‘Of course, I remember.’ His condescending tone disappeared. The girl had connections; this might be easier than he thought.
‘You’re aware, I take it, of my position at Stormont.’
‘Of course I am.’
‘Miss Goulding, I hope the fact that I have come personally and alone to your home to talk to you will lend weight to what I have to say and what I must ask of you.’
Pat was struggling to concentrate; her grief was still raw and she was stunned and incapable of engaging with anything. His words washed over her. William was dead and nothing else mattered.
He went on, ‘As far as the government is concerned, Mr Kennedy took a break in Dublin. He had been working very hard and went away for a short holiday. He went sightseeing, dined in some fine restaurants.’ He paused for effect. ‘He was … alone.’
‘No he wasn’t,’ Pat corrected him. ‘I was with him. He was on government business.’
He saw the anger flare in her eyes, but pressed on. ‘You have been ill at home since Thursday. Your sick absence has been recorded on your record. In fact, you will also be absent next week to give you the chance to make a full recovery from your illness.’
Pat looked at him in horror. ‘What are you saying? Don’t you know that William is dead, killed by a German bomb while he was in Dublin trying to negotiate concessions to make life in Belfast better.’
Sir John looked uncomfortable; this wasn’t the effect he wanted. He changed tack and spoke slowly as though to a confused child. ‘Patricia, I know what happened and what you’ve been through, but Mr Kennedy should not have gone to Dublin and, quite frankly, neither should you. He was not authorised by me to negotiate with the Dublin government. He was acting on his own initiative and too much is at stake to allow what he was doing to become common knowledge.’
‘But don’t you know that he succeeded? An agreement was reached and the papers were ready to be brought back to you. I know he won all kinds of concessions regarding the provision of food and care of refugees, but there was something more, something very important. I don’t know what exactly, but he told me it would change the course of the war. So don’t stand there and try to tell me that William shouldn’t have gone there!’ Her voice had edged steadily towards the hysterical.
Sir John didn’t reply straight away. Instead he turned to the window and stared out at the street. He had seriously underestimated this young woman. He had hoped to use his authority to persuade her to accept a new version of events. If necessary, he had intended to insinuate that she had been absent from work without permission. But he was struck by her genuine grief and passionate defence of Kennedy. Was it possible she was more than his clerk? She was certainly very attractive.
‘Patricia,’ he said eventually, ‘am I right in thinking William meant a great deal to you?’
She bowed her head.
‘Tell me, were you in love with him?’
‘He asked me to marry him,’ she said, her voice a whisper.
‘Hmm.’ This was a complication he hadn’t foreseen, but it might still be possible … ‘Patricia, can I trust you with a matter of the utmost importance on which the security of Northern Ireland depends?’
Pat lifted her head. ‘You’d better not tell me something bad about William because, if you do, I won’t believe it.’
‘No, what I will tell you will show you what a good, brave and clever man he was, but I suspect you know that already.’
‘Please tell me what we were really doing in Dublin.’
‘William Kennedy was commissioned by the British government to negotiate the end of Irish neutrality. It wasn’t the first time they had attempted to reach such an agreement. The plan was to bring Ireland into the war in a non-aggressive way. To begin with, Ireland would have refused German planes permission to fly over their country and would have permitted Britain to establish naval bases within its borders.’
‘Why would the Irish suddenly have agreed to all that?’
‘Because, as part of the agreement, Churchill would have reopened talks on the future of the six counties. You understand what I’m saying, Patricia? William brought the prospect of a united Ireland to the table.’ He paused to let the importance of his words sink in. ‘Now do you see why I wasn’t told of his assignment until yesterday when it had already failed?’ He couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice.
Pat stared at him, realisation dawning on her face. ‘Yes, because you would never have authorised negotiations that jeopardised the future of the six counties. You want Northern Ireland to remain British. But I still don’t understand – an agreement was reached. Has the Irish government denied all knowledge of it?’
‘The German bombing put paid to the whole plan. We think that the Germans got wind of what was happening. The bombing was a warning. You have to understand that Ireland would never recover from a blitz on a grand scale. So the agreement William negotiated was torn up. You could say that it was killed, as he was, by the German bombs.’
Pat could clearly see why the Irish had backed away from the plan. Absolute denial was the only way to save them from further attacks. ‘And William?’ she asked.
‘He knew the Northern Ireland government would never have agreed to it. He risked the future of Ulster.’
Pat lifted her chin and spoke proudly, ‘To save its people from suffering.’ She held out her hand. ‘Thank you for telling me the truth.’
‘You’re one of only a handful of people who know what really happened. If word of this were ever to get out–’
Pat didn’t hesitate. ‘I will never speak of it again.’
Standing at the top of the stairs, Peggy had not been able to make out a single word that had passed between the mysterious caller and Pat, so softly had they spoken. Nevertheless, she recognised an intonation in her sister’s voice that was a sure sign of distress. The man had seen himself out and Peggy slipped into the front bedroom to get another look at him as he walked to his car. Then she waited a few minutes before going downstairs. Pat was staring out of the window, deep in thought.
‘Well?’ said Peggy.
No reply.
‘Who was he then?’
‘My boss from Stormont.’
‘What did he want?’
‘I’m to take a week off work on the sick.’
‘What’s happened? Are you ill?’
‘Not ill, no, not really.’
There was a deadness in Pat’s voice and a weariness about her that Peggy would never have imagined possible.
‘Tell me what’s wrong with you.’
‘Not now, Peggy,’ said Pat and she left the room and went back to her bed.
Around lunchtime, Peggy crept upstairs with a piece of toast and a scraping of butter and put her head round the door. ‘Will you eat something now?’ she whispered.
Pat was lying on her back staring at the ceiling. ‘I’ll try.’ She pushed the toast round the plate, took a bite and set it down while Peggy sat on the edge of the bed watching her.
‘Did something bad happen?’ Peggy asked at last.
Pat nodded.
‘To you?’
Pat shook her head.
‘Do you want to tell me about it?’
Pat closed her eyes, but the tears escaped and ran down her face. Peggy took a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped them away. ‘What can I do to help you?’
‘Nothing, go away.’
Peggy looked in again a few hours later. ‘Can I get you anything?’
‘No.’
‘You have to tell someone.’ The minutes passed. Peggy tried again. ‘Is this about William Kennedy?’
Pat spoke in a voice so soft Peggy struggled to hear.
‘What did you say?’ and she leaned in close.
‘William’s dead.’
‘Dead? William Kennedy’s dead, is that what you said?’
‘Yes.’ Pat’s voice caught in her throat and she began to sob. ‘In Dublin … he was caught in the bombing �
� he died yesterday.’
‘Dublin was bombed?’ Peggy tried to make sense of what had happened. ‘You were there with William?’
‘I’m not supposed to talk about it.’
‘But what were you doing in Dublin?’
‘I’m not allowed to say.’
‘Pat, if you and William went away to be together–’
‘No!’ Pat sobbed. ‘It wasn’t like that! We loved each other and now he’s gone, I can’t bear it,’ and she began to weep uncontrollably.
Peggy reached out and pulled her sister close. ‘There now,’ she soothed. ‘I’ll stay with you, I’ll help you.’
Pat cried until she fell asleep, exhausted, and Peggy lay next to her on the bed until teatime when she slipped downstairs to make some food. She boiled an egg, turned it out into a cup and chopped it up, then buttered a round of bread and took them up on a tray.
Pat stirred as she came in. ‘You’ve made me egg in a cup,’ she attempted a smile, ‘just like Mammy used to give us when we weren’t well.’
‘I need to look after you, don’t I? And you’d better eat it all because it’s our last one.’
They sat a while in silence while Pat ate the egg, then Peggy spoke again. ‘Do you want me to get Mammy home?’
‘No!’ Pat’s eyes widened in fright. ‘Nobody must know what happened. I shouldn’t really have told you. You have to swear not to tell anyone!’
‘But people must know William’s dead. Your boss knows.’
‘Yes, but nobody else must find out why he was in Dublin!’
‘It wasn’t just you and him going off together?’
‘Of course it wasn’t!’
‘What will you tell people?’
‘I won’t tell anyone anything, because officially I was at home sick. William went to Dublin on his own and was caught up in the bombing. That’s the story.’
‘I could stay at home with you for a few days, if you like. Mr Goldstein would understand if I said you were ill.’
‘No, I’ll be all right on my own.’
‘Pat, I’m really sorry about all the times I was rude about William and for … you know … making fun of you both.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘But I feel awful.’
‘I told you it doesn’t matter. Nothing does any more.’
The piercing scream woke Peggy and she was out of bed and at her sister’s side in an instant.
Pat was sitting bolt upright, eyes glazed, hands clawing at the air. ‘Don’t go! Don’t leave me!’
‘Wake up, Pat, it’s just a dream. You’re all right, I’m here.’ And, as she had done for the past five nights, she held her sister until the terror subsided and the crying began. The nightmares and anxiety had increased in intensity and Peggy worried how, in just a few hours’ time, Pat could possibly cope with William’s funeral. Goldstein had insisted on driving them to the service and Peggy was grateful to have him there to help her support Pat.
‘I understand the bond that develops between two performers who are able to create such passion when they sing together,’ Goldstein had reassured her, when they locked up the shop the previous night, and Peggy was glad that he had mentioned only their passion for singing and not speculated that there might be anything more.
Peggy was ready and waiting when Goldstein arrived at ten in the morning. She shouted up the stairs to Pat, ‘Time to go now!’ Her sister appeared a few minutes later and Peggy almost wept at the sight of her. The dark blue costume she normally wore to work was hanging loose on her. Her beautiful auburn hair was dull and lank but, most strikingly, her face was devoid of any expression. At any other time, Peggy would have taken a few minutes to brush Pat’s hair into shape and add a bit of rouge and lipstick to her face, but she knew instinctively that Pat would push her away. Besides, such superficial tricks would make no difference at all to a face etched with grief.
The church was packed and Goldstein nudged Peggy as several well-dressed men walked up the aisle and sat near the front. ‘I see several senior members of the Stormont administration are present,’ he whispered.
