The Empire Trilogy Part 2

He didn't, however. Just as the Major was preparing to slope off after breakfast (and perhaps corner Angela to drop a few hints about not wanting to marry her) Edward abruptly materialized at his elbow and steered him firmly down unfamiliar corridors, through a yard festooned with damp sheets bulging in the wind and into a smaller yard walled by outhouses. Here a dozen or so dogs of varying ages, shapes and sizes (whose names the Major already knew by heart) were dozing on piles of straw or empty sacks.

"My dogs," Edward said with simplicity. "Aren't they beauties? Mind where you walk."

"They certainly are," the Major replied insincerely.

The dogs brightened up at the sight of Edward and crowded round him excitedly, snapping at his fingers and trying to land their paws on his chest, barging, quarrelling and getting in the way to such an extent that the two men had trouble wading through them to reach a gate on the far side. This led into yet another yard, empty this time except for a three-sided fireplace sprouting black smoke and orange flames. Over the fire hung the round black belly of an iron cauldron, steaming and bubbling. The dogs sprang towards it in a frenzy of excitement.

Evans, the tutor, was standing beside the cauldron stirring it, his pale, unhealthy face completely expressionless. "What a strange fellow!" thought the Major. Stirring the cauldron with the flames leaping about his ears made him look positively sinister.

"Thank you, Tutor. A good brew today, is it?" Edward turned to the Major. "Evans does the cooking, I do the feeding. Dogs know who feeds them, believe you me. It's not the same thing if you tell your servants to do it...they don't know who's master (I mean, the dogs dogs don't). Now take a look at that. Rich and juicy!" don't). Now take a look at that. Rich and juicy!"

The Major peered with distaste at the simmering liquid. Fortunately the surface was covered with an oily grey froth which masked the pot's macabre contents.

"Very nourishing, I shouldn't be surprised," observed the Major drily. But Edward was not yet satisfied. Picking up a couple of charred sticks, he fished with them until he had located something beneath the surface. A moment later the Major was face to face with a long, narrow skull, eyeless and tipped with grinning teeth.

"Well, thanks a lot for showing me. I think I'll take a stroll round while the weather holds." The Major stared up at the overcast sky and then, backing away a couple of paces, almost fell over a ma.s.sive sheepdog that had moved up behind him. Edward grasped him firmly by the upper arm-whether to help him keep his balance or to prevent him from leaving was not immediately clear.

"Look here, Major," he said in a conciliatory tone. "We don't want to be too hard on the boy, do we?"

The Major stared at him and Edward, taking his silence for disagreement, continued: "A lot of it's my own fault, I realize that. He was sacked from school, d'you see, and I had him sent to a crammer. Shouldn't have done that...turned him agin the government. I was angry, you know, and thought I wouldn't let him get away with it...not scot free, anyway."

"You mean Ripon?"

"Yes, yes, Ripon. I know you've been wondering why he didn't volunteer and so forth. It's only natural after what you've been through."

"Really, Mr Spencer, I can a.s.sure you..." But Edward was patting his arm soothingly and saying: "Only natural. Anyone would feel the same in your position. Those who go and those who stay at home...white feathers and all that rot. He's not a coward, though, and neither am I. Take a look at this!" Dropping the charred sticks, he unb.u.t.toned his waistcoat and began pulling his shirt out until he had uncovered a patch of pale skin at his waist. In the middle of the patch was a round white scar as big as a halfpenny.

"In the service of the King-Emperor. Didn't think I'd get back from that little affair. Somehow or other it missed the intestines or I wouldn't be here to tell the tale. Get down, sir!" A spaniel was attempting to lick the exposed patch of skin.

While Edward adjusted his clothing the Major repeated his innocence of any critical thoughts about Ripon. "Lot of fuss about nothing, was it?" Edward hastened to agree. "Well, that's all right then. Still, I wouldn't have wanted you to think we were a family of milksops. Ripon told Angela that the first thing you asked him was whether he'd been abroad. He was angry with Angela, d'you see, because he thought she'd been telling tales."

There was silence for a moment. Edward had retrieved one of the sticks and was stirring the pot, with the dogs milling and woofing round him. His rugged face with its clipped moustache and flattened ears was still scowling with anxiety in spite of the Major's rea.s.surance.

