Jean Grainger Box Set: So Much Owed, Shadow of a Century, Under Heaven's Shining Stars

by Jean Grainger

  Since then, the war had started, and now he felt less and less comfortable socialising so often with the German community. He just couldn’t reconcile the situation in his own conscience. Often he’d heard some of Edith’s friends complain how the Gardaí were taking an undue interest in their activities, and while the assembled company always shared their sense of outrage, James himself kept quiet. If they were doing nothing wrong, then surely the Irish police wouldn’t be bothering them.

  At the beginning, before the war, though of course there were rumours about the Jews, he’d believed Edith and Otto when they’d claimed it was all just Allied propaganda; but increasingly the facts couldn’t be ignored. Thousands of refugees were flooding into London, many more trying to get to America or Australia – anywhere to escape the Nazis. It couldn’t be propaganda – why would people flee like that, break up families, leave their homes and businesses without a very good reason? No, the longer it went on, the more evidence there was that Hitler was a despicable man and that his Nazi followers were no better. The world was facing real evil and James found sitting in his mother’s house, listening to these smug Germans laughing at the rest of them, sickening. They were residents in a neutral country and entitled to say what they liked, but James just didn’t want to listen to it anymore.

  He knew if he raised the issue of the progress of war at home, his father would defend de Valera’s position on neutrality, agreeing with the Taoiseach that remaining neutral was the best way to show our independence. In principal, James thought so too, but still, when he heard about all those Jewish people fleeing with their families from this malevolent regime… Well, it was disturbing.

  He loved Ingrid and his mother, but he wished he didn’t have to be part of their world in order to be close to them. It was sometimes exciting to meet these well-known people, but when they talked like this, laughing so loudly and acting as if they hadn’t a care in the world, James wished fervently that he was back in Dunderrig drinking chocolat chaud beside the range in the kitchen with Solange, his father, and Mrs Canty. He fought the urge to stand up and ask them straight out why Hitler was treating the people of Europe with such cruelty. Why did they support a man who seemed to want to have his own way, no matter what the consequences, destroying anyone or anything that came in his path? Did they really believe that one person was worth less than another? Yet he knew that to do so would effectively end his relationship with Ingrid – these were her people after all, and she would probably never forgive him.

  A loud booming voice was holding court at the top of the table. Helmut Clissman was regaling Otto, Edith, and Dr Hempel, the German ambassador to Ireland, with a story of their latest intake of students. James had met Helmut and his wife Elizabeth several times over the past two years as they were a regular feature of evenings at his mother’s house. Edith and Elizabeth, both Irish women married to Germans, had a lot in common and were good friends. Helmut ran an educational exchange programme between Ireland and Germany, and it was by using these connections that Otto was able to secure Ingrid’s papers for residence in Ireland. Ostensibly she was a student, though James had yet to see her attend a class. Her English was virtually perfect, anyway, so she didn’t need tuition. She’d told him yesterday, on the train up from Cork, that she was going to take up a position next week working for Helmut in his school. James was glad because it would give her something to do. At least if she were busy working, he could return to Dunderrig and not spend every waking moment worried that she was being swept off her feet by some artist or writer.

  He longed to be at home, painting the landscape of the ever-changing colours. He had two sets of equipment, one here in Dublin, the finest money could buy, given to him as gifts by his mother. He regularly went to the Phoenix Park or St Stephen’s Green and set up his easel, but his passion was for the wild countryside around Skibbereen.

  At home, his paints and brushes were old and well-used, built up over the years. There was the easel he’d received as a gift from Solange for his tenth birthday, the brushes he’d got when he went to secondary school, and paints bought one at a time because of the cost from the art supply shop in Cork. His oils were decanted into old medicine bottles, and he often wore a misshapen garment that Juliet had stitched long ago in her domestic economy class. It had been meant to be a fashionable dress, but since she was terrible at sewing, it served as a huge and shapeless smock and was perfect to wear to save his clothes. It struck him that this was representative of his whole life – the Dublin part, all shiny and expensive and glamorous; the Dunderrig part, old and a bit worn but deeply loved and cherished.

