A Great Beauty

by A. O'Connor

  “She’s not as young as she looks, you know,” she eventually said out of frustration.

  “I’m sorry?” asked Michael, his eyes darting back to her.

  “Hazel! I have it on very good authority from a friend in Chicago who knew her as a child that she is – in fact – past forty!”

  Michael blinked several times. He was not sure if he was more shocked by this revelation of Hazel’s supposed age, as she did indeed look closer to thirty, or by Thelma’s glorious act of bitchy betrayal of her hostess.

  “Also – this ‘quotation’ that is always being bandied about – that she was known as ‘the most beautiful girl in the Midwest’ is poppycock! I have it on, again, good authority, that Hazel invented the compliment about herself!”

  Michael’s mouth dropped open. He was indeed more shocked by Thelma’s bitchy betrayal than any revelations about Hazel.

  Thelma moved closer to him, took a card from her purse and discreetly placed it in his pocket as she whispered, “I, however, am genuinely your own age. My address is on the card, I live just across the road. My husband is never home between three and six. I am home every day at that time. If you should ever be passing …” She licked her red-glossed lips before turning and meandering through the crowd.

  Michael watched her walk away, stunned.

  “She’s quite simply amazing, isn’t she?” said a voice beside him and he turned to see the speaker was Shane Leslie.

  “Thelma?” Michael asked in confusion.

  “No! Of course not! I am referring to Hazel,” said Shane as he nodded across the room to Hazel who had a circle of men, including the Irish delegates, gathered around her hanging on her every word.

  “Eh – yes, Hazel is a wonderful lady,” Michael agreed.

  “Have you and her –” Shane winked at him, “yet?”

  “What are you talking about?” demanded Michael.

  “Oh, come on, I’m sure even a good Catholic boy like you couldn’t resist that particular temptation. And you wouldn’t be the first – or I daresay the last!”

  “I think you’ve been drinking too much,” said Michael, his voice low and menacing.

  “She has a notorious reputation. She’s a maneater. She collects men like others collect hats. Don’t flatter yourself, dear boy – you are only the latest in a long line. To be discarded once the new fashion comes in with the next season. This season it is you, next season it will be some young writer from the sticks or artist from the provinces that she feels the need to take under her wing and propel to the top of society and then take the credit for having discovered them.” He saw Michael’s face fill with anger and started to laugh. “Oh, dear boy, surely you didn’t think you might be something special to her? You are merely this year’s fashion accessory!”

  Michael’s fists began to tighten as he felt his anger rise. Then he suddenly remembered Hazel’s words of advice. That Churchill had described him as too passionate, too temperamental. If he allowed himself to explode in anger here, he would destroy his reputation for good in front of London society and more importantly the British cabinet when they heard reports.

  He forced himself to calm down. Then he leaned close to Shane and whispered to him with a smile, “Have you ever shared her bed?”

  Shane looked surprised by the question. “No – no, I haven’t.”

  “I thought as much. Sounds like a lot of jealousy and sour grapes from you if she chose all these others over you. And they say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned!” Michael gave a loud bellowing laugh before he clapped Shane on the back and quickly left his side to go mingle with the other guests.

  The party continued until the early hours of the morning. Finally, Hazel waved off the last of the guests and closed the front door behind them. Only Michael remained – he was in the drawing room speaking with John.

  “Gordon, there is no need for you to stay up,” she said. “I’m sure you’re exhausted after the night.”

  “But what about Mr. Collins, my lady?”

  “I think I’ll be able to show him to the door myself,” said Hazel.

  “My lady, if it’s all the same to you, I would prefer to remain up until the gentleman has left the premises.”

  Hazel turned and looked at him in surprise, realising that Gordon was afraid of having Michael in the house.

  “You believe too much what they write in the newspapers, Gordon – I really do insist you retire to bed! There is no need for you to remain up.”

  “But –”

  “Mr. Collins is a friend, Gordon, and I expect you and all the other staff to extend the same courtesy to him as you do to all our other guests.”

  “Very good, my lady.”

  She watched him turn and walk down the stairs to the basement. She shook her head in puzzlement. How was she expected to lead the British establishment to accept Michael when her own servants did not?

  Once she reached the top of the stairs, she turned to the right and went down the corridor into the drawing room where Michael was sitting on one couch and John on another.

  “What a night!” Hazel declared as she walked over to the drinks table. “Whiskey, everybody?”

  “Not for me, Hazel! I’m exhausted!” said John.

  She poured two tumblers of whiskies. Handing one to Michael, she sat down on the other couch beside John.

  “You poor thing – you do look exhausted,” she said to him.

  “I am, rather. I might trot off to bed – if no one objects?”

  “Of course not!” said Hazel as she kissed his forehead.

  John rose and Michael jumped to his feet.

  “It’s probably time I was on my way as well,” said Michael. “I don’t want to outstay my welcome.”

  “No, no! You sit down,” said John, putting a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Hazel is a very late-to-bed person, so she will be glad of the company no doubt.”

  “John’s right,” she smiled. “Early to bed and early to rise was never my motto! I’m often not seen out of my bedroom until after noon!”

