The Empire Trilogy - J. G. Farrell [189]
One success (the twins) and two failures (Edward’s holiday, Mrs Rappaport). Next the Major turned his attention to the Majestic itself, afraid that the collapse of the building might be imminent. The Major, of course, knew himself to be anxious by nature and inclined to get things out of proportion. Yet he still believed that he could hear the curious cracking sounds which he had first heard during the roar of the storm. Now that all was quiet and tranquil one should have been able to hear them quite clearly. But the fact was that, although he could feel them, he could not hear them at all. It was merely an abrupt sensation of strain, followed by an ominous relief—a sensation that might be represented as the snapping of rotten branches under water. No doubt it was pure imagination. Nevertheless, in order to set his mind at rest he telephoned an architect in Dublin by the name of Delahunty and explained his fears, asking him if he would come down and look the place over.
Delahunty was a confident, jolly man of middle age who had been recommended to the Major by a mutual acquaintance. He laughed at the Major’s anxiety; he knew the place well, he said. He had often stayed there with his parents as a child. Solid as a rock! One might just as well expect Dublin Castle to fall down. But if the Major really wanted reassurance he’d be delighted to come and have a look round. It would be good to see the old place again after all these years. If it was a nice day he might even bring his swimming-costume and take a dip in the swimming-pool...Was it filled at the moment? well, yes...though, strictly speaking...that was to say, there was water in it...Capital! The Major should expect him on Tuesday. And Delahunty, who was a busy man, had rung off before the Major had time to append any more of his laborious qualifications.
On Tuesday he duly made his appearance, a bald, tubby man with sparkling eyes who greeted the Major as if they were old friends. Splendid to see the old place again. Donkey’s years since he’d been in this corner of Ireland. Needed a bit of spit and polish by the look of it but solid as a rock. After all, it wasn’t the paint that counted but what was underneath. Look, now that he was here why shouldn’t he stay for supper as well? They could put his name in the pot, couldn’t they?
“By all means.”
Ah, they knew how to build in those days. They didn’t just throw a house up with a couple of bricks and a lick of mortar the way they did nowadays. See, Major, listen to that—and he rapped the wall of the corridor with his chubby knuckles.
“It’s quite a relief to hear you say it. I’d begun to imagine things.”
“You haven’t a thing to worry about. Take my word for it.” And Mr Delahunty, with a smile, indulged the Major by going with him, even so, to take a look at the crack behind the tapestry in the writing-room. Nothing structural, he declared, simply an “easing of the brickwork.” Happened in all old places. But the upper storeys? The dry rot? The place the Major had put his foot through?
“You’re bound to find that some of your woodwork doesn’t come up to scratch. ’Tis the damp in the air that does it. Any old house in Wicklow or Wexford will be the same. But that’s not to say they’re going to fall down. Far from it. When you feel like it, Major, do a bit of re-timbering. Take your time. There’s no hurry. The old Majestic will still be here long after you and I are dead and gone.”
“There’s no need to take a look upstairs then?” Mr Delahunty laughed out loud at this. Taking the Major’s arm he said: “Look here, Major, you can say what you like against me but I know my buildings. Take it from me, this one will last another couple of hundred years if it lasts a month. There it is. Say what you like against me...” He hesitated, as if he half expected a denunciation from the Major. As none came, however, he added quickly: “Now let’s go and have some of that lovely tea you mentioned.”
The Major had gone to some pains to organize tea for himself and Mr Delahunty in the privacy