"Hey! I'm Irish, remember -"
"But you're not for de Valera. Come on Sean, you never had a good word for -"
"Maybe, but he's right about the border -"
"Oh really? Well I'm glad about the border. I'm glad American ships can put into Belfast, and American flyers can land in the north of Ireland, and American soldiers can train there. Considering they're risking their lives to save the whole of Ireland -"
"Okay," Sean held up his hands. "Don't let's argue ..."
Freddie sighed, "I'm sorry Sean, but I had lunch last month with David Gray, he's our Ambassador in Dublin. Some of the things he told me made my blood boil. Gray calls Dev a political racketeer, and that's Gray when he's being polite."
Sean shrugged and the conversation drifted for a while, until Freddie brought it back to Sean's plans for after the war. "Has it anything to do with the IRA?" he asked at one point. "You know, when we first met, you were very bitter. Understandably, after your father and ... all that."
Sean felt a sudden twinge of disloyalty. Val's death, the bombing, the war, grinding on day after day had overshadowed everything for so long that he had hardly thought of his father.
"What about that guy what's his name?" Freddie frowned. "Dinny Macaffety was telling me about him. The family feud -"
"Riordan," Sean felt himself go cold. "Matt Riordan."
"That's right, him -"
"He's in prison."
Dinny had written about that. Besides Sean still read the Irish papers, even though they were censored. He told Freddie what he knew - that the IRA was in tatters, men were imprisoned all over the place in England and Ireland, north and south of the border. Some men had been hanged, some had been shot, others had starved themselves to death on hunger strike.
Freddie grinned. "Well that's a relief. I was afraid you were going to devote your life to putting them down. That's what you said once. At least Dev's taken care of the IRA."
After that they dropped the subject, and in the following weeks rarely returned to it.
Freddie was wrong about the Second Front. The Allies failed to launch an invasion against Europe in 1943. Freddie filled time by broadcasting a series of shows from USAF bases in Britain, and appearing as a guest on Seven Days in London. But by November he was yearning for Margaret, home, and a new baby daughter he had yet to set eyes on.
He left before the end of the month, having arranged to record a show on a convoy en route to Newfoundland.
"But I'll be back in the spring," he told Sean. "We must hit the bastards then for Chrissakes! Meanwhile, take care of yourself ... and start thinking about what we're going to do after the war."
Sean found it hard to do that. London was being bombed again, this time by Hitler's rockets. The end of the war seemed no nearer to Sean. Besides, the war kept him busy, gave him reasons for existing. He did not want to look too far into the future. What was the point, with no one to share it with?
Sharing was something about which Kate had learned a great deal by that November in 1944. She had been in America for more than five years by then, and had known the Johnstones for at least half of that time.
She divided her life in America into two parts - before and after the Johnstones, and there was no doubt which she preferred, even if the second part had started so traumatically.
She would never forget that morning - waking to the knowledge that Rose had gone, and that Mrs Johnstone had caught them together. She guessed people knew, Uncle Ned and Eleanor must know, Rose took orders only from them. She wondered about the servants. She cringed under the bedclothes, not wanting to get up, terrified of facing the household - petrified by thoughts of orphanages and Beadles and Fagin's Kitchens and ...
Then Mrs Johnstone had tapped on the door, "It's time you were up, sleepy head."
Kate had been terrified that Mrs Johnstone would be ready to take her to the orphanage. Instead Mrs Johnstone had sat on the bed. "Now we are going to have a talk," she had said.
Which was how Kate had learned of her future.
Jennifer was to leave her school in Washington, and Madame Lefarge would be her tutor as well as Kate's. They would live in Washington for part of the time, all of them, in the Johnstones' apartment, Madame Lefarge too ...
Kate could hardly believe her ears.
No one could say how long the arrangement would last - probably until the end of the war, when Jennifer would go to school in England, hopefully, Mrs Johnstone said, to the same school as Kate.
Which is how Kate's new life had commenced.