"He's not a bad boy at heart, you know. It's true he was sacked from school (though not for anything unhealthy, mind)...and I suppose that rather set him agin the government. I lose my temper with him at times and that doesn't help...Get down! I'll tell you when it's ready," he added to a large Alsatian puppy that from behind had forced its head under his arm. "All the same, he should have volunteered when he was needed, coward or no coward. He may never have another chance as good as the one he missed."

A chance to do what? wondered the Major. To have his name carved into the dark wood of Edward's war memorial, a dead servant of His Majesty? But a nation must require all its people to partic.i.p.ate. A just cause must be defended by everyone. There's no room for young men who are "agin the government." Believing, as the Major did, that the cause had had been a just one and that throughout the world the great civilizing power of the British Empire had been at stake, it was right that Ripon should be held in contempt. Besides, Ripon was perhaps alive in the place of one of those destroyed men who came at night to plead with him in the agony of his dreams. been a just one and that throughout the world the great civilizing power of the British Empire had been at stake, it was right that Ripon should be held in contempt. Besides, Ripon was perhaps alive in the place of one of those destroyed men who came at night to plead with him in the agony of his dreams.

The Major glanced at Edward. What a man to have such a son! How stiff and military he looked! When he moved, one half expected to hear the clinking of medals. The sort of man who in peacetime looks rather out of place, like a heavy fur coat on a hot summer's day. But again he noticed that mild and disabused expression of the eyes which contrasted so strongly with Edward's military appearance, that trace of self-mockery so firmly restrained that perhaps even Edward himself refused to acknowledge it except in his most private thoughts.

"No you don't," Edward said, aiming a kick at a tall and rickety Afghan hound that was poking its long nose into one of the Major's trouser pockets. "Come on then," he added, addressing the mult.i.tude of dogs. He unhooked the cauldron and at the centre of a whirlpool of barking, yelping animals dragged it over to a shallow trough, saying over his shoulder to the Major: "You know, it smells so good I shouldn't mind eating it myself."

The Major spent the rest of the morning trying to corner Angela. For a while he wandered the hotel aimlessly, meeting no one at all. He walked down corridors, through deserted rooms in twilight, often as not curtains still drawn from the evening before (perhaps even from many, many evenings before), up a staircase here, down a staircase there. Shortly before eleven o'clock, attracted by a smell of coffee, he found his way to the kitchens, which were chilly and cavernous, the whitewashed walls hung with an armoury of giant pots and pans (some of them big enough to braise an entire sheep, legs and all) which for the most part were rusted beyond recognition, so that they looked more like huge reddish-brown growths sprouting from the walls. In the middle of the table a tortoisesh.e.l.l cat lay in a veined meat-dish, dozing.

Here in the kitchens the Major was given a cup of tea (the coffee had been an olfactory illusion) stewed black and bitter by numerous reheatings, served to him by the extremely fat lady he had noticed at breakfast. She was the cook, he gathered, but though she appeared garrulous her accent was such that he could understand little of what she said. He did believe her to say, however, that "the mistress" might be found arranging flowers in the dining-room above.

"The mistress?" he repeated, wanting to make sure (he had been trailing long enough through empty rooms). He pointed up at the ceiling. The cook nodded vigorously and began to speak again, rapidly and with considerable urgency. Evidently what she was saying was important. Her face was working with emotion; between volleys of words there were shuddering intakes of breath; her shoulders shook, causing the gelatinous layers of flesh on her arms to shiver. "Good heavens!" thought the Major with concern. "What can it all be about?" Here and there he recognized a word: "heaven"... and "poor creature"...and "gone to the angels"; but to capture the sense of what she was saying was impossible. Presumably the good lady was referring to Angela's mother who also, come to that, might be described as "the mistress"-dead of an embolism, he remembered, on St Swithin's Day, 1910. But the cook obviously thought that he had understood her tirade, so to show sympathy he nodded glumly as she stopped speaking and began to chop away with extraordinary speed and ferocity, using a kitchen knife as big as a bayonet. And then, to make things worse, he noticed that her eyes were streaming with tears. She was weeping without restraint! And it was all his fault. He swallowed his tea (making a face, it was as bitter as wormwood) and stole out of the kitchen. But a little later, as he felt his way along the damp, stone corridor to the stairs, it occurred to him that the cook had been chopping onions-a fact which might have contributed to her display of emotion.

It took him a little time to find the right stairway to make the ascent to the dining-room. This was because he did not fathom immediately that it was necessary to go on down a few steps before joining the main staircase, from where one could go on up or down as the case might be (though G.o.d only knew where "down" might lead to). In other words, the kitchens were situated, for a reason that the architect alone could have explained, on a tributary staircase. Other similar staircases branched off here and there, but though he was curious to see where they led the Major was now hastening upwards to find Angela.

He was not surprised, however, to find that there was no sign of Angela in the dining-room. He stood there for a moment looking round. It was very silent. Some of the tables, it was true, were decorated with fresh flowers. On one of the tables a bunch of carnations and feathery green leaves lay on a newspaper waiting to be arranged in vases. A pair of scissors lay beside them, giving the impression that they had perhaps been abandoned a moment before he had stepped into the room. It was, he presumed, out of the question that Angela was deliberately avoiding him, so, in theory at least, all he had to do was to station himself beside these cut flowers which she certainly would not leave for long before putting into water.

A ponderous creaking began on the far side of the room. Ah, it was the dumb-waiter rising from the kitchen, he could see the ropes shivering as it rose. He walked over to have a look at it. Abruptly he had an intuition that there was something strange or terrifying on it: a decaying sheep's head, for example, or something even stranger, perhaps the cook's weeping head on a platter surrounded by chopped onions. The dumb-waiter stopped for a moment and then started again. When it reached the top he smiled at what it contained. It was the tortoisesh.e.l.l cat he had seen in the kitchen, still sitting on the meat-dish. When the conveyance had come to a halt it jumped off and wound through his legs. The dumb-waiter started down again empty.

A few moments later, with the cat cradled in his arms, he spotted Angela. She was on the next terrace below the tennis court carrying a spray of beech leaves and walking swiftly towards a flight of steps some distance away. Thinking that if he could find the entrance she was making for he might be able to intercept her, he set off rapidly, taking the cat with him for company. The cat did not like the idea, however, leapt out of his arms and vanished back the way they had come. The Major pressed on down the corridor he was following, relatively certain this time that he was going in the right direction. On his way he pa.s.sed one of the old ladies he had been introduced to the evening before. She was leaning on a stick, arrested half-way between two sharp bends in a long section of the corridor without doors or windows. As he pa.s.sed she murmured something indignantly but he merely nodded cheerfully, pretending not to hear. He was in a hurry. Excited, he turned another corner at the end of which, by his calculations of the exterior of the building and the distance he had walked, there should be a gla.s.s door through which Angela would enter at any moment. But there wasn't. At the end of the corridor there was merely a blank wall and a musty, dilapidated sitting-room. "This is absurd," he thought, half irritated and half amused. "To h.e.l.l with her. I'll see her at lunch."

But Angela failed to appear at lunch. The Major sat beside Edward, who was by turns morose and indignant about the state of the country. Another R.I.C. barracks had been attacked and stripped of arms; the young hooligans had nothing better to do these days, it seemed. They preferred shooting people in the back to doing an honest day's work. But for all that, he hadn't noticed many of them coming forward when Sir Henry Wilson had called for volunteers to join in a fair fight. At this the "friend of Parnell," who was sitting at the next table, stirred uncomfortably and muttered something.

"What's that you say?" demanded Edward.

"Thousands of Nationalists fought against Germany," the old man murmured, his voice still scarcely above a whisper. "Const.i.tutional Nationalists who fought not only for France's and Belgium's freedom but for Ireland's too. Not all Nationalists belong to Sinn Fein, you know..."

"But they're all tarred with the same brush. Sinn Fein demands a republic. Why? Because they hate England and sided with Germany during the war. Would they change their tune if Ireland was given Dominion Home Rule? Of course they wouldn't! It would merely whet their appet.i.tes for more. There's no middle of the road in Ireland, for the simple reason that the Home Rulers are playing right into the hands of Sinn Fein. Perhaps they mean well. Maybe they're just fools. But the result is the same."

"They're not not fools!" cried the old man, raising his voice. A faint flush had crept over his gaunt cheeks and water slopped on to the table-cloth from the trembling gla.s.s he had been in the process of lifting to his lips. "Irishmen fought in the British Army in defence of the Empire. Those men have a right to a voice in the settlement of their country's future." fools!" cried the old man, raising his voice. A faint flush had crept over his gaunt cheeks and water slopped on to the table-cloth from the trembling gla.s.s he had been in the process of lifting to his lips. "Irishmen fought in the British Army in defence of the Empire. Those men have a right to a voice in the settlement of their country's future."