  Dublin was fine, but a lot of the gloss had gone from the early days. His heart was in Dunderrig, always would be. Ingrid had teased him, asking how he was going to become famous if he spent all his time in West Cork and she was right, he supposed. Dublin was where it was all happening. His mother knew everyone in the art scene, and he knew he needed to be part of it. He was so torn. He loved Dunderrig and everyone in it, but he really burned to be an artist, and increasingly, he couldn’t bear to be away from Ingrid. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her; it was just that she was so beautiful and confident that she attracted men effortlessly. The same rules didn’t seem to apply to her group of friends. He regularly had to hide his disapproval when she told him of their promiscuous antics. In so many ways, this life would suit Juliet so much better than him. She always longed for excitement, meeting new people, experiencing new things. The irony of the situation was not lost on him that Edith may have chosen to favour the wrong twin.

  ‘James, darling?’ Edith’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

  ‘Sorry…pardon?’ James stuttered.

  ‘Dr Hempel was asking you a question, dear.’

  James turned to face the man sitting beside him. His well-built physique belied his age. He must have been in his fifties, but he looked a decade younger. His downturned eyes and wide smile gave him a benign appearance. It was hard to believe that he was an employee of the Third Reich, Hitler’s man in Dublin. When he’d been introduced earlier as the German ambassador, James had felt very uneasy. Though his father obviously knew nothing about his Dublin life, James knew he would be horrified to discover his son happily eating dinner with anyone so closely associated with Hitler and the Nazis. They had been welcoming to Ingrid, seeing her as an innocent bystander in a war not of her making, but James knew if they realised her connections and, vicariously, his, they would be appalled.

  ‘Please don’t worry, James.’ Eduard Hempel spoke in accented English. ‘You must be tired after the long journey. I was simply asking how the weather had been for your holiday.’

  ‘Fine. Thank you. Then West Cork is always beautiful at any time of year.’ He realised he sounded belligerent but, inexplicably, he felt he needed to defend his home.

  ‘Of course.’ Dr Hempel smiled. ‘I hope to make a visit there. I enjoy sea angling, and I hear there are wonderful opportunities down there.’

  James said nothing and continued to eat his dinner. He knew he was being rude and this man was pleasant and polite, but he could feel his father’s disapproval even though he was two hundred miles away. When his mother had raised the subject of the ambassador’s attendance earlier that evening, she’d explained that Otto was very closely connected to the embassy through business and it was very helpful to him to be on cordial terms with the ambassador. Edith seemed to be delighting in her high society connections. It was an aspect of his mother he didn’t really like. Richard treated everyone equally and saw no difference between the widow with seven children, barely surviving, and the landed gentry. He’d instilled that in his children, so James was unsettled by his mother’s constant name-dropping and social climbing.

  When the evening finally ended and the last guest was waved off, Otto announced he was going to bed. Ingrid had gone into town to meet a few friends but James had declined to accompany her, knowing he would have to endure more of the same: men monopol
ising her, tripping over each other to buy her drinks. For once, he just hadn’t the energy. When they’d been in Dunderrig, it had been wonderful. She was fascinated by the sea because she had been brought up inland. They brought picnics to all the little coves and inlets along the rugged West Cork coast. Sometimes they found little deserted beaches, and he knew that if he’d pushed it, she would have let him make love to her. He wanted to, badly, but he knew that if she was going to consider him as her future husband, which he really hoped she would, he would have to show her that he was not like all the others, who only had one thing on their minds. He respected her and would wait until they were married.

  Making for the stairs to go to bed, he heard his mother call him into the sitting room. Wearily he responded, wishing for nothing more than a long sleep in his big cosy bed.

  ‘James, darling, sit with me. Would you like a nightcap?’ Edith was pouring a small whiskey into a crystal tumbler.

