Troubles - James Gordon Farrell [105]
“I’m afraid that Sarah may be waiting for me.”
“Not at all at all,” Mr Devlin reassured him, smoothing his already smooth hair with a delicate white hand. “We have time for a nice little chat now.”
The Major drank some whiskey and blew his nose unsatisfactorily.
And how was Mr Spencer getting along these days? There was another of his good and generous friends...very generous, he had done more for “a certain young lady” (he winked roguishly, distressing the Major) than could ever be repaid, more anyway than he would ever be able to repay, and all out of the kindness of his heart...
A sudden pause ensued, as if Mr Devlin had just asked a question, which of course he had not. The Major, in any event, could think of nothing to add to his remarks.
Not only with money (Mr Devlin gave the Major some more whiskey), not only with money, though to give that “certain young lady” the proper care would have been beyond his own means with medical expenses being what they were, no, not only with money, though the Major was probably unaware of the extra expense involved in having a semi-invalid in the house whose prospects for marriage...ah, well, that was a different story and one couldn’t blame her for that, now, could one? it was the luck of the draw...but she was a self-willed girl and though he and Mrs Devlin saved what they could they would have to provide for their old age and even with a fortune behind her an invalid would be hard put to it to make a decent match but that was life...not only with money, though he prided himself on knowing its value, but with acts of kindness, sure, he would go out of his way to help someone, would he not?
“He would,” assented the Major, the whiskey providing him with an Irish turn of speech.
He’d do anything for you and that was the truth, one had only to look at the way he had taken her up to Dublin in his motor car yesterday...but of course the Major would know all about that, since he had most probably gone up to Dublin with them?
There was a long pause until the Major said: “Really, no more, thank you. I’ve already had more than is good for me.”
Oh, he could manage just a little drop to boil the germs out of him, sure he could, it was rare to find a man who’d do a Christian act like that out of the goodness of his heart, so to speak, and he understood that the specialist had taken a fair old time about it, keeping the young lady waiting around annoyingly for a good part of the day, the morning anyway (?), but that he’d given her a splendid report in the end so that it was worth waiting all that time (?)...irritating though it must have been to Mr Spencer who probably had a hundred and one things to do, and to the Major?
“No trouble to me, Mr Devlin,” the Major burst out with sudden irritation, “because I wasn’t there. But I think I can say quite honestly—I won’t drink any more, thank you—that I wouldn’t have minded waiting all week if it had helped Sarah to walk again as she’s walking now.”
“To be sure, that’s very kind of you. So you weren’t in Dublin with them?”
“No, I wasn’t. As for it being kind of me, why, anyone would do the same.”
“Ah, I suppose...”
Mr Devlin fell silent, his troubled eyes on the Major’s face as if he were anxious to confide something in him but not quite able to bring himself to speak. The Major, in any case, had got to his feet, having disposed of his glass, and was walking directly to the door with a plain determination not to be stopped.
“Still, she’s a worry to her mother not being married yet at her age, a great worry, it’s only natural...”
“Natural or not, Mr Devlin,” said the Major sharply, having lost all patience, “it’s...” But he could think of no way of ending the sentence. He left it hanging ominously in the air and strode out of the office with Mr Devlin fussing somewhere behind him and muttering deferential instructions: to the right here, there’s a door, yes, then up the stairs and...
“What a frightful fellow!” thought the Major giddily.