Pat saw none of this. From the moment she sat down her head was bowed and her eyes were closed. Peggy could feel the tension from her. The only time she seemed aware of what was going on was when she raised her head and stared at the ceiling during a piece from Mozart’s Requiem, played by the Stormont string quartet.
Later, as people stood about outside the church, William’s sister Helen came to thank Pat for coming. ‘I really appreciate you being here,’ she said. ‘I hope you know William was fond of you and often spoke about how supportive you were.’
Pat looked into Helen’s blue eyes, identical to William’s, and it was all she could do to nod and shake her hand before moving away.
Goldstein had gone to fetch his car and Pat and Peggy waited on the pavement.
‘Don’t look now,’ said Peggy, ‘but that man who came to the house on Sunday morning is heading this way.’
‘I don’t want to speak to him,’ Pat’s eyes were wide with panic, but he was already at her side.
‘Patricia, I’m glad you were able to come. I wanted to say that, should you need to remain on sick leave, we can manage without you a little longer.’
Pat didn’t answer and Peggy, to avoid any embarrassment, spoke for her. ‘That’s very kind, thank you.’
At that moment Goldstein’s car pulled up next to them and Peggy opened the door and helped her sister into the back seat.
‘Good gracious,’ said Goldstein to Peggy under his breath as she got in, ‘do you realise who that was?’
‘Pat’s boss from work,’ said Peggy.
Goldstein laughed. ‘I suppose you could say that – he’s the prime minister of Northern Ireland!’
Peggy’s jaw dropped as she watched the man who had been in their sitting room on Sunday morning place his bowler hat on his head and stroll away.
A week later, Peggy arrived home from work and as she came through the back door, she could hear the sound of things being thrown around and Pat’s angry voice at full volume. This wasn’t the quiet stillness of grief that had hung over Pat since William’s funeral. She ran upstairs to find Pat standing in the middle of the bedroom surrounded by the entire contents of the wardrobe and dressing table.
‘Where is it? Where is it?’ Pat screamed.
‘What’s the matter? What are you looking for?’
‘My notebook, it’s gone.’ Pat turned on her. ‘You’ve taken it, haven’t you?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. What notebook?’
‘It’s here somewhere. I have to find it. It’s got all the notes I made for William in it.’
‘Pat–’
‘Help me find it!’
‘William’s gone, Pat – the notes don’t matter any more.’
‘Yes, they do. I’ve still got the notebook, so I can prove what happened. They’ll not get away with this!’
‘Who? Who won’t get away with what?’
Pat eyed her suspiciously, ‘Never you mind.’
‘Do you want me to help you find it?’ Peggy asked, hoping to calm her.
They set to, Peggy retrieving each item and returning it to its proper place and Pat randomly picking things up and casting them aside.
‘What’s this?’ Peggy asked, holding up the green ring box.
‘Nothing.’
Peggy opened it and her eyes widened at the sight of the beautiful solitaire diamond. She took it out of the box and held it up to the light. ‘Pat, where did you get this?’ she asked, already knowing the answer.
‘He gave it to me.’
‘William gave you this?’
‘Yes, he asked me to marry him then went and got himself killed.’ Her voice rose again in anger. ‘What kind of love is that?’
‘He didn’t mean to. How could anyone have known the Germans would bomb Dublin? He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
‘Th
at’s just it, isn’t it? The right place was with me, but he left me. Walked out the door when I begged him not to, but that was just like him wasn’t it, putting work before me. He didn’t love me at all!’
‘But he did! He asked you to marry him and gave you this!’ Peggy held out the ring to her.
Pat snatched it and threw it with all her might out the window into the long grass. ‘I don’t want a ring. I want him!’ she cried.
Chapter 17
The end of June brought sunny weather that helped to lift people’s spirits. Since the bombing in early May very few of the bombsites had been cleared and they remained as shocking as scars on the face of a friend. In Royal Avenue trade was still slow, especially in shops like Goldstein’s. Gramophone records and musical instruments seemed to be the last thing on people’s minds.
As was his custom on Wednesday, Goldstein took lunch at his club in Cornmarket leaving Peggy in charge of the shop. The first thing she did was to instruct Esther to sort out the delivery of sheet music while she went outside, ostensibly to draw down the awning to protect the window display, but really to enjoy the sun.
‘Well if it isn’t the shop girl.’ It was Devlin.
Peggy didn’t look at him. ‘What do you want?’
‘That’s no way to speak to your boss.’
‘You’re not my boss. I told you I wasn’t coming back after the last time, remember?’
He gave her his best smile, but she was determined not to be seduced by it. ‘But I’ve got a job for you on Saturday night as–’
‘Look here, you were out of order giving me that drink when I was sick. You should’ve sent me home – in a taxi!’
‘Instead of keeping you safe in an air raid?’
‘It was a false alarm!’
‘So you don’t want to know what the job is?’
‘I wouldn’t work for you if–’
‘I need a pianist for a big, big event at the Plaza’ – he swept his hand as though imagining a banner – ‘“Grand Dance Competition”. Let’s see if we can’t chase away some of the misery around here.’
Golden Sisters Page 17