  ‘No, thanks. I’m exhausted. I think I’ll just go up if you don’t mind.’

  ‘It’s so busy here all the time with people coming and going constantly. I feel like we never just get time to talk, you and I. Please sit with me, just for a few minutes? I want to talk to you about something.’

  Resigned, James sat on the gold-upholstered wingback chair beside the fire. His mother sat on the identical one, the other side of the hearth. The lights were low and the embers of the fire glowed. Though it was summertime, the evenings were chilly and a fire was always lit in the sitting room.

  ‘You seemed upset tonight, my dear. Is anything bothering you?’ she began.

  ‘No…well, yes I suppose, there is.’ James needed to talk to someone. Once, Juliet would have been there to help him but in this instance, he was on his own. The frustration that had been building all night burst free from him.

  ‘It’s just, I hate knowing those people, sitting around eating and talking as if we’re friends. They’re not my friends, and I’m ashamed that I even know them. What Hitler and the Nazis are doing to the people of the occupied countries is wrong – I know it, they know it, everyone knows it. Not to mention the Jews. Is he insane? But still, you and your friends sit there and laugh and joke and drink wine as if Germany wasn’t behaving in the most appalling way imaginable, as if destroying lives was nothing. I hate it, I really do, and I don’t think I can keep going with it. On top of that, I hate living this lie, not telling Dad and Solange where I am and what I’m doing up here. I’ve changed. I never used to be like this, telling lies and pretending to be someone I’m not. I don’t like myself anymore. Dad and Solange would be disgusted if they thought that I was wining and dining with the likes of the Clissmans or Hempel, and they’d be right.’ James stopped, registering his mother’s stricken face. He felt so guilty about what he’d said, though it was true, all she’d ever been was generous and supportive. Edith composed herself and spoke quietly and with absolute conviction.

  ‘James. You are young and when we are young, everything seems so clear-cut, so absolute. You’ve lived such a sheltered life down there in Dunderrig. You are sorry for the Jews, but have you ever even met a Jew? What Hitler is doing might seem harsh, and sometimes the methods used to clean up German society could seem a bit unfeeling, but trust me, the world will be a better place for everyone if he is supported. The Jews are a drain on any society – they think only of themselves and if you really understood how things were in Europe, you’d know that if you look at the heart of most European problems, you will find there the Jews. They are not like us, darling. They just aren’t, it’s as simple as that. Please don’t throw away your future for the sake of a race of people you have never met who care nothing for you. You were always too sensitive, even as a little boy. You don’t see Juliet getting all upset over the fate of the Jews, do you? Or your father, or Solange? And your dreams, your art? Are you willing to walk away from all the opportunities we are offering you simply because you don’t approve of our friends?’ Edith spoke calmly, totally recovered from her son’s outburst.

  ‘I don’t want to. I really don’t. But I just can’t see how…’ James struggled to find the right words.

  ‘You only have one life, James. Who knows what the future holds for any of us? You are, of course, entitled to your opinion on the war. There are two sides to everything, and you are an intelligent and compassionate young man, I wouldn’t dream of trying to influence you. I simply wanted to offer you the chance to do something wonderful, something few people get the chance to do, to follow what is in their hearts. You must make decisions that make you happy, not anyone else. I could have stayed in Dunderrig, with your father, and been miserable; but I didn’t, I left and found a better life for myself. The choice is yours entirely.’

  It struck James how like Ingrid his mother was. Like her, she saw the whole thing only in black and white. If you want something then just take it. Don’t consider the impact your decisions have on anyone else. It was so different to the ideals with which he’d been brought up. He loved Edith but sometimes he found her attitudes too hard-line.

  ‘Good night,’ he said, getting up to go to bed and wishing for the hundredth time that night that he was at home in Dunderrig. He kissed her proffered cheek. As he went out of the door, his mother spoke again.

