The Empire Trilogy - J. G. Farrell [190]
Curiously, however, after his first cup of tea Mr Delahunty’s conversation languished, his amiable barks of laughter became intermittent. He even failed to respond to one or two, admittedly rather dull, anecdotes the Major found himself recounting.
“Tea all right?”
“Oh, splendid. Absolutely top-hole.”
The Major attempted several topics, regretting that he knew so little about architecture. Finally he tried to inter-est Mr Delahunty in the situation in Ireland today, a subject on which he surely had a great deal to say. But although he smiled and murmured vague replies he seemed preoccupied. His eyes roved absently around the walls and the ceiling. He appeared to be listening for something. When the maid, coming for the tea-tray, slammed the door he jumped violently.
Presently he looked at his watch and held out his hand to the surprised Major.
“But I thought you were staying to supper?”
“Appointment I forgot about, old chap. Maybe another time.”
As they took leave of each other in the foyer Mr Delahunty’s eyes continued to rove absently here and there.
“Well, I’m glad to hear there’s nothing to worry about. You’ve taken a load off my mind.”
“Oh yes, you haven’t a thing to worry about,” murmured Delahunty and once more before leaving, though rather cautiously, rapped the wall with his chubby knuckles.
Now that the Major’s mind had been set at rest about the structure of the Majestic it seemed less important to him that the guests should be encouraged to leave. However, the collapse of the building itself was not the only factor involved. There was also the increasing violence in the countryside, where the Majestic stood in vulnerable isolation. There was the simple absurdity of continuing to run the place as a hotel when it had long since ceased to resemble one. Above all, there was the deterioration in Edward’s state of mind (not to mention the suspicion that he’d gone clean out of his wits) since the slaughter of the piglets. Bacon off the menu for ever, so the cook had been instructed. Revolvers to be laid out with the knives and forks in case of emergency at mealtimes. Clearly the fewer strains on him the better. Sooner or later, in any case, the guests would have to be got rid of. The Major was still haunted by the harsh laughter that had echoed over the rooftops.
But some of the ladies had been there for a very long time indeed. They had lasted through the winter; they had a right to stay through the summer as well. Of course they had no real rights at all. They had simply been there for so long that they seemed to have acquired the right to stay for ever—that is to say, until they died, which they would presumably do eventually. But the process might still take a considerable time.
The Major went amongst them and intimated vaguely, nothing definite yet, of course, that one of these days it mightn’t be such a bad idea if they gave a little thought to where they would be moving on to after...well, after what? After Edward went completely off his head, perhaps...After the I.R.A. established their headquarters at the Majestic (and good luck to them!)...After the unforeseen, whatever it turned out to be, had happened...What could the Major say that would not be unsuitable?
He was so vague that he succeeded only in alarming them. They listened unsympathetically. Gradually they became indignant. The Major fell to a lower point in their esteem than he had reached since the day he had put an end to their punitive shopping expeditions. First they found themselves having to “fight it out” with the servants for the use of the bathrooms (the axiom that the servants “never washed” and at home kept coal or potatoes in the bathtub seemed to have proved faulty). First that and now this. It was intolerable. They had a jolly good mind to leave! The Major, eyes on his shoes, nodded miserably and looked chastened, having forgotten for the moment that this was precisely what he wanted them to do anyway.
“All I really meant was that