TEN
CLAIRE AND MURPHY lay in his narrow bed, only a candle flickering in the darkness. The room was spartan, with yellowing wallpaper ripped and curling at the edge of the water-stained ceiling. The smell of that night’s supper, turnip stew, seeped up from the kitchen.
“Father Murphy, where did you learn to do that?” Claire asked, her hand trailing down his smooth chest under the thin, worn sheet and scratchy gray blanket.
“Ah, the Lord works in mysterious ways, my love,” he answered, stroking her hair.
They lay in silence for a moment, listening to a drunken couple make their way down the corridor outside.
When the couple had passed, Claire whispered in his ear, “You know, a lot of women would be scandalized, even by the thought of being with a man in a boardinghouse room.”
“I’m not just any man, I hope,” Murphy said, pushing silky hair out of her eyes.
“No, of course not,” Claire answered. “You’re my sweet Mike.”
“Glad to hear it,” Murphy said. “It gets easier, doesn’t it? Leading a double life, I mean.”
Claire rolled onto her back and stretched. “I don’t know about that. When I’m with you, I feel alive. The cause, you, thinking of Ireland—it’s so real. My other life is just going through the motions, really. That girl is a simpering fool.”
“She’s part of you.”
Claire said, “Of course. I deliberately kept a lot of the basic facts of my life and hers the same. But I leave out the important details. My father, who spoke Gaelic. Witnessing countless atrocities against us. Hearing Jim O’Donovan speak and getting involved with the Óglaigh na héireann. Meeting you. Falling in love.”
“But surely you must like being her.”
Claire reached over him to the bedside table, where there was a pack of cigarettes. She took one out, lit it with a mother-of-pearl-inlaid lighter, inhaled, and then blew out the smoke slowly. “I did. I mean, at first it was easy.” She took another drag. “But then things changed. Chamberlain declared war. And that awful, awful man became Prime Minister.”
“In some ways it’s been a godsend.”
“Yes,” Claire agreed, lazily stretching the hand with the cigarette over to the ashtray, where she tapped off the ashes. “Churchill’s dead set on leading England into this foolish war. But foolish for them, not for us. Ireland’s still neutral, and we have a fantastic opportunity to help England’s enemies.”
Murphy sighed and took the cigarette from her, taking his own slow drag. “It’s too bad you couldn’t have gotten the typist’s job in Churchill’s office. Would have made all this a bit easier.”
“I know, darling. But look, our plan is good—great, even. It will succeed. And we will bring down this corrupt government.”
“Amen, my child,” he said, grinding the cigarette into the ashtray. Then he leaned in and kissed her deeply. “And now, where were we?”
* * *
“I spoke the other day of the colossal military disaster which occurred when the French High Command failed to withdraw the northern Armies from Belgium at the moment when they knew that the French front was decisively broken at Sedan and on the Meuse,” the P.M. intoned, pacing back and forth on the Persian carpet in front of his desk in his office at No. 10. He was squinting, as though picturing the phrases in his mind’s eye, as Maggie struggled to type them.
“… The disastrous military events which have happened during the past fortnight have not come to me with any sense of surprise. Indeed, I indicated a fortnight ago as clearly as I could to the House that the worst possibilities were open; and I made it perfectly clear then that whatever happened in France would make no difference to the resolve of Britain and the British Empire to fight on, if necessary for years, if necessary alone.”
As he dictated, he paced the length of his office. Words were rolling off his tongue, and Maggie kept up as best she could.
“… There remains, of course, the danger of bombing attacks, which will certainly be made very soon upon us by the bomber forces of the enemy. It is true that the German bomber force is superior in numbers to ours; but we have a very large bomber force also, which we shall use to strike at military targets in Germany without intermission. I do not at all underrate the severity of the ordeal which lies before us; but I believe our countrymen will show themselves capable of standing up to it, like the brave men of Barcelona, and will be able to stand up to it, and carry on in spite of it, at least as well as any other people in the world. Much will depend upon this; every man and every woman will have the chance to show the finest qualities of their race, and render the highest service to their cause. For all of us, at this time, whatever our sphere, our station, our occupation or our duties, it will be a help to remember the famous lines: