The Importance of Being Kennedy. Laurie Graham

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       THE TROUBLE WITH BLOOD FITZWILLIAM

      But I was saying about 1948. The minute her mammy was on her way to the aerodrome Kick got the shine back in her eyes.

      She said, ‘That was pretty gruesome. Daddy'll fix everything. He can probably get us a special dispensation from Rome.’

      I said, ‘The Holy Father won't change the rules, not even for a Kennedy.’

      She said, ‘This Holy Father might. He's practically part of the family.’

      Part of the family my eye. He paid a call once, that's all, long ago, when we were in Bronxville, and that was only because Mr Roosevelt couldn't think what else to do with a visiting cardinal all afternoon, only send him to Mrs Kennedy for a cup of tea.

      She said, ‘And we had a private audience. He gave me a rosary.’

      I said, ‘I know. I was there. And so was Fidelma Clery He gave us all rosaries. He gets them wholesale, I'm sure. But that doesn't mean he hands out dispensations so a man can have two wives.’

      She got into such a paddy.

      She said, ‘Why doesn't anyone understand? Blood married Obby in one of their churches, so as far as our church is concerned he's never been married. Anyway, the Holy Father can change anything he wants to. Especially if Daddy sends him a big fat cheque for a new altar or something.’

      There were cablegrams flying back and forth all that week and then Blood Fitzwilliam turned up, like the bad penny. He was back in town and expecting to take her to lunch. When you're in service you notice that the ones who're too grand to give you a ‘Good day’ are not necessarily the ones with the biggest estates or kings in their family tree. Just a middling rip like Fitzwilliam can be full enough of himself to ignore the help.

      As soon as she heard his voice, Kick was ready to grab her pocketbook and go.

      I said, ‘Didn't you tell me Lady Ginny was calling for you?’

      ‘Oh Lord,’ she said. ‘Well, she's late. Just tell her something came up, would you? She'll understand.’

      He'd picked up the telephone without so much as a by-your-leave, putting through a call to his club, tapping a cigarette on his silver case. Kick was watching me watching him.

      She said, ‘Darling, no smoking in the hall. Nora's got her fierce face on.’

      ‘Sweetie,’ he said, ‘who pays Nora's wages?’

      It was four o'clock when she came home, pink and silly from champagne wine.

      She said, ‘Blood's going to take me down to Nice for a vacation, next month. Such bliss. We're going to stay with his friends at their villa, and then by the time we come back Daddy will be in Paris, so we'll be able to stop off and see him. It's all worked out perfectly. We can have a big powwow about asking the Pope and things, without Mother being there to have a fit, and Daddy and Blood can get to know one another.’

      I said, ‘Angel girl, will you listen to yourself? All this talk about marrying. Is the man divorced from his lawful wedded wife?’

      ‘He soon will be,’ she said. ‘He just has to see the lawyers. Then it won't take long. Obby's going to cooperate. You know they haven't had a real marriage for years.’

      I said, ‘And what about his child? Where does she fit in to a divorce?’

      She said, ‘She'll be fine. I expect we'll live at Coolatin when we're not in London, and she'll be able to come to visit us and keep a pony there and everything. I'm sure she's an absolute sweetheart, and I'll bet she'd love to have some little brothers and sisters. I'm going to have dozens of babies for you to look after, Nora, and we'll all live happily ever after. Blood will charm Mother off her feet, and Pat and Jean'll come over for the hunting. We might even be able to have poor Rosie to stay.’

      Ah yes. Poor Rosie. Well, there was a name she knew better than to bring up with her daddy if she wanted to get him on her side. We never mentioned Rosie any more, except below stairs.