Andrew Kelly, sitting with a pot of tea and a whiskey on the side in the Lord Mayor’s Lounge at the Shelbourne, was keeping a keen eye out for Emma. He had asked to meet her here because he wanted somewhere neutral and discreet, so they could have the conversation he intended to initiate.
Emma, wearing a turquoise linen dress under a tweed coat, looked suitably dressed for a pleasant afternoon tea as she walked into the hotel. Andrew noticed she appeared nervous, tugging at her hair as she asked directions. He waved to her from his spot on an armchair by the fire.
She smiled when she saw him and he was glad her step became lighter as she approached.
“Sorry I am a little late. I was out in Howth; I needed to think about things. I am afraid I miscalculated the timing of the journey back.”
“This was a pleasant place to wait. It is not as if I was on a street corner.”
“I had a think about things. I have decided to stay on in Dublin; Australia does not hold anything for me any more.”
“Great news, I am delighted.”
She thought Andrew appeared distracted, though he was very attentive when the waitress came to take the order. He recommended Earl Grey tea with some biscuits on the side, if she was not going to partake of alcohol.
“It is a relief to have made the decision. I went to Knockavanagh in the morning, put some more flowers on the grave. Met a woman who knew my mother, though I think she will have to get to know me better before she gives away anything.”
“You are a good daughter.”
“I wish I’d had a chance to be.”
Andrew fiddled with his left cufflink, rotating it round and round, so that Emma thought it might pop out.
“Your father had an awful lot to contend with. I am only beginning to realise that myself.”
“I don’t hate him, if that is what you are worried about.” She stopped for a moment. “Neither do I love him.”
“Indifference is never a nice place to be.”
Emma poured the tea from the silver teapot. Andrew fidgeted with a chocolate biscuit, nipping crumbs from its side. He took a snip of the biscuit, hoping the sweet taste would distract him.
“I asked you here because I wanted to give you some more information. It was in Martin’s letter to me at the time of the will. He said it was up to me whether I tell or not.” Taking another nibble of the biscuit, he let the sweet chocolate momentarily distract him.
“What good is all this going to do, Andrew? It is not going to bring back either of them. I have had it with all the bits of information. Maybe I want to start putting it behind me now.”
He shifted closer to her. “Admirable as that is, I think you need this last nugget. In the days before he died, Martin told me he had written a letter for me which was to be included in his will, and he asked me to carry out the instructions contained in it. All he would say was one sentence: ‘Some things are best left until we can feel no more and death has called.’ I will never forget those words.”
“I don’t see what this has to do with me.”
“That is true, and that is why I won’t be showing you the letter, but a major part was an explanation as to why your father was the husband and father he was.”
He waited for Emma to say something, but she didn’t. Instead, she cradled the teacup nervously. Andrew took the letter from his pocket and scanned it before clearing his throat to read out the relevant parts.
I am sure Emma is blaming me and she is right. I was a coward all my life and now I know it has brought pain and suffering to so many others, particularly lovely Grace, who at all times was such a beautiful young woman. I am writing to you because I want Emma, when she finds out the following information, to have somebody with her who can be a comfort to her. The kindness of a solicitor watching a clock is never the same as the attention of a friend. There are, at this stage, so many questions that Emma must have and this letter is an attempt to answer some of them.
I was so fond of Grace. I did her a terrible injustice the day I married her. Not only did I condemn her to a life without a proper love to sustain and cherish her, I put her at the mercy of Violet McNally. The root of this problem goes back to when I was a young barrister and best friends with Violet’s husband, George. We studied law together and were in the Law Library at the same stages of our careers. We were very close. Too close, I suppose. I need to acknowledge on paper: I loved George and he loved me. Violet had taken in the baby, Grace, and, for a time, she was well occupied.
Two years later George and I were doing well in the law and spending most of the weekends here at Parnell Square. I am afraid we also got in the habit of writing letters to each other, often about silly things in the news, notes on cases, but sometimes they were deeper, more emotional. It was one of these letters, I was much later told by Violet, that she found. She confronted George. He stormed out of the house, supposedly coming to live with me. He never got to Parnell Square, but was found in the canal three days after he went missing.
An inquest found he may have slipped into the canal and that his death was accidental. Both Violet and I know George would not have ended up in that water if he had not intended to. He was also an excellent swimmer.
Violet never said anything to me. I lost quite a bit of contact with her and concentrated on my work. By the time I took silk I was the highest earner at the Bar. There was speculation in the newspapers on the next High Court appointments and sure enough I was summoned to Violet’s house in Drumcondra.
She was polite and civil, the house the same as before, though more faded and worn-looking. She put a proposal to me that I was unable to refuse or, rather, not brave enough to turn down.
