1949 (26 page)

Yet Lewis had a vivid memory of her shrieking with joy while he did stunts with his aeroplane. Poking fun at the stuffed shirts in the hotel bar. Which was the real Ursula?

He allowed her to keep their conversation on an impersonal level during dinner, but while they were waiting for dessert he finally asked outright what he had done to displease her.

She gave him an opaque look. “I don't know what you mean, Lewis.”

“We were such good friends, at least I thought we were. Then all of a sudden you just went away.”

“Did I?” Coolly. “I thought you were the one who went away. You returned to England, did you not?” She waited a moment, then added, “To your family.”

“My family?”

“Your wife and children.”

To her surprise, Lewis laughed. “Oh, lord, is that what you think? I don't have any wife, Ursula, and as far as I know I have no children either.”

“I was asked to ring you and a young woman answered the telephone. She spoke as if—”

“That must have been my sister. Muriel lives with me when she's not gadding around the world. Since we both have itchy feet, often there's only one of us there. Plus the housekeeper, of course, but she's an old dragon with voice to match. Is that what's wrong? You thought I was married?”

Ursula shrugged one shoulder. “It doesn't matter to me one way or the other.”

He thought he understood everything. “You silly goose, you shouldn't make assumptions about people. I promise you I'm not married, I'm not engaged, I'm as free as the wind. Or was until I met you. Now I don't seem to be able to get you out of my mind.”

“I'm no threat to your freedom,” Ursula said crisply. “I don't intend to marry, ever. I couldn't keep my job if I was married.”

Just then the waiter brought their dessert, an apple tart with custard. As he placed Ursula's portion in front of her she was thinking,
You shouldn't make assumptions about people. Where have I heard that before?

As her fork cut through the pastry she wondered,
Should I give Lewis the benefit of the doubt?
The apples were tart on her tongue but the custard was rich and sweet.
The girls at Surval used to claim the English lack passion. Perhaps the words Lewis used with me were just his way of exciting himself, like a naughty schoolboy writing bad language on a fence
.

She let herself thaw toward him, just a fraction. Like the first faint hint of warmth at the end of winter, it was not enough to melt the ice. But it contained the possibility of spring.

On the eighteenth of February, 1937, Seán Lester officially took up his new position in Geneva. In the same bulletin, the 2RN newsreader announced, “One hundred men are preparing a site near Limerick to be used for transatlantic flights. Commercial passenger planes capable of crossing the ocean are not yet available but it is anticipated they soon will be. Éire hopes to become the first port for air traffic between Europe and North America.”

 

Lewis Baines and his little plane were making fairly frequent trips across the Irish Sea. He did not attempt to resume a sexual relationship with Ursula. He took her to dinner, he took her to the theater, he took her for long walks during which they talked about everything on earth. He enjoyed her intelligence, a quality he had never sought in a woman before.

As he ate eggs and kippers in the Shelbourne dining room one morning, an odd thought occurred to him. Should a man not marry an intelligent woman if he hoped to have intelligent children?

Lewis dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. Marriage was for some time in the distant future when the juice had been wrung out of life and there was nothing left but to settle down with the pipe and slippers. In the meantime he enjoyed many women for many different reasons, though none intrigued him quite as much as Ursula Halloran.

She was like a leaping salmon that must be played skillfully. He enjoyed the game, of which patience was an integral part.

When the exactly right moment presented itself he would reel her in.

His sister Muriel—whom Lewis had called Moo for as long as he could remember, for no reason that either of them remembered—teased him about the frequency of his flights to Dublin. “You must have a girl over there, Lew.”

“I have girls every place.”

“You reprobate. I mean a serious girl.”

“Sometimes she's serious.”

“I suppose next you'll be telling me she's Irish. You know perfectly well you can't get involved with an Irish girl, it would be quite unsuitable. Besides, I thought you and Fliss were—”

“That was years ago. You're way behind in your gossip.”

A tall, fair woman who looked remarkably like her brother, Muriel Baines thought of herself as having all of the virtues and none of the vices of her race. “I don't gossip,” she said icily.