"Exactly so," agreed Edward with a contemptuous smile. "And you know as well as I do that the bulk of those who served and died came from the Unionist families of the south and west. Who have a better right to a voice than the survivors of the men who fought at Thiepval, their fathers, sons and brothers? And yet everyone seems to take it for granted that they can be suppressed or coerced just for the sake of a temporary peace or because a rabble of Irish immigrants in America have been kicking up a fuss. My dear fellow, it simply won't wash. No British Government, not even one with a tremendous victory under its belt, could get away with being so rash and unjust. If you simple-minded Dominion-Home-Rulers got your way and tried to coerce Ulster we'd end up with a bloodbath and the Empire in ruins. I repeat, there are only two sides in Ireland. Either you are a Unionist or you support Sinn Fein, which means endorsing their mad and criminal rebellion in 1916, not to mention their friend the Kaiser..."

"Who will shortly be tried and hanged in London," spoke up a gentleman in heavy tweeds. "Lloyd George said so in the House yesterday." There was a moment of approving silence and then the gentleman in tweeds went on to say that he'd met a man who knew personally one of the constables killed at Soloheadbeg quarry, a fine young man, "as straight as the day," who had only been doing his job. If that wasn't murder what was?

The Major had listened to all this with detachment. After all, it was hardly any of his business (and would be even less of his business once he had managed to have a talk with Angela). Although he felt sorry for the "friend of Parnell" who, whitefaced and evidently upset, had pushed his plate aside, unable to swallow another mouthful, it seemed to him that Edward was undoubtedly right. The Irish, as far as he knew, had always had a habit of making trouble. That was in the nature of things. As for the aim of their unruly behaviour, self-government for Ireland, that seemed quite absurd. What would be the advantage to the Irish themselves? They were so ill-educated that they could not possibly hope to gain anything from it. The English undoubtedly knew more about running the country. The priests would presumably take over if the English were not there to see fair play. He was inclined to agree with Edward that the Republican movement was merely an excuse for trouble-makers moved more by self-interest than by patriotism. For the important fact was this: the presence of the British signified a moral moral authority, not just an administrative one, here in Ireland as in India, Africa and elsewhere. It would have to be matched by the natives themselves before self-government became an acceptable proposition. So thought the Major, anyway. authority, not just an administrative one, here in Ireland as in India, Africa and elsewhere. It would have to be matched by the natives themselves before self-government became an acceptable proposition. So thought the Major, anyway.

But by now he had had more than enough of politics, so he decided against joining Edward and the others for coffee. Other considerations apart, the coffee at the Majestic was execrable, brewed as it was by the manservant Murphy according to some recipe of his own. Instead, he went to his room for some tobacco, pa.s.sing on his way the fat cook he had reduced to tears earlier in the day. She was coming heavily down the stairs, panting slightly with the effort of negotiating the dangerously bulging carpet with a tray held in front of her. The Major peered at this tray: on it there was an entire lunch (cottage pie and stewed apple), hardly touched, pushed aside, one might suppose, by a person without appet.i.te. The thought occurred to him that perhaps Angela was ill and this was her lunch. However, since she had been up and about during the morning it could hardly be anything serious. The cook nodded to him somewhat nervously and then stumbled on a loose stair-rod. For an instant it seemed that she must plunge headlong to the foot of the stairs. But she righted herself somehow with a rattle of plates and a slopping of water and continued on her way, leaving the Major to wonder in which room lay his pallid "fiancee."

Later in the afternoon, restless but with nothing to do, he walked into Kilnalough with the intention of finding out at the railway station at what time the trains left for Kingstown and Dublin. On his way there, however, he encountered Sarah, who was being wheeled by a very plump, voluptuous girl with dark hair and rosy cheeks ("All Irish girls are as fat as b.u.t.ter," thought the Major). Hardly had this person been introduced (as "Maire") when she whispered something urgently into Sarah's ear and hurried away, leaving Sarah to wheel herself.

"Well, am I as terrifying as all that?"

"She's shy. Also I expect she had some idea that I might... well, never mind. Shall I tell you who she is? After all, the sooner I tell you all the gossip the sooner you'll find Kilnalough as dull as the rest of us."

"By all means."

