‘It’ll just prolong the agony,’ Findlay interrupted defiantly.
Powers raised his hand. ‘Please, Ian. Let us hear Fern’s view.’
To the American’s surprise she smiled at the volatile Orangeman as she placed a slim lady’s briefcase demurely on her knees. ‘It may surprise you to know, Senator, that I agree with Ian and Peter.’ She flipped open the lid of her case and extracted her notes. ‘To recap, you suggest that voters in the Six Counties register either as Irish or British citizens and thereby decide to vote for Dail or Westminster MPs. A sort of make-your-mind-up time. To my mind, any Catholic registering as Irish will be effectively disenfranchised unless they uproot and move to Eire.’
‘Irish voters would retain all their existing rights,’ Powers countered, ‘including local council elections, arguably the most important issues to affect the individual…’
.‘But excluding such minor matters as welfare and taxation,’ Fern Kelly retorted. ‘In effect, Catholics in Ulster could happily vote for tax cuts — or increases — in another country. One in which they have never lived. And most of us, myself included, already travel on an Irish passport.’
‘That wouldn’t have to change.’
She shook her head. ‘Then the whole concept is another well-meaning fudge.’
‘And a dangerous one,’ Findlay interjected.
‘I agree. It is divisive. Far from the intention of creating a bond of Irish unity and giving Ulster Catholics legal status, it is a recipe for civil war. Not exactly what we need at the moment.’
Abe Powers was stunned. How could this bright young middle-class Catholic girl be so dismissive of his carefully crafted idea? A former political student at Queen’s, a skilful journalist and rising star in the SDLP — how could she reject this monumental leap in forward thinking, this radical suggestion already accepted in embryo form by London and Dublin as a way forward?
Stubbornly he said: ‘We achieved an accord — I admit, a fragile one — between Israel and the PLO. If that can be done between sworn enemies, then surely we can make some concessions…?’
‘Britain is not an occupying power, Senator,’ Findlay snapped. ‘And there is no comparison. If British policy was in any way parallel to the Israelis’, then all IRA suspects would have been imprisoned without trial or dumped on the mountains of Donegal. Houses of IRA sympathisers would have been blown up and Dublin bombed for giving refuge to its supporters.’
Peter Rawlings agreed. ‘That’s not to mention forming a security buffer zone for several miles into Eire.’
‘Do I need to go on?’ Findlay asked. ‘Remember this, Israel has always had backing from the United States. But when confronting the IRA, Britain has always been opposed by you Americans. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Washington’s pressure after the First World War when the twenty-six counties seceded from Britain, there would probably be no Irish Republic today.’
Abe Powers was angry. ‘Don’t expect me to apologise for that, Ian!’ He watched his carefully built house of cards flutter to the ground.
It was Fern Kelly’s small voice which broke the bitter silence that followed. ‘If you’ll forgive me for saying, Senator, no amount of tinkering with fine words in agreements and treaties or fudging parts of the constitution will bring an end to the violence, because you are trying to reconcile the irreconcilable. Believe me, my party tried to find common ground with Sinn Fein last year and it ended in disaster. The simple truth is only the IRA can decide on peace and what they want no one in this room is in the position to deliver, any more than Dublin or London can. They want the border torn down and that’s something the majority of Protestants won’t tolerate — as well as thousands of Catholics who also have no wish to become part of Eire.’
‘Maybe the IRA merely want historical justice,’ Powers goaded.
Findlay’s laugh was brittle. ‘I’ve yet to hear any IRA or Sinn Fein argument that doesn’t go back to 1921 or beyond. They’re living in cloud-cuckoo-land. And, Senator, to quote your own guidelines for these talks, what was it…?’
Fern Kelly helped him. ‘Put the past behind us, live with and recognise present practicalities and resolve our differences in the interests of our children’s future.’
‘Your sentiment is right there, Senator,’ Rawlings agreed. ‘We need something that will unite our people in the north, not divide us.’
‘But excluding the IRA,’ Powers echoed, as though the very words themselves were a betrayal of Irish history that he’d been taught at his grandmother’s knee. ‘I don’t think it will work without them, whatever you say. Unfortunately that is the one basis on which Downing Street allowed these talks.’
Fern Kelly said quietly: ‘I wonder if there isn’t only one way to unite a divided country like Ulster.’
Powers looked at her, thinking of the old English joke about towing it into the Atlantic and sinking it. ‘And that is?’
‘It’s something I’ve thought about a lot recently. Not an entirely new idea, but maybe the time has never been so right to give it a chance. A fresh start. Give a divided people an incentive to work together. An independent Northern Ireland under the protection of the United Kingdom.’
Rawlings raised an eyebrow. ‘You mean like the Isle of Man?’
She nodded. ‘An autonomous Crown possession, totally self governing apart from defence against foreign aggression. Our own laws, taxes, offshore status to pull in big investment…’
Findlay was dubious. ‘How does this square with your party’s aim of constitutional ties with Dublin?’
‘It doesn’t, but we each have to give something to find a solution. Your people would have to accept some form of power-sharing.’
Suddenly Abe Powers experienced a surge of excitement. Had they stumbled on a real possibility here? ‘Would the IRA go for that?’
‘No,’ Fern Kelly replied, ‘but under your Secret Protocol the ringleaders will be interned for the first three years. With a new constitution up and running, they’d stand no chance of restarting the fight. Only people without hope resort to guns.’
Powers was still puzzled by one thing. ‘But, Fern, you’ve always believed in a United Ireland — like my own ancestors.’
She smiled gently. ‘Do you know, Senator, if Ulster was truly independent and free of any claim by Dublin, I think you would soon see the people of north and south more united in spirit than you would ever have believed possible.’
Two hours later Casey paid off her cab outside Boodles. She experienced a small thrill of trepidation about entering the hallowed portals of the venerable club. It wasn’t long ago, Mercs had told her, that women had not been allowed to visit. Was she wearing too much make-up? Was the bright floral summer dress really appropriate, even with the borrowed black cardigan to tone down the overall effect? She really wished she’d gone home and changed into her business suit with the padded shoulders that Mercs said made her look like a fullback for the Chicago Cowboys. If Harrison thought she was wrongly dressed, he gave no sign as he waited for her in the lofty marble-floored lobby. He was wearing a slightly unfashionable charcoal suit and, she noted, the same tie he’d worn at the funeral. Felix the cat and the orange hand of Ulster.
As he greeted her, she was aware of the intensity of the expression in his dark eyes.
‘I can’t wait to meet the mystery man,’ she said.
If Harrison was harbouring any anger towards her, he hid it well. He was relaxed and smiling easily. ‘No real mystery, Casey,’ he assured as he led her towards a quiet corner table in the fusty, panelled dining room with its starched table linen and heavy silver.