She had still been stunned by it two days later when they had travelled to Washington, stunned but hugely relieved. Jennifer was delighted, and Kate had never seen Madame Lefarge so happy.
The first year passed in a flash. They did so many things. Aunt Alison took them all over Washington, and farther afield at weekends - taking trips to Chesapeake Bay and to Richmond, where Aunt Alison had friends. And when they returned to Dayton in the summer, Kate was allowed to stay at Grandma Johnstones house, provided she visited Uncle Ned and Aunt Eleanor twice a week. The arrangements suited everyone. Meanwhile Kate and Jennifer spent every minute together.
When Linc Johnstone returned from London for two months, early in 1943, he found he had virtually acquired another daughter - and that he could hardly move in his Washington apartment for items of female apparel. The arrangement had its advantages. Yvette Lefarge looked after the girls in Washington, while Linc and Alison spent a month in Florida having a second honeymoon. After which the five of them "did" New York and Chicago before spending Linc's last week in Dayton.
Kate had never been so happy. The Johnstones were so sure of each other, so abundantly loving that it rubbed off. For the first time since the Killing at Keady, Kate felt that she was part of a proper family. They loved her and she loved them back a million times over. Kate felt a sense of belonging at last.
By the time Uncle Linc returned to London, Kate felt she was as much his daughter as was Jennifer. It was the same with Aunt Alison. Kate's whole day seemed to be spent saying "Aunt Alison would like this" or "Aunt Alison would like that", until Jennifer shrieked, "I don't care what Mummy would like, what about doing what we want for a change?"
Even Alison had to intervene at times. "Darling, we're happy to have you with us. Now just relax and be yourself for a while."
It was just that Kate was so eager to please.
In time, however, she did relax, and life got better and better. In October Aunt Alison received a letter from London saying Uncle Linc was coming home again.
"He's arriving New York on December 1st, and we're all to go there to meet him."
The excitement was tremendous. They went to New York two days early and stayed in an hotel. Aunt Alison bought Kate and Jennifer entire new outfits. "Real grown-up clothes at last," Jennifer squealed, parading up and down in front of a mirror. Then they went to Idlewild airport. Yvette Lefarge looked French and petite. Aunt Alison was positively radiant. Jennifer appeared blonde and mysterious and almost adult. And Kate felt so proud to be part of them.
When Uncle Linc’s plane landed they waved and waved until their arms ached. He walked right past, pretending not to see them at all. "Over here," they screamed. "Over here!" He looked astonished. "I was expecting my middle-aged wife and two schoolgirls. What do I find? The four prettiest chorus girls in New York. Did you hear those soldiers whistle? I tell you, I'm the luckiest man alive."
And as Kate hugged him she knew she was the luckiest girl.
Christmas 1943 was wonderful, even if Uncle Linc did have to go back to London immediately afterwards. "Don't worry," he said, "the war will be over soon. Then we'll be together again."
But the war dragged on, although the news got better. The Allies were moving up through Italy. American forces landed in the Marshall Islands. The Russians penetrated a place called Estonia. And then - in June - Kate heard Freddie Mallon on the air. The Allies had landed in Normandy! Not a week passed after that
without everyone crowding round the radio to listen to Freddie Mallon's Seven Days from the Front.
In August came a day which Kate would never forget. They were at Grandma Johnstones house in Dayton. Jennifer was on the couch, her blonde head bent over her Grandma's sewing box as she stitched a button onto a blouse. Aunt Alison was at the table, trying to write to Uncle Linc - until the news on the radio made concentration impossible. Grandma Johnstone was in her chair at the fireside, and Kate was sitting next to Yvette, holding her hand.
The Allies had liberated Paris!
Freddie Mallon's voice was hoarse with excitement as he described the scene. The tears in Yvette's eyes brimmed over and slid down her cheeks. Now and then she muffled a sob, and Kate squeezed her hand extra hard. Freddie Mallon was shouting above the noise of people singing the Marseillaise, his voice swamped by sounds of cheering.