"She's the daughter of the wealthiest man in Kilnalough-yes, even wealthier than your friend Mr Spencer (not that I should think he's he's all that wealthy, mind you, by the look of the Majestic)-the owner of the flour mill to be precise. You didn't know that we had a flour mill here? How ignorant you are! On every single bag of Noonan's flour sold in Ireland you'll find a picture of Maire dressed up as Little Red Riding Hood carrying a basket. Isn't that charming?" all that wealthy, mind you, by the look of the Majestic)-the owner of the flour mill to be precise. You didn't know that we had a flour mill here? How ignorant you are! On every single bag of Noonan's flour sold in Ireland you'll find a picture of Maire dressed up as Little Red Riding Hood carrying a basket. Isn't that charming?"

"I was hoping to hear something more scandalous."

"Very well then. Can I rely on you to be discreet?"

"Of course."

"She and your friend Ripon have an understanding."

"An understanding? You mean a...sentimental understanding?"

"On her part it's sentimental. On Ripon's I have the feeling it's more commercial than sentimental, but as you know I have a habit of thinking the worst of people. In any case, there's little chance of it coming to anything since their respective families can't abide each other."

"Romeo and Juliet."

"It would be more true to say, let me see...Iago and Juliet. What's more, Juliet is a sn.o.b." The Major laughed and Sarah turned to him with a sweet smile. Her malice amused him and, really, it was quite harmless, intended to entertain rather than hurt.

Sarah had declared her intention of buying some material at Finnegan's and they were progressing slowly up the main street in that direction, the Major pushing and Sarah chattering, teasing him by turns about his "Englishness," his "respectability," his "ramrod posture" and anything else that came into her head. The Major was only half listening, absorbed in looking round at the men in cloth caps idling on doorsteps (so few of them appeared to have any work to do), at the women in black shawls with shopping baskets, at the barefoot children playing in the gutter. How very foreign, after all, Ireland was!

Their progress up the street was now considerably impeded by a herd of cows ("How delightful, how typical!" thought the Major) which strayed not only over the road but on to the rudimentary pavement as well. Presently a motor car came up behind them with the driver sounding his horn, which did very little good since cows are inclined to panic; one of them almost charged straight back into the motor's radiator but was diverted at the last moment by a lad in a ragged overcoat who was herding the animals with a stick. Sitting beside the driver the Major recognized the burly figure of old Dr Ryan wrapped in a trench coat and numerous m.u.f.flers though the day was mild. He saw them and waved, telling the driver to pull in to the kerb to give the cattle time to move on. When they came level with him he said sternly: "Always in that chair, Sarah. You should be walking. You never do as you're told."

"Yes, yes, I know. You're always telling me," Sarah replied petulantly and glanced helplessly at the Major.

"You know, I think you like being in that chair."

"Oh you know every everything, Doctor!" Sarah retorted, and for an instant the Major glimpsed a bitter, sly expression on her face.

"Don't be impertinent," Dr Ryan said sharply. "And let me see you get out of that chair and walk over to me. Take hold of your young man's arm."

Sarah made a face and for a moment remained seated.

"Come on, we can't wait all day," snapped the doctor.

Looking confused and miserable, Sarah pulled herself up and, leaning heavily on the Major's arm and one of her sticks, she began to move forward. He was immediately surprised by how well she could walk. She was unsteady, it was true, but her legs seemed firm and strong. Dr Ryan, his aged head looking small and infirm on top of his great pile of cloth-ing, watched as she reached the car and started back to her chair, her slender fingers gripping the Major's forearm with a strength which surprised him.

"If you weren't so spoiled you'd be out of that chair the whole time. You could walk perfectly well if you took the trouble. And as for you, Major, perhaps you'd be kind enough to tell Edward Spencer from me to stop aggravating his tenants or there'll be trouble." With that the doctor waved to his chauffeur to drive on.

"What a dreadful old man," the Major said. "He's as sour as vinegar."

Sarah had changed her mind and no longer wanted to go to Finnegan's Drapery. She wanted to be taken home, off this hateful street; it wasn't far, the Major needn't worry, she wouldn't detain him long even though he obviously thought her company intolerable and was dying to get away...

"But I don't think anything of the kind," protested the Major, amazed. "Wherever did you get that idea?"

Ah, it was as plain as anything from the way he kept looking round him all the time, particularly when a pretty girl (one with two sound legs) pa.s.sed by, dragging her skirts so prettily through the cowpats. The Major, with his "ram-rod posture," obviously had far better things he could be doing and, besides, he must be simply dying to get back to his dear Angela by now and, in any case, he had been in a great old hurry off somewhere when they had first b.u.mped into each other...