  Michael thought her comment curious as she had been at eight o’clock Mass each morning that week.

  “Goodnight, Michael,” said John with a smile.

  “Goodnight, sir,” nodded Michael.

  “Poor John!” sighed Hazel once he had left them alone. “I really don’t know how he puts up with me! He’s not one of life’s great socialisers and he has earned the reputation of being a socialite simply by virtue of being married to me!”

  “John doesn’t enjoy all the partying?” Michael was incredulous, given the couple’s reputation.

  “Not really. If it was up to him, he would prefer a much quieter life. He’s often been known to nod off at parties.”

  “Why does he go to them and host them then?”

  “Well, he tolerates a lot of it because of me. But, as well as that, he’s far from stupid and realises that the networking done at them is essential to his work as a celebrity portraitist, and a part of him enjoys the mixing with the upper crust and being part of the establishment.”

  “The upper crust!” Michael grunted dismissively.

  “Michael – you were wonderful tonight! You carried yourself like a true statesman. I was very proud. And Winston and Lloyd George will be impressed when they hear it all reported back, I can assure you.”

  “Maybe they were impressed by me – but I wasn’t impressed by some of them,” he said, reaching into his pocket and taking out the card with Thelma’s address on it and throwing it into the fire.

  “Did someone upset you?” she asked, sitting forward, full of concern.

  “It’s not that they upset me, but I didn’t like what some of them were saying,” he said.

  “About what?” she pushed.

  “All I’ll say is – some of those people here tonight aren’t as good friends to you as you may think they are!”

  Her face relaxed as it dawned on her what had occurred, and she sat back laughing.
<
br />   “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  “Oh, Michael – don’t let the idle gossip worry you – I can assure you I never have!”

  “You would if they knew what they were saying about you!” he said.

  “But I do know what they say about me – and I couldn’t care less! Let me guess – that I have slept with half of London? That I am a scarlet woman that no man is safe around? That I use and abuse and move on to my next prey?” She hooted with laughter again. “Michael, not that it is anyone’s business, but I assure you none of it is true. Secondly, you have to understand how British high society works in order to survive it.”

  “What’s there to understand?”

  “It’s not just commonplace but expected that husbands and wives have affairs. So many take lovers, it is the norm! And as long as nobody ever does anything too public, conceives an obviously illegitimate child or ends up in the divorce courts over a scandal – then a blind eye is turned to it all! People just assume that I am like the rest. The fact I get so much attention and am pursued by so many bloody husbands, they can’t bear to think that I never have!”

  “But – but – does it not bother you them telling all those lies about you?”

  “Not a jot! It’s all a game, Michael, and I’m trying to teach you the rules.”

  “Well, we don’t play games like that where I come from!” But as he thought of the tangled relationships he and Kitty had had, he realised that was not the truth.

  “I doubt that is true, Michael,” she said with a smile.

  “Maybe not,” he conceded. “But does it not bother John what they say about his wife?”

  “I don’t think so. He never has said it does. He knows it’s part of the territory and besides,” she said with a chuckle, “I think he feels a sense of pride that so many are interested in his wife.”

  “If you were my wife, I wouldn’t stand for it for a moment!” he said, his face reddening with anger. “I’d sort out anyone who said anything about you in one minute flat!”

  Hazel stared across at him and felt her own face blush with excitement and delight at his words.

  They stared at each other as the shadows of the flames from the fire danced on the walls around the room.

  “And I’d be very proud to have you defend my honour,” she said softly and smiled at him.

  Michael took his glass of whiskey and drained it.

  “That Shane Leslie gets on my nerves!” he said. “I know he’s a big supporter of us and has powerful friends, but he’s no gentleman!”

  “I think Shane would be insulted if anyone ever did refer to him as a gentleman! Shane is fine, Michael, a good friend. I know he’s been in love with me for years, however conceited I may sound saying that.”

  “I know, I could tell!”

  “He thinks one day we will become lovers. But he is deluded. I will never be with him. If I did such a thing, I would no longer have the power I have – the mystery would be over and my power along with it. But I’ve fought too long and too hard to be with John to ever risk my marriage for a fling with the likes of Shane Leslie.”

  He stared at her, his admiration of her growing even more.

  “I’d better go – the lads will be exhausted waiting out in the car for me,” he said, getting up.

  “I’ll walk you down,” she said.

  They walked in silence out of the room and down the stairs until they reached the front door. She unbolted it and, as Michael stood in the doorway, Joe and Liam jumped out of the automobile. Liam stood scanning the street up and down while Joe opened the back door of the car for him.

  “I’m glad tomorrow is Saturday, with no negotiations,” Michael said.

  “Yes – a day off for you.”

  “Mass in the morning at the Brompton Oratory? Or will you still be in your bed?”

  “Well, it’s Sunday so let’s go to a later Mass – if that suits?”

  He laughed. “Yes, indeed it does.”

  She smiled. “I’ll meet you there at eleven. There will be a Solemn Mass with full ceremonial grandeur – and the most marvellous choir and organ music.”

  “I look forward to it,” he said and kissed her on the cheek before turning and walking quickly out to the waiting automobile.