Aunt Alison crossed the room to hug Yvette. Kate couldn't speak for the lump in her throat. Grandma Johnstone blew into a handkerchief. Jenny kept her head bent over her sewing box. Paris was free ... and Yvette Lefarge was so overjoyed that a moment later she broke down and wept uncontrollably.
Every week after that Freddie Mallon delivered another wonderful programme that seemed to hasten the end of the war. In September, Antwerp and Brussels were liberated, and later that month Allied troops were fighting German troops on Reich soil. Elsewhere American troops were pressing Japan. Uncle Linc’s letters became more and more positive, he was sure the end was in sight - and he had some momentous news of his own. When peace came, he was to stay in London for at least three more years.
Aunt Alison was jubilant. "We shall all go to Europe. You two girls can go to school together. Imagine, you'll be able to spend one vacation with us and the next with Kate's guardian. Won't that be fun?"
Kate could think of nothing so idyllic. In fact she wrote to her guardian about it.
But Mark Averdale was not at all pleased. He replied that he had no intention of losing Kate to a school in England. She would live in Ulster with him. He would build her a palace. Her education would be completed by the best tutors money could buy.
Jennifer did her best to soften the news. "Don't worry. Your fussy old guardian doesn't know my mother. She's set her mind on us going to school together."
And Aunt Alison had. She wrote to Linc in London, telling him of Lord Averdale's response. He answered - "Listen Honey, try not to worry. We'll work it out. Kate's a swell kid with a lot going for her. I may be visiting our troops in Belfast before I come home in November. If I get there I'll look this Lord Averdale up. Tell Kate not to worry. We're not beaten yet."
When Aunt Alison read the letter out over breakfast, Kate burst into tears and rushed to her bedroom.
She was still weeping when Aunt Alison came in.
"Oh Aunt Alison, can't I choose? I want to be with you and Jennifer and Uncle Linc for the rest of my life. I love you all so much ..."
Aunt Alison held her close for a long time - "Leave it to your Uncle Linc, he'll work something out, he always does."
Kate prayed as never before.
But there had been no news for a month. Even though Uncle Linc had been to Belfast. Now he was on his way home again, and they were once more at Idlewild to greet him.
Mark Averdale had been in London when Linc Johnstone called in Belfast. Deliberately. Mark had no intention of sending Kate to school in England, and saw no point in discussing his plans with anyone except Kate. So Mark had avoided a meeting altogether by travelling to London.
The journey had been tedious. What had taken four hours from Liverpool before the war now took twice as long, travelling in an unheated train, crammed with troops. Mark hated it but it was a journey he made every month, partly for meetings with the Government and partly to see Molly Oakes, his mistress.
Molly was one of the three people who had kept Mark sane during the war. Kate was another of course, her letters and photographs had become treasured possessions. The letters were too short and the photographs inadequate, but they were an ongoing link. On black days he thought the child would never be as beautiful as her mother. On other days he was full of hope that Kate the child would develop into a beauty even lovelier than Rouen's masterpiece. Those days sustained him.
Meanwhile he was satisfied with the boy. Tim O'Brien worked well at school and was streets ahead of his contemporaries in academic subjects. He would never be an athlete, the injuries to his legs had seen to that, but he walked normally and was strong and healthy. Perhaps the most remarkable thing about him was his interest in politics. Studying the history of the Averdales had enabled him to master Ulster history, and that in turn had made him familiar with the growth of industry in the Province. There was no doubt where Tim saw his future. He could already take a set of books to trial balance, and planned to qualify as an accountant as quickly as possible. After which he would move into the Averdale businesses and from there into public life - ambitions which Mark Averdale encouraged.
But Mark could hardly talk to Tim about Kate, in fact only one person knew of his plans for Kate, and that was Molly Oakes who, throughout the grey years of war, continued to provide an oasis of sexual stimulation and satisfaction. When shortages of even basic commodities brought hunger to bombed-out London, Molly Oakes dealt with every black-marketeer for miles around. In a changing world, standards were maintained at her house in St John's Wood.