"That's true. I was going to make some inquiries at the railway station. I'd forgotten completely."

"What? Are you leaving Kilnalough so soon? Have you and Angela had a quarrel?"

"Not only have we not had a quarrel; we haven't even spoken to each other-at least, privately. There was never really an understanding between us, you know-at least, I don't think there was; nothing serious-except that we wrote to each other regularly, of course."

"I didn't didn't know that. In fact, I thought...but never mind what I thought. Why did you come here, then?" know that. In fact, I thought...but never mind what I thought. Why did you come here, then?"

"Oh, to get it straightened out, I suppose. I hardly know why myself. In any case I never seem able to find Angela alone. You don't think she might be deliberately avoiding me, do you?"

But Sarah made no reply. They had now turned into a street of small but well-kept buildings of red brick, in one of which was housed the bank, behind and above which Sarah lived with her parents. Would the Major care to come in and have some tea?

They went in by a side gate and followed a path between trellises of climbing roses to where a shallow wooden ramp made for Sarah's wheelchair led up to the back door. Of course, she explained, the house was not nearly as grand as the sort of place he was no doubt used to, but it would do him no harm to be in a "miserable hovel" for a change. Indeed it would do him good. She pointed out the door of a room and said she would join him there in a minute, he was to make himself at home as best he could. The Major went into the room and sat down on a blue velvet sofa to wait. An oil-painting of a cow and some trees hung over the mantelpiece. There were a few books in the bookcase, for the most part fishing and travel reminiscences. There was the piano, too, no different from other pianos except for the iron clamps which held its broken legs together. In this neat, clean room, so utterly without character, it was only these broken legs which provided a touch of comfort.

The Irish Times Irish Times lay neatly folded on a table. He picked it up and scanned it idly. Officers' families in abject poverty. Good luck to the R34. A new era in transatlantic travel was about to begin. The Bolshevists were advancing-British seaplanes had been in action on the Finnish border. At Wimbledon Lieutenant-Colonel A.R.F. Kingscote, M.C., R.G.A., had gratifyingly beaten a young American. Dr King's Liver Pills (Dandelion and Quinine), guaranteed without mercury. Absolutely cure the symptoms of the TORPID LIVER...combat Depressed Spirits, etc. The Major folded the paper carefully and replaced it with a sigh. He was ill at ease, wondering whether it had been disloyal of him to discuss Angela with Sarah. lay neatly folded on a table. He picked it up and scanned it idly. Officers' families in abject poverty. Good luck to the R34. A new era in transatlantic travel was about to begin. The Bolshevists were advancing-British seaplanes had been in action on the Finnish border. At Wimbledon Lieutenant-Colonel A.R.F. Kingscote, M.C., R.G.A., had gratifyingly beaten a young American. Dr King's Liver Pills (Dandelion and Quinine), guaranteed without mercury. Absolutely cure the symptoms of the TORPID LIVER...combat Depressed Spirits, etc. The Major folded the paper carefully and replaced it with a sigh. He was ill at ease, wondering whether it had been disloyal of him to discuss Angela with Sarah.

"I hope you won't mention our conversation to Angela," he said when Sarah at last appeared. "As you know, I haven't yet had a chance to talk to her properly."

"Of course not," Sarah said with indifference. "It's none of my business. Besides, I never see her."

"But I thought you were great friends."

"We used to be friends, but not any longer. I'm surprised you're so un.o.bservant. Didn't you notice how coldly they treated me at the Majestic? Edward hardly speaks to me any longer. The only reason he invites me to his absurd tennis parties is because Angela is sorry for me. Yes, that's right, sorry for me! It's as clear as day. I expect you're sorry for me too if the truth be known, but I don't care. I shouldn't go to the Majestic, it would be much better not to, but I get so bored sitting here all day like a miserable cripple..."

"But Angela was so pleased to see you; and you're so pretty and amusing. Really, I'm sure you must be imagining all this," exclaimed the Major in surprise. "What possible reason could they have for not liking you?"

"They think I've been encouraging Maire (you remember that fat, ugly girl who was pushing my chair), they think I've been helping her to 'trap' their darling Ripon. They're quite wrong, of course. The last thing I'd do for a friend of mine (and she is a friend of sorts, that part is true) is to help her to 'trap' someone as odious as Ripon."

"But what do they have against her, anyway? I mean, if she's so rich and so on. The Spencers live in that huge hotel, but they don't appear to be all that well off. Ripon could surely do a lot worse."

