite capable of driving myself – even in high heels!”
Michael burst out laughing.
“Hop in and I’ll give you a lift back,” she said.
“But what about the lads?”
“They can follow us!”
“I’m getting a lift back with the lady, lads. You can do what you want!” Michael shouted back at them before jumping into the passenger seat.
“Hold on tight!” advised Hazel as they took off down the street.
CHAPTER 43
It was the night of the party and Michael had changed into his black-tie suit. He sat at his bureau to quickly write a letter to Kitty. He managed to write just a few lines before realising he would be late if he didn’t leave. He signed off the letter and stuffed it in an envelope before sliding it into his inside pocket, hurrying out of the room and downstairs.
“Is it Rudolph Valentino?” called one of the bodyguards.
“No, more like Douglas Fairbanks Junior!” called another.
“Is that a fact?” said Michael. It was hard to know if he was angry or not. “We’ll see who’ll be laughing in a minute!”
Suddenly he jumped on one of the bodyguards and wrestled him to the floor.
“You’ll ruin your suit, Mick!” cried Kathleen.
“Sorry, sorry!” pleaded the bodyguard, laughing.
Michael released him and stood up.
“You look great, Mick. Do us proud!” Kathleen whispered to him.
“Thanks, Kathleen.” He pulled out the envelope. “Get this in the post in the morning, please.”
“Alright,” she said, taking the envelope.
The bodyguards who Michael had been jesting with a couple of minutes before were suddenly serious as they escorted him out of the building and into the automobile to take him to Cromwell Place.
Kitty glanced down at the envelope, already knowing what address would be on it: Miss Kitty Kiernan, The Greville Arms Hotel, Longford, County Longford, Ireland.
Hardly one day had gone by without Michael posting a letter to this woman. And as Kathleen sorted his post each day, she knew he received a letter each day from the same writer. She knew, or strongly suspected this writer was Michael’s sweetheart, but for such an emotionally open man, he never talked about it and Kathleen suspected that the love story between Mick and this woman was not that straightforward.
Kathleen had heard the others in the house begin to gossip about this woman, Lady Lavery, as well. They said Michael met her at Mass each morning and that he had become a regular visitor to her home. One of the bodyguards said she was stunningly beautiful and she seemed to have cast a spell over Michael. Kathleen didn’t know what was going on, but she hoped Michael knew what he was doing.
The drawing room at Cromwell Place was filled with elegant guests. But out of all the well-known and famous faces that had gathered there, there was only one person who everybody was interested in meeting and that was Michael Collins.
Hazel led Michael around the drawing room and introduced him.
“Michael, this is James, better known as J.M. Barrie, creator of Peter Pan. I take it you know it was the nephew of your acquaintance Crompton Llewelyn Davies who inspired the character of Peter?”
“I am so pleased to meet you, Michael. I’ve been following your adventures in the press since you arrived in London,” said James, shaking his hand.
“Adventures? You make me sound like Peter Pan myself!” said Michael, causing those around him to laugh.
“Now your adventures, Michael, are something I would very dearly like to hear first-hand!” said James.
“Do not tell him a word, Michael!” ordered Hazel good-naturedly. “Unless you want to end up being cast as a hero in one of his books!”
“As long as I’m cast as a hero, then I don’t mind. It’s being continually cast as a villain that I object to,” said Michael and again the crowd around him burst out laughing.
John circulated amongst the guests as well, entering into small talk with them.
“I hear your portrait of Mr. Collins is outstanding,” said Thelma, their well-heeled neighbour at Cromwell Place.
“Thank you, Thelma,” said John. “I was just grateful to have the opportunity to paint it.”
Thelma watched Hazel and Michael intently as they mingled with the guests.
“They do make a handsome couple, don’t they?” she said, her eyes narrowing.
John blinked a few times as he looked across at Hazel and Michael.
“I do admire you, John, I really do,” said Thelma.
“In what way, Thelma?”
“Your tolerance … the never-ever-ending amount of men Hazel continues to parade in front of you – and they get younger and more attractive all the time!”
Thelma put down her empty glass on a console table and walked away, leaving John staring at Hazel as she laughed with Michael.
Gordon went hurrying from the drawing room and down the hallway where he encountered two footmen carrying trays of food aloft.
“As soon as you have served those, get more champagne opened and start refilling glasses!” he ordered, his face stressed.
“Yes, sir!” said the footmen as they hurried into the drawing room.
“Michael, try this beluga caviar!” said Hazel as she scooped some up and handed it to him.
“Do you like beluga caviar, Michael?” asked a guest.
Michael took the caviar and ate it before saying, “I do now!” causing everyone to laugh.
Hazel left Michael’s side and went over to Shane Leslie who was busy helping himself to lobster though his eyes never left Michael.
“Well, Shane – what do you think?” asked Hazel leaning against a sideboard and crossing her arms as she too observed Michael entertain her guests.
“I think he is charming – absolutely charming!” said Shane.
“Isn’t he just?” said Hazel, her eyes twinkling as she stared at Michael.
“And I must say, with no doubt a little instruction from you, he has taken to socialising with the crème de la crème like a fish to water,” said Shane.
“This is how we win peace, Shane.”
“Through caviar and champagne?” he said sarcastically.
“Through getting to know the other side and not seeing them as ogres … alas, I could not convince Winston to come, or Birkenhead for that matter … and as for Lloyd George!” Hazel rolled her eyes.
“Well, I have no doubt there are enough of their friends here to
report back every detail – and, I daresay, although they would never admit it even to themselves, they will be a tad jealous they missed the night. I, for one, cannot wait to tell cousin Winston about everything!” He smirked at her.
“Dear Shane, what would I do without you?” She kissed his cheek.
He moved closer to her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s leave this lot for a while, Hazel, and find a private corner.”
His hand moved down her back.
“Shane! You are incorrigible – don’t you ever give up!” she said as she moved away. “I’d better get back to my guest of honour.”
“Oh, that’s what he is now, is he?” said Shane, allowing the jealousy to show on his face. “I wonder, if dear Mr. Collins placed his hand on your behind, would you be quite so quick to remove it?”
Hazel rolled her eyes again. “Maybe a little less of the champagne for now, Shane? And more of the caviar. You’ll thank me in the morning for that advice.”
He watched as she walked away from him through the crowd, making a beeline for Michael. He grabbed another glass of champagne from a passing footman as he watched Michael and Hazel laughing together.
After a while, Hazel felt guilty that she might have been neglecting the other Irish delegates and forced herself to leave Michael’s side and go chat to them.
Thelma then managed to join the group of people surrounding Michael and gently elbowed the others around him away until she had cornered him in a one-to-one conversation.
“Of course I’ve always had a keen interest in Irish affairs,” she said. “We were once due to go on holiday to Killarney. But – alas – then the troubles broke out, so we had to go to Normandy instead.”
“Really?” said Michael as he watched Hazel deep in conversation with Arthur Griffith.
To Thelma’s frustration, no matter how much she tried to use her beguiling beauty, she kept losing Michael’s attention as his eyes kept wandering in Hazel’s direction.