  ‘Oh, James, another thing. Ingrid is a lovely girl. You should do everything you can to keep her. She’s been brought up differently to you, I should imagine. The Germans are much more open than we Irish are, more free in lots of ways, so don’t let your old-fashioned ideas about things stop you having what you want. She won’t see it like you do.’

  James walked slowly up the stairs. Surely Ingrid had not discussed their relationship with his mother. Yet Edith seemed to be referring to the physical side of things… No, he thought, he must be overtired and reading too much into things as usual.

  THE NEXT FEW DAYS, James spent quietly painting. He had considered returning to Dunderrig, confessing everything to his father and breaking all contact with Edith but to do so would also mean leaving Ingrid. She was busy with Helmut Clissman and his school, so they only saw each other in the evenings. Instead, he poured his turmoil and frustration onto the canvas. He was developing a unique style; his work was flourishing. Canvasses piled up in his room at various stages of development.

  The work he produced in Dunderrig was different in style as well as in subject from his Dublin art. James knew that how he felt at the time of painting had a significant effect on the finished piece, so he was interested to see how each painting emerged. He’d been prolific in the past month, producing several sketches and watercolours as well as one small oil. He loved how he could submerge himself in the work, nothing infiltrating his mind but the paint and the effects he could create. As he sat on his stool in his sunny bedroom, putting the finishing touches to a painting of the gates of Dublin Zoo, a gift for Solange’s birthday, he felt hands cover his eyes.

  ‘Guess who?’ whispered Ingrid’s voice in his ear.

  ‘Would it happen to be the most beautiful girl on earth?’ he asked, turning around to face her.

  ‘Exactly,’ she laughed. ‘How did you know? Or perhaps, you say that to all the girls.’

  ‘No, and you well know I don’t.’ James was serious now. ‘You are my girl, and I only have eyes for you. I’d never look at anyone else.’

  ‘I know that, silly boy.’ She smiled, kissing him.

  She stood by the open window. It was unseasonably hot for late September.

  ‘The city is so sticky; I wish we could go back to Dunderrig. I bet it is still warm enough to swim in the sea.’

  This was music to James’s ears.

  ‘You really want to? I’d love to go home for a bit. If you’re serious, we could go tomorrow.’ He was trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. Juliet had written, telling him how worried she was about Ewan and for some reason that she wouldn’t go into, she said she couldn’t come to Dublin to visit him at the moment. He sus
pected that she still hadn’t forgiven him for maintaining contact with Edith; maybe she was afraid it was a trap to get them together. He must write and explain he had no such intentions. He’d not seen her in over a year, and he missed her terribly. He’d thought about going up to visit her, but he didn’t want to leave Ingrid and she couldn’t enter the United Kingdom. She frequently wrote to him now, addressing the letters to Dunderrig, but it wasn’t the same.

  ‘Yes, let’s just go. You could paint, I could just read and relax and be your inspiration,’ she chuckled.

  ‘What about your job? Won’t Helmut be annoyed if you just take off? You’ve only just started.’

  She shrugged. ‘He won’t mind. The students have all arrived for this term already, and they’re settled in. Most of the work is done for now, so he’ll be happy for me to take a break.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking the last few days it’s time to tell my family, about Dublin and Edith and everything. This constant lying has to stop. I want to be honest with them, with Juliet, with everyone.’

  ‘You really are unusual, James Buckley – you know that, don’t you?’

  She sat astride his lap looking into his face. Her fingers played with his hair at the nape of his neck. The sensation sent shivers down his spine. He could feel his body reacting to her, and he wrapped his arms tighter around her.

  ‘All the other boys are all charm and flattery, but you are different. Good, I suppose. Honest. I like that about you.’

  She nuzzled his neck, kissing and nibbling his earlobe. How easy it would be just to go ahead, to make love to her, here in his room. Otto and Edith were out; they had the house to themselves. Ingrid put her hands inside his new paint-spattered shirt and traced the muscles on his back and chest.