Sarah shook her head sadly. "I can't believe that you're such an innocent, Major. D'you really mean to tell me that you don't see why the Spencers wouldn't want Ripon married to that rich, ugly creature? Well, I shall tell you, though I refuse to believe that you don't know. The reason is that Maire is a Catholic. Now do you understand?"

But before the Major had a chance to reply there was a polite knock on the door and a small dapper man dressed in a grey flannel suit of dubious cut made his appearance. He advanced holding out his hand nervously. He was, he said, Sarah's father (Sarah made no comment but looked annoyed) and he hadn't been able to resist taking a moment off to say h.e.l.lo to the Major, about whom he'd already heard a great deal, both from his old friend Mr Spencer and, of course, from Sarah herself (here he smiled fondly but Sarah looked more exasperated than ever)...

"I hope what you heard was complimentary."

Oh, most complimentary, of course, and it was really very kind of the Major to wheel Sarah home...getting about was something of a difficulty for her, as he could imagine, but she did very well, all things considered, she had so many kind friends who helped to lighten her load. He hoped too that the weather would be less changeable than it had been recently, particularly while the Major was visiting, it made such a difference, especially if the Major was, as he expected, a sporting man...And this was Mrs Devlin...

A heavy-set lady had entered wheeling a tea-trolley on which (the Major noticed with relief) there were only two cups, saucers, plates and cake-knives (and a splendid-looking cherry cake). Mrs Devlin nodded at the Major without speaking, hesitated for a moment and then withdrew. Mr Devlin patted his hair which was oiled flat and neat against his skull, smiled, and said that he would have to be getting his nose back to the grindstone but that it had been a pleasure and that he hoped the Major would often come again to visit them. He backed out of the room smiling and the door closed softly.

Sarah's mood had changed. To the Major's attempts at conversation she answered only in peevish monosyllables, all the time glancing round the room as if she were seeing it for the first time. Abruptly she interrupted a laborious compliment that the Major was paying to the cherry cake and said: "What an appalling room this is. You'd think some awful English person lived here." And with that she wheeled herself quickly to the door, opened it deftly and disappeared, almost before the Major had time to realize what was happening. He sat there, a half-eaten piece of cake in his fingers, wondering what she had meant by "some awful English person" and whether she intended to come back. Presently he heard the sound of a m.u.f.fled argument from some other room, a woman's voice raised in protest. But then a door slammed and a moment later Sarah reappeared, her face so dark that the Major asked her what was the matter.

"Nothing at all."

As she wheeled her chair forward the Major saw that in her lap lay a number of religious ornaments. Two plaster saints, painted in bright colours, she arranged on the piano within a few inches of his head. A wooden crucifix was propped on the mantelpiece while a crudely coloured and alarming picture of the Sacred Heart was placed on the bookcase backed by a pile of books removed from the shelf. That left another wooden crucifix which she put on the tea-table itself. The Major watched all this in amazement but said nothing, allowing himself to be given more tea and more cherry cake (which really was delicious). He munched it cautiously under the eye of the saints.

"I lease them the land at a price that's so cheap they laugh at me behind my back. I mend their roofs for them and give them seed corn and potatoes in return for a miserable percentage of their crop. I send them the vet when their cows get sick. I help them make ends meet when they spend all their money in the pub. Am I ent.i.tled to some loyalty, Major? Answer me that."

The Major had come upon Edward with a hoe in his hand, standing motionless beside a rose-bed sunk in thought. With the hoe he was now poking at the horizon to the south where a cl.u.s.ter of grey farm buildings stood on a ridge in the distance. Shading his eyes against the sun which for the first time that day had just appeared from beneath smooth carpets of grey cloud, the Major agreed that someone who did such things was indubitably ent.i.tled to loyalty.

"You know what I did to 'aggravate my tenants,' as old Ryan says? I asked them to sign a piece of paper saying they were loyal not to me, mind you, not to me but to the King... and that they wouldn't get mixed up in any of these Sinn Fein goings-on. Is that so terrible? Is it aggravating them to ask them to abide by the law? Well, I'll be d.a.m.ned if the blighters don't refuse point-blank to sign. It's Donnelly that's put them up to it, an old fellow with no teeth...'What's the meaning of this, Donnelly?' I ask him. 'Ah sure,' says he, 'we'd be in danger.' 'In danger from who?' He can't tell me the answer to that one. 'You'd never know,' he says. 'Well, Donnelly, I can tell you,' I said to him, 'if you don't sign it quick sharp you'll be in danger from me!'" Ma.s.sive and imposing, Edward punctuated his explanation with sharp jabs of the hoe.