She had in her possession the letters I had written to her husband, which confirmed the existence of a homosexual relationship between us. I will never forget her words: “They won’t put a man on the bench who has committed such a dreadful crime. You won’t get around that, Martin Moran.” She threatened to go to the worst British newspaper, which would be delighted to print the scandal about me.
I should have walked out of her house and told her to go to hell. I will regret my inaction far beyond my dying day.
She told me she had reliably heard I was in line to get on the bench, but government ministers were worried I was not married. I had no reason to doubt what she said. I knew she had quite a lot of contacts at a high level. She said the worry was that there was something wrong with me, that I had not married. She, of course, offered a solution – Grace. If I provided nicely for Violet – a sum of £130 a month and allowed her her own quarters wherever I lived with Grace – she said her silence would be secured.
She was vicious in her choice of words: “We were rowing about you, when George stormed off, probably to go to you. We all know he did not fall in that river. He jumped, and you with your carry-on and love letters as much as killed him. My husband was never a homosexual, but you made him that way. I will make sure the world knows that. However, you have my silence for as long as you and Grace remain married and the monthly sum is paid.”
I knew I had to have a wife to be in line for the job on the bench and that part of me pushed me to sign a contract that Violet had conveniently drawn up. It tied me to her for the rest of my life. Unfortunately, what it did as well was lock poor Grace into this plot.
She was a beautiful young woman and I loved her, but in a different way. If she had not met Dr Fernandes, we might have been able reach a reasonable accommodation, but she fell in love. In truth, I was jealous of her love, but only because it reminded me of my own sweet love for George.
Violet dominated our lives, even though I insisted she live in separate quarters. I knew Grace was taken with Dr Fernandes, but I hoped it would fizzle out. When she said she was pregnant, there was nothing I could do. I knew Violet would expose me and we would all be ruined. The biggest mistake I made was trusting Violet when she told me Grace was behaving like a madwoman who was steeped in depression after the birth. The doctors in the mental hospital told me the same lies. They had been bought by Violet. By the time Violet died, it was too late for Grace. She had perished in a fire at the asylum.
I have behaved badly and put my career, status and good name above everything. In the process, I allowed a wicked woman to have a hold on me and for a beautiful young woman to lose out on what should have been a good life.
If it is any consolation, this whole thing has left me a broken man in every way. I am thankful every day for our partnership, Andrew. It is truly one of the best things to come out of this sorry life of mine.
Andrew’s voice was shaking, but he continued.
My regrets are huge and weigh me down. I want Emma to know I have always loved her and I sincerely apologise for not being a good father. I sincerely apologise to Vikram Fernandes and his daughter and to my lovely Grace, who was cursed the day I walked into her life.
I won’t ask for forgiveness. I merely offer an explanation.
Yours,
Martin
Emma did not say anything, but she shifted on the chair, noticing a little girl hovering near the piano, hoping to push one of the keys, a stylish lady hissing at a man in the grey suit, and a waitress, bored and buffing up her nails.
“That is it, then?”
Andrew did not need to answer. They sat, each lost in their own thoughts. Emma watched the little girl, remembering when Aunt Violet used to bring her to the Gresham every Sunday for tea. It should have been an outing to look forward to, but Emma hated every minute of it. It nearly always started badly, with Violet insisting she wear white gloves. Once, Emma managed to strip them off and conveniently forgot them. Violet frogmarched her back up the hill to the house and stood over her while she fitted the gloves back on.
A pot of tea and two ham sandwiches was the order, but never biscuits. The Hendersons from Mountjoy Square were always there on a Sunday. Maggie Henderson was allowed a meringue with a cream filling.
Violet would knock back a few glasses of sherry and have to lean on the young girl during the journey home. It was at these times that she berated the child the most, giving out too about the stupid father who had not knocked any sense into her. As they turned the last corner up into the square, Violet demanded they stop and look the height of No. 19.
“Aren’t we the lucky ones? We have the luxury life living in the judge’s house.” Violet chuckled at her own private joke, like she always did.
Andrew called the waitress for the bill. Reaching over, he took Emma’s hand. “Please keep in touch. Someday, I hope you will ask me for that fine painting Martin did of yourself and that other beautiful study of Grace in her gold dress. When you do, I will rush over and even hang them for you.”
“You would give me the painting of Grace?”
“It is yours. You just tell me when you are ready.”
After he had slipped a twenty-pound note to the waitress inside the leather bill binder, he shyly kissed Emma on the cheek as he left.
She waited a while before she got up to leave. As she made for the main doors, the footman offered to flag her down a taxi, and she accepted, for some reason anxious to get home to Parnell Square.