  Hazel closed the door and bolted it. She sauntered down the hallway to the staircase where she leaned against the banister and stood for a while in deep thought.

  CHAPTER 44

  The following week John was sitting at the dining-room table having breakfast alone as he sorted through his morning’s post. He looked at his watch and saw it was quite late and there was no sign of Hazel returning yet from Mass at the Brompton Oratory.

  “Did Lady Lavery say she had any plans this morning other than going to Mass, Gordon?” he asked as the butler refilled his teacup.

  “My lady didn’t say – she was in rather a rush out the door, sir.”

  “Yes, who would have thought when she became a Catholic that she would have embraced the religion to such a fervent extent!” said John with a knowing smile to himself.

  “Ah, I believe this is Lady Lavery arriving back now, sir,” said Gordon, looking out the window.

  John turned and, looking through the window, saw Hazel’s automobile parked outside and Hazel emerging from the driver’s seat.

  “I shall go and meet her ladyship,” said Gordon as he left the room.

  John continued to read his post.

  A couple of minutes later, Hazel came rushing in.

  “Sorry I’m so late, John. I ended up giving Michael a lift to Downing Street for the treaty talks today after Mass.” She sat down at the table and poured herself some tea.

  “So, you are now Michael’s chauffeur? Does he not have his own automobile and drivers at hand, as well as the whole British police force at his beck and call to take him anywhere he desires?”

  “Yes, he does. But, you know, they can’t guide him as I can. They would not give him the pep talk he needs going in for a full day’s negotiation with Lloyd George and Winston.”

  “Well, I hope Michael appreciates all you do for him is all I can say.”

  “I don’t do what I do for gratitude, John. I do it for peace in Ireland. The talks are reaching a critical phase and I’m afraid to say they are proceeding very badly. I’m terrified they will collapse again as they did in July when De Valera was over – and this time there will be no stopping a return to war.”

  “Meanwhile we are attracting some more unfavourable attention due to our association with Michael and the Irish delegation,” he said, handing her over a stack of letters that had arrived in that morning’s post.

  She opened a few and scanned through them, then read from one aloud: “‘You should be utterly ashamed of yourself for your collaboration with a bunch of crooks and murderers … to welcome a man like Collins with British blood on his hands into your home makes you as guilty as he is … I used to be an admirer of yours, Sir John Lavery, until I discovered your wife’s preoccupation with the murdering Collins …” She shook her head in exasperation. “Honestly, do these people have nothing better to do than spread this negativity!”

  “People’s emotions are running very high, Hazel. And we are in the eye of the storm. I wonder would it be wiser to step back from it all – we have Alice to consider.”

  “No, John! We can’t abandon Michael and the others at this stage! We have to fight on! We have to!” She got up, gathered the letters and walking over to the fireplace threw them in. She lit a match and set them alight. “That is what we do with negativity! Small-minded people who have nothing to do and all day to do it!”

  “As you wish,” said John. “I had better go. I’m expecting the Swedish prince at noon for his sitting. I must prepare the studio for his arrival.”

  “Yes – do that!” she said as she waved him away and began to go through her own post which Gordon had left on the table for her.

  John was perplexed by Hazel. Usually, if she got
wind of a Swedish prince coming to the house, she would be making plans to meet him and prepare lunch for him. Now, she couldn’t care less about a Swedish Prince as all her thoughts and energy were consumed by the Irish Prince. As John walked up the stairs to his studio, he felt sure he could tell Hazel that the President of America and the King of England were both coming for lunch and it would not matter in the least to her as all her attention was taken up by Michael.

  In the dining room Hazel opened a letter. She didn’t recognise the writing and when she looked at the bottom of the letter, she saw it was anonymous.

  Lady Lavery,

  Your continued association with Collins is putting your life in danger. This is a final warning to stop meddling in Irish affairs and mind your own business. Fuck off back to America, you Yankee bitch, or else …

  Hazel immediately stopped reading, not wanted to sully her mind with any further filth. She thought about what she needed to do. She should really show this to John and inform the police about it. Although she had received poison pen letters before, since she had become involved in Irish affairs, she had never received a death threat. But she knew if John saw the letter he would become even more upset about her involvement in the peace process. Nothing could get in her way now of making sure peace came to Ireland, not even a threat to her own safety.

  CHAPTER 45

  The next couple of weeks passed by like a whirlwind for Michael. He quickly fell into a pattern of meeting Hazel in the morning at Mass and then she would drive him to Downing Street. There would follow a day of excruciating negotiations with the British. Then in the evenings Michael would return to Cadogan Gardens where he would write a quick letter to Kitty before going to Cromwell Place. They would spend the evening there at a social event Hazel had organised or, alternatively, they would head out to the West End to a party being held by one of Hazel’s society friends or an evening at the theatre or a restaurant. Often John would accompany them, but equally as often he would not. It was as Hazel had said: John was not a natural socialite and was content to slip into the background and let Hazel take centre stage. However, the British press and public’s fascination with Michael did not diminish and he found he too was centre stage wherever they went. He had followed Hazel’s guidance and after some time embraced the attention. To his surprise he found at times he enjoyed it.