There was silence for a moment. The Major was surprised to see that Edward, who had been scowling angrily, now had a rueful smile on his face. He threw down his hoe with a sigh and fell into step beside the Major, who had decided to take a stroll round the southern corner of the hotel. "The joke is that I don't really give a d.a.m.n about all that. I only lease them the land because I have to; they'd starve if I didn't. But I have no interest in it and it only causes me endless trouble. I'm not a farmer, never have been. I'd sell them the land in a trice but they couldn't even pay me the half of what it's worth. I'm not as young as I was but I often think I'd like to do something with my life. Yes, do something completely different...go back to the university, maybe, and do some research (I still take one or two scientific journals, you know, but in Kilnalough it's impossible to keep up). Have you ever thought, Brendan, how many completely different lives there are to be lived if only one could choose? I can tell you one thing, I certainly wouldn't choose to be a landlord in Ireland. One gets no thanks for it. However, that's the job I've been called to, so I suppose I must make the best of it."

As they walked they were joined by a shabby spaniel that appeared out of a clump of rhododendrons and trotted along behind Edward.

"Does old Ryan even know his doctoring? Frankly I doubt it. He must have been in the College of Surgeons when all they knew was leeches and bloodletting. And yet he's the only doctor in Kilnalough, so everyone treats him as if he's G.o.d Almighty." Edward was scowling again. He halted suddenly at a diamond-shaped bed of lavender and his scowl faded.

"Planted by my dear wife." After a moment, as if to clear up a possible misunderstanding, he added: "Before she died."

The spaniel mutely lifted a leg against an acute angle of the diamond and they set off again. The Major looked up at the great turreted wall that hung over them. They were so close to it at this point that it was impossible to gauge its size. A few yards farther on, however, they made another turn and this allowed him to see the back of the hotel which was really, in fact, the front, since the building had been designed to relate entirely to the sea. It was into the Irish Sea (and not into Ireland) that the most magnificent flight of steps led, and they were in the middle of the crescent whose curving arms spread out to embrace the distant coast of Wales across the vast expanse of windswept water. The Major was staggered to see for the first time just what this side of the crescent looked like: the extraordinary proliferation of turrets and battlements and crenellated cat-walks that hung from the building amid rusting iron balconies and French windows with drooping shutters. In the very heart of the crescent above the staircase of white stone and running from the slate roofs on one side to the slate roofs on the other was a great construction of gla.s.s which at this moment caught a stray gleam of sunlight and flared gold for a few seconds.

This, Edward was explaining, was the ballroom the Major might already have seen from the inside, a place impossible to keep warm in winter because of its gla.s.s roof. This gla.s.s roof, he went on with his eyes on his shoes, could be a bit of a problem in summer too. However (he brightened a little), in the old days it must have been really magnificent: the great Hunt b.a.l.l.s, the carnivals, the regattas (think of the lanterns glimmering on the yachts that bobbed at the landing-stage)... the dancing would go on until the rising sun dimmed the chandeliers and the waiters carried in silver trays steaming with bacon and kidneys and fried eggs gleaming in the sunlight and silver coffee-pots breathing wisps of steam like... like old men talking in winter, ah, but the marvellous part was that the whole thing would have been visible from above because of the gla.s.s roof, almost as if it were taking place in the open air...the nannies and the children crowding on to the balconies to watch and to listen to the violins until they, the children, became sleepy and even maybe fell asleep completely and were carried in and put to bed, not even waking up when the grey, exhausted but content grown-ups came in to kiss them good night in the early hours of the morning before themselves retiring to sleep till the afternoon, undisturbed except for memories of violins and glinting chandeliers and silk dresses and an occasional cry of a peac.o.c.k (because there had been peac.o.c.ks too, still were, come to that) settling on their sleeping minds as soft as rose-petals...

"Eh? Good heavens!" said the Major, astonished by this flight of fancy.

"Hm...actually, one of our guests wrote a sort of poem, you know, about how the place probably used to look in the old days. Lovely bit of work. Angela embroidered some of it for me on a cushion. I'll show it to you later on. I think you'll appreciate it."

"I'm sure I shall," agreed the Major.

The dog barked, doubtfully.