The Empire Trilogy - J. G. Farrell [121]
When Sarah was present Edward liked to play as her partner; “the old firm” he called it. They would both become very boisterous, greeting their cards with cries of mock grief or joy, encouraging each other to all sorts of extravagant behaviour. In this mood Edward often made the ladies roar with laughter and even towards Sarah they adopted a less frosty attitude. The Major would laugh at Edward’s jokes too, of course, but with bad grace. He seldom enjoyed himself. Only Mrs Rappaport, sitting grimly on her straight-backed chair by the fire, never smiled.
Mrs Rappaport would have cast a cloud over the proceedings, no doubt, if the whist fever had been any less intense—but one got used to her presence. Besides, she sat a little apart from the main group. One day, however, she did cause a slight stir and a few cries of dismay because it was noticed that another cat had magically appeared in her lap. Once again it was a mystery as to how it had got there. Normally everyone made a point of hunting cats out of the residents’ lounge with walking-sticks or parasols or whatever lay to hand, because one had to draw the line somewhere. Even more disturbing was the fact that the cat in question had the same marmalade fur as the frightful beast which had attacked Miss Staveley’s hat in the writing-room. Old Mrs Rappaport was blind, of course, so she could not possibly have selected it deliberately. The ladies’ concern might have been greater but for the fact that this cat was clearly not dangerous. Indeed, it was only a kitten—a tiny, mewing bundle of orange fur with its eyes barely open. If anything, it was a rather attractive little creature. One felt immediately that one wanted to stroke it. Some of the old ladies did so, bending stiffly to fondle its tiny ginger ears, and if the kitten promptly reacted by gripping these loose-skinned, jewelled fingers with the miniature needles of its claws, why, any healthy kitten would do the same. “It’s only natural,” said Miss Bagley, “and hardly hurts at all.”
All the same, it did have one faintly disturbing quality: namely, the speed at which it was growing. It was almost as if during the night someone picked it up by its wisp of a black-and-orange-ringed tail and blew a deep breath into it, inflating it like a gaudy balloon. With each day that passed it appeared a little more swollen and when it stretched and yawned the span of its claws reached a little farther. Moreover, when its eyes were more fully opened it was remarked that they were of a bitter, sea-green hue. Grim and impassive Mrs Rappaport sat there day after day with the kitten under her palm swelling into a...well, into a cat. Nobody took much notice of either of them; Edward had become so amusing these days, almost like a comedian.
The Major envied him. No matter how grey the afternoon, no matter how despondent the whist players had become about the state the country was in, Edward had only to sit down at the table for five minutes and everyone would be shouting and laughing, their ailments and prophecies of disaster forgotten. A current of energy accompanied him. When he left the table it was as if all the lights had been turned out. He dominated everyone, even the indomitable Miss Johnston. One could hear his voice three rooms away. His cheerfulness rattled the window-panes. He was like the ring-master of a circus: not one of the old ladies would be allowed to sulk or sink into herself. Miss Devere or Miss Bradley might try to resist him, remembering a loved one who had died on that particular day, perhaps, or thinking of the onset of winter, but...Crack! The whip of Edward’s massive personality would sail out across the