The Empire Trilogy - J. G. Farrell [96]
The two little beasts looked adorable. Their attempts to make practical bathing-suits from the pattern had ended in failure and tantrums of impatience, but by a lucky chance new bathing-suits had been sent to them by a remote aunt in London, a half-sister of Edward’s, reputed to be rather “fast” although married to a clergyman. The bathing-costumes she had chosen, certainly, were the most daring the Major had ever seen, sleeveless and with only the most perfunctory of skirts. Hardly had the rain stopped when the twins donned these scanty garments and set out for the strand. The Major himself was a poor swimmer and although he had pulled on a woollen costume borrowed from Edward (Edward being considerably stouter, it hung loosely over the Major’s flat stomach) he lacked enthusiasm; besides, he had heard that the water on the coast of Wexford was freezing even on the hottest day of summer. Consequently, he hoped to avoid entering it.
As it turned out, the twins had no serious intention of swimming either. They shrieked as the surf boiled over their ankles. When the Major, who was sitting on a rock and smoking his pipe, commanded them to go deeper they clung to each other and wailed piteously as a wave washed up to their knees. And that was as deep as they would go.
Presently the Major noticed the cadaverous features of Murphy peering down at him from behind an outcrop of rock.
“What is it you want?”
A lady was asking for him up at the house.
“A lady? Who the devil is it?”
But Murphy had already turned away and no doubt considered himself to be out of earshot.
The Major set off across the beach to the gravel path that led to the boat-house and squash court, then turned to climb the steps towards the first terrace. Looking up, he saw that Edward was waiting for him at the very top of the final flight of steps, on a level with the house. And with Edward was Sarah.
The Major brushed the sand from the blue-and-white stripes of his costume and began to run, springing up one flight of steps after another. Edward and Sarah waited motionless as he toiled steadily upwards, the empty bag of cloth (which Edward’s swelling chest and paunch normally filled) flapping in front of him. On one of the lower terraces he overtook Murphy, who was scurrying along with his head down as if he too were in a great hurry. He uttered a gasp of fear when the panting, blue-striped Major suddenly sprang from behind him, taking three stone steps at a time, his bare feet making no noise on the smooth surface. The aged manservant was swiftly left behind to labour up the steps alone—and, indeed, soon vanished altogether along some alternative route.
As the Major reached the last flight of steps, from the top of which Edward and Sarah looked down at him smiling, he slowed to a more dignified pace and thought: “Why am I in such a hurry? Really, she’s only a friend. She’ll think me a silly ass for running all the way.”
He reached the top at last. Edward was saying: “A very dear friend of ours, Brendan, has come to see us...” and he smiled at Sarah with an expression of great warmth and kindness.
“Ouf!” gasped the Major. “I’m out of breath...” And he was silenced again by the need for air.
“It’s nice to be back. How are you, Brendan?”
“Oh, fine, fine.”
“Sarah and Angela used to be great friends, you know,” Edward explained unnecessarily, eyes sadly lowered for a moment to the still heaving, sagging stripes of the Major’s chest. “Angela used to think the world of you, my dear.”
“And I of her,” Sarah said calmly, almost indifferently.
And the Major, while nodding piously to indicate that of course everyone thought the world of everyone, as was only natural, and there need be no doubt in anyone’s mind on that score (he was still flustered from his rapid climb and anxious to agree with everyone), made a rapid and oblique appraisal of her