Singapore Grip - J. G. Farrell [299]
‘In time!’ he groaned again, striking the table with his damaged fist and causing the blood to well up between his bandaged fingers.
While Walter had been speaking, W. J. Bowser-Barrington had surreptitiously scribbled a little note and passed it along to his colleagues; Blackett has been on quite a binge!!! They nodded gravely to each other as this note was passed along. The truth of it was undeniable. Moreover, as Walter talked an overpowering smell of whisky permeated the airless atmosphere of the board-room. Yes, the fellow had without doubt been on a considerable bender. He looked as if he were going to pieces.
At length, Walter’s speech became halting and eventually dried up altogether. None of the Langfield men had anything to say and for a considerable time they sat in silence in the gloomy little room, listening to the distant rattle and boom of the guns. W. J. Bowser-Barrington wore a pink carnation in his button-hole and he had turned his head so that his nose rested among its petals; the sweet fragrance was a relief after the smell of sweat and alcohol from Walter. Since a reply was clearly expected, however, he stated his opinion, in terms as vague as possible and subject to all subsequent changes of mind and circumstances that there was little that could be done to resist, either severally or in concert, these admittedly undesirable developments, but that no time should be lost in bringing pressure to bear in the appropriate quarters in London for adequate compensation for everything that was destroyed.
‘And that is something,’ he added cautiously, ‘which would certainly benefit from a combined operation, perhaps with other Singapore firms who find themselves in the same predicament. And what’s more …’
‘Ah, I see,’ said Walter, cutting him short before he had a chance to finish. But instead of arguing or protesting, as they had expected (such a noisy scene, my dears, you have no idea! they had already imagined themselves saying to certain old cronies at the Club), Walter simply continued to sit there, breathing heavily, his eyes straying vaguely round the room.
‘By the way, where’s Solomon?’ he asked suddenly. And then, seeing that the Langfield men were taken aback by this question, he added: ‘I mean, did you ship him home or is he in a godown somewhere?’
‘Well, no, he’s here actually,’ said Bowser-Barrington, pointing at a long wooden box beneath the table, on which, as it happened, Walter had a moment earlier been resting his feet. ‘We’ll probably take him with us when we leave. It’s pretty clear that things will collapse here in a matter of days. We have a motor-launch waiting at the Telok Ayer Basin to take us to Sumatra when the balloon goes up. You’d better think of coming with us, old boy,’ he added, his eyes narrowing insultingly, while the rest of the board gazed at him in consternation.
‘Thanks, I’ll bear it in mind,’ replied Walter shortly. He despised Bowser-Barrington who was not even a real Bowser but had married one of the Bowser women and then changed his name to give himself face. He sighed. Then he got to his feet heavily, paused to look round the table, and with a shrug of indifference blundered out of the room without any further comment.
When the door had closed behind him an excited babble broke out among the Langfield men. What had the Secretary been thinking of! To invite Blackett to come with them, what an idea! Bowser-Barrington sat calmly and with a complacent expression on his face until the excitement had died down a little. Then he held up his hand for silence and began to explain. He now had the answer to that crucial question which had eluded them hitherto; namely, what could have been in old Solomon’s mind when he had agreed to the marriage between Nigel and Miss Blackett? For Solomon, with his customary