But she kept on asking questions.

If she had not done so, Lewis might never have thought of Ursula as a prospective wife. He was perfectly aware that she was unsuitable. She was not even one of the Ascendancy, though with her poise and diction she could pass for one.

Lewis rather liked the idea of shocking his friends by making an unsuitable marriage.

 

Ursula held her emotions in tight check. While she could not deny the almost galvanic attraction she felt for Lewis, she was determined not to surrender to it again. Surrender made one vulnerable.

But she was glad to see him whenever he arrived in Dublin, and when he left she counted the weeks until his next visit.

 

On the tenth of March the draft of a new Irish constitution largely written by Eamon de Valera was introduced in the Dáil. Under its provisions the Free State was to be called by the Gaelic name of Éire. This was partially out of deference to the sensibilities of northern Unionists, who resented any implication that Northern Ireland was unfree.

The preamble began, “We, the people of Éire, humbly acknowledge all our obligations to our Divine Lord, Jesus Christ, Who sustained our fathers through centuries of trial.”

Ignoring the forthcoming constitution, the obscure Gaelic Monarchist Party announced their support for the O'Conor Don as potential king of Ireland.
¹
Ursula invited their spokesman to put his case on the air, but he declined, saying it was beneath royal dignity.

Quick to spot a controversy that could sell newspapers, the
Cork Examiner
argued that Donough O'Brien, the 16th Lord Inchiquin, was a more suitable candidate. “He is in direct descent from Brian Bóru who, if he had survived Clontarf, would have established the O'Brien dynasty so firmly that the present O'Brien would be King of All Ireland and there would be no Irish problem to be solved.”

 

At the end of April Henry Mooney wrote to Ursula, “In your last letter you mentioned your interest in aeroplanes—which we call airplanes over here—so I thought you might like to hear about the latest. A new Boeing bomber called the Flying Fortress has just been unveiled, supposedly putting America well ahead of other nations when it comes to military air power.

“Ella has drawn a sketch of the Flying Fortress for you; I am including it with this letter. I am not happy about our perceived need for such a plane, however. Here's a question for you to ponder, Little Business: Does war fuel the armaments industry, or does the armaments industry fuel war?

“Here's another question: why did you develop this sudden interest in aviation?”

When Ursula answered Henry's letter she did not answer his questions.

She was not telling anyone about Lewis Baines. How could a dedicated Irish Republican justify an interest in a member of the British ruling class? It was embarrassing.

And perversely exciting.

She did not even mention him in her letters to Fliss. Instinct warned her that Fliss might have more than a casual interest in Lewis herself, and she did not want to jeopardize their friendship.

 

The new Irish constitution was overwhelmingly approved by the Dáil. When it was published there was little public debate, though men argued some of the issues in pubs while women discussed them over back fences. “It's the Civil War being fought all over again with documents instead of guns,” some people claimed.

“Rubbish! De Valera's redefined the Treaty but he certainly hasn't destroyed it.”

As concerned Northern Ireland, this was true. Articles 2 and 3 of the new constitution claimed the right of the Dublin government to exercise jurisdiction over the whole of Ireland while in practice confining the exercise to twenty-six counties, “pending the reintegration of the national territory.”

Strangely, the constitution did not take the additional step many expected and proclaim Ireland a republic. Frequent references were made to the Nation without any attempt to define its identity, which was still a thorny question in a land so divided.

The new constitution created a new office, that of president of Ireland. This forcibly underscored the fact that the British king was no longer head of the Irish state. Not everyone was happy with the new arrangement; it caused more controversy than any other part of the document. “De Valera wants the Irish presidency for himself,” adherents of Fine Gael muttered darkly. “You have to be watching him all the time. Didn't the British say dealing with him was like eating mercury with a fork?”

But de Valera preferred to be
An Taoiseach
,
^*
the Irish equivalent of prime minister. The taoiseach would wield the most power in the Dáil and the Dáil would run the country. The presidency would be little more than a ceremonial position.

