The Empire Trilogy - J. G. Farrell [151]
It was very quiet. There was no movement in the house or in the trees outside the window. Edward was gazing abstractedly into the fire, enjoying a rare moment of tranquillity. Presently, however, a small oak leaf of white plaster dropped from a wreath on the dim ornamented ceiling and shattered into pieces on the tiles by Edward’s feet. He gave a start and peered up at the ceiling.
“We really must do something, Brendan, about the old place. It needs doing up badly. One simply can’t let things slide.”
The Major raised his eyebrows dubiously but said nothing. He remembered Edward’s indifference about the piece of the façade which had almost crushed the dog Foch. By comparison the distintegration of the ceiling plaster was trivial. But Edward had begun to interest himself in what he was saying.
“There’s so much wrong with the place no wonder we get complaints from some of the guests (because we do get complaints, Brendan, from time to time). Heaven only knows when we last had a lick of paint and some new wall-paper, not to mention the things like mending broken windows and replacing some of those old curtains that the moths have been getting at...And then we need to have a look at the roof, I hear there was a positive waterfall cascading down one of the servants’ staircases during that spell of rainy weather we had over Christmas. And of course we must get that M put back up there...it looks too absurd the way it is... “AJESTIC”...whoever heard of such a word?...and make sure none of the other letters are going to fall off...After all, if one’s going to run a hotel it may as well be a good one, what d’you think?”
“I quite agree,” the Major said with a sigh, doubtful that Edward’s enthusiasm would last long enough to become action. “I should think the first job is to make sure none of the masonry falls on anybody’s head.”
“Absolutely! That’s the ticket. Really put the old place back on its feet again. We could clean out the swimming-pool and maybe try to get that wretched ‘Do More’ generator working again...”
“And maybe the Turkish Baths,” added the Major, who at that moment felt like taking a Turkish bath and was prepared to join Edward’s romancing. Edward was being serious, however.
“The Turkish Baths might present us with a tiny bit of a problem, actually. We did try to get them going again some years back but it was a disaster. The boilers suddenly went haywire and before anyone knew what was happening half a dozen guests had suffered heat prostration...Had to be carried out, poached like lobsters...”
“Well, we must do something about the Palm Court before it undermines the foundations. And the squash court...”
“Ah yes, and the squash court. Of course I’d have to find another place for the piggies, but that shouldn’t be impossible. Really, the place has all the amenities...all we need to do is to fix things up. Mind you, with the state of the country this may not be the best time to get people over here from England. But with luck the situation should be under control by the beginning of the season...I hear that Dublin Castle has a plan to start shooting Sinn Feiners by roster until they stop attacking the police...We could put an advertisement in The Times and do something about the tennis courts. Pity not to make use of them.”
Edward was on his feet now, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. As he talked he jingled some loose change in his pocket, which caused the Major to wonder where the money for all this splendid refurbishing would come from. But Edward’s enthusiasm was infectious. How was it that he had never thought of this before? he was wanting to know. His eyes had been opened! The Majestic was no fantasy. It was solid. It was there! It had everything that was needed... indeed, it had more than most places: it had electric light. It even had a firmly established reputation as a place of fashionable luxury—tarnished, doubtless, but a reputation nevertheless.
Dubious again, the Major listened