Molly so indulged Mark's sexual fantasies that he relaxed with her - but rarely with anyone else. He could be charming when he chose, but occasions which warranted charm were few and far between in his opinion. The growing mood of informality, generated by the war, won no approval from Mark Averdale - and when the Americans arrived, he positively shuddered.
American troops, Mark decided, were the last word in sloppiness and uncouth manners. One day he was actually stopped as he left the Unionist Club by a GI who thrust out a hand, "Put it there, Mac. They tell me you're a real live Lord, for Chrissakes!"
Mark tried to have nothing to do with the Americans. It was difficult at times, with the Government pressing him to host various functions in Belfast. He was coaxed into the US Officers' Club one night, along with a number of other civic dignitaries. A Captain from Omaha, flushed on Irish whiskey, suddenly raised the subject of the IRA. "I know it's off limits," he drawled, "but what the hell, we're all friends here, aren't we?"
The vacuum of horrified silence was filled by the Captain's rambling attack on the British in Ireland. "Hell, we hate your policy of colonial repression. People should run their own countries, I say."
Finally Mark could stomach no more. "And your views on your own country, Captain? You feel you have a stake in America?"
"A stake? I should say so - why my family fought the British at Yorktown - and moved in covered wagons -"
"Yorktown was 1781 wasn't it?" Mark said crisply. "That's recent history. Nine generations of Averdales have been born in Ulster. My qualifications as an Ulsterman outrank yours as an American by a couple of hundred years. The Red Indians have a more recent claim to your land than any Irishman has to mine. Perhaps when you clear out of North America, I'll think about leaving Ulster. Until then I wish you goodnight."
Mark stormed out and never set foot in the Officers' Club again.
American soldiers and Mark Averdale were like oil and water. He loaned some paintings to the Government once, for an exhibition at Queen's Hall, only to find a Marine sergeant gawking at a Rubens nude, "Say, Buddy, that's the sweetest piece of ass I ever saw in my life."
Mark hurried away, enraged that his treasures should be displayed to such uncultured morons.
The Americans were already "Making the World safe for Democracy". Mark shuddered. A country without an aristocracy would be unbearable. God alone knew what would become of Britain after the war. Whenever Mark was in London he was plagued by some bloody socialist wielding the power of a Commissar at the Ministry of Supply.
For solace there was only Molly Oakes - a
nd plans for a future with Kate. Until, came a night in November 1944, when Mark was too preoccupied to relax - even with Molly. Linc Johnstones threatened visit had made Mark think about Kate's schooling. He was determined not to involve her in a traditional education, but she would need training in some things ...
"It's about Kate's education," he said. "The war must end next year. Of course she'll have tutors. More important, she'll have me. I'll guide her all the way until we get married, but Molly, I'll want some help from you."
Molly stroked his hand and kissed the tips of his fingers.
Mark outlined his plans. Marriage to Kate would be the perfect union - but she would be an untutored virgin when she arrived at his bed. He remembered Dorothy's love-making and shuddered.
Kate had to be taught the art of providing sexual happiness. "It's not entirely unknown, you know," he said. "Royalty, people who have the money, Arabs, the Japanese have geisha girls - well, none of them leave it to chance. A girl should be trained, that's what I'm saying."
The following morning, he left with Molly's agreement to do all that was asked of her. Kate was to be taught by the best tutor money could buy.
That prospect kept Mark cheerful until Christmas. He kept telling himself that the war must end soon. But 1945 opened slowly. Warsaw was captured by Russian troops, but Germans were still ferociously defending the Fatherland.
Mark restrained his impatience as best he could. Privately he began to think the war had been a good thing in some ways. True, Belfast had been bombed, but the city had escaped the blitz suffered by London and by January 1945 German air raids on Belfast had ceased altogether. Meanwhile every Averdale factory was working flat out, the shipyards were busy, and although profits were controlled, at least there were profits, not losses. The slump was a thing of the past.
Ian St James Compendium - Volume 1 Page 132