The role of the Catholic Church was greatly strengthened in the new constitution. Article 44 recognized “the special position of the Holy Catholic and Roman Church as the guardian of the Faith professed by the majority of the citizens.” However, in deference to the Republican ideal of religious tolerance, the same article took care to acknowledge both the various Protestant denominations and Ireland's Jewish congregation. Given what was happening in Europe, the Jews in particular appreciated the gesture.

Women saw the new constitution as retrograde and paternalistic. The equality they had enjoyed during the revolutionary period was swept away. Life “within the home” was to be a woman's rightful place and highest ambition. Mothers were actively discouraged from working elsewhere no matter what their economic condition. “We all believe that woman's place is in the home,” Helena Moloney commented sarcastically, “provided she has a home.”

A group including Kathleen Clark and Hanna Sheehy-Skeffington met to organize a protest. Ursula joined them in sending a barrage of letters to the major newspapers. “True republicanism is about fairness and equality, about inclusion and solidarity,” she wrote. “Mr. de Valera's constitution denies women these basic rights.”

Knowing he might read the printed letter, she signed her name with a defiant flourish.

The following Saturday she had afternoon tea with Geraldine Dillon. After years of debate with herself, Geraldine had finally cut her graying locks to a fashionable length. Her hair was now dressed in marcelled waves that rolled across her pink scalp like a lacquered sea. She waited expectantly for Ursula to notice.

But Ursula's mind was on other things. “Eamon de Valera is the worst mistake this country ever made,” she fumed as she peeled back the top of a dainty sandwich to examine the filling.

“I thought you were such a great admirer of his.”

“I was. But now that I've seen Dev's true colors I'm not sedimental about him.”

Geraldine raised her eyebrows. “Sedimental? Don't you mean
sentimental?
”

“I mean the dregs of emotion,” Ursula replied, “which is all I have left for de Valera. Something bitter at the bottom of the cup. Do you want this? I don't care for egg salad.”

Trying to steer the conversation around to her chosen topic, Geraldine said, “I've been using an egg shampoo on my hair. Do you think it has more shine?”

Ursula did not even glance up. “I hate eggs.”

 

Seán Lester wrote to Ursula, “I understand that Dev has spoken in the Dáil about the possibility of the Free State pulling out of the League of Nations if it does not become ‘universal'—meaning if America continues to refuse to join, I suppose. But where the blazes would Ireland be if she left the League? We withdrew from the British Commonwealth; surely the necessary corollary is that we hold with might and main to our only place in the world! Otherwise we will become more than ever an ‘Island beyond an Island.'”
²

 

On the twelfth of May King George VI, a man who had never expected to be monarch, was crowned in Westminster Abbey. In order to cover the coronation procession the BBC made its first outside television broadcast.

The next month the former king, now Duke of Windsor, married American divorcee Wallis Simpson in a chateau in France. One of the witnesses was the mayor of Monts. He said he represented a nation “which has always been sensitive to the charm of chivalrous unselfishness and bold gestures prompted by the dictates of the heart.”

 

Finbar Cassidy loved children. He could not pass a pram without pausing to bend down and admire the tiny occupant. Toddlers adored him because he talked to them as if they were grown-ups. Many Irish men retained a stern paternalistic distance from their children, but Finbar daydreamed about playing with his sons and daughters.

If he ever had sons and daughters. If he ever got married at all.

He finally had almost enough money put by to allow him to marry, but there was no woman he wanted to marry except Ursula Halloran. Who seemed hopelessly involved with someone else.

Several times he saw them together in Dublin, strolling along the quays or entering a restaurant. The sort of restaurant he could not afford.

On these occasions Ursula never noticed Finbar. She had eyes only for the tall man at her side.

Tall blond blue-eyed man with an air of insufferable arrogance about him. “Damned
sasanach
,”
^*
Finbar muttered under his breath.

7 July 1937
BRITISH GOVERNMENT TO PARTITION PALESTINE
Described as Only Solution to Conflict Between Jews and Arabs