Troubles - James Gordon Farrell [162]
“Why haven’t you asked me to dance?” she cried as she came skidding to a stop in front of him.
“You seem to be too busy,” smiled the Major. “I just wanted to tell you not to forget about poor Padraig. He looks lonely and he’s probably too shy to talk to anyone.”
“Oh all right, where is he? But I’m sure he could talk to the old women if he really wanted to. What happened to Granny?”
“She’s sitting in the lounge. Mrs Roche disarmed her, I gather.”
Edward passed at this moment, tweaked Charity’s ear painfully and whispered to the Major: “Would you mind holding the fort later on, Brendan? A few things I must do...have a word with Ripon and so forth...” He bent closer to the Major’s ear and, tapping his breast pocket, added: “I have a cheque for him. The rascal must be getting short by now.” He winked at the Major and moved on. Meanwhile Charity had departed and was dragging Padraig by the sleeve into the throng of young men. The Major, whose heart was still aching, did not feel in the least like holding the fort for Edward and was wondering peevishly whether he should not go and tell him so. Edward had halted not far from the table of foreign cheeses. He was standing by himself, hands behind his back in the “at ease” position, which was probably the most comfortable, given the tightness of his coat. He was gazing at his guests with a look of wistful satisfaction. “This,” he seemed to be thinking, “was the way it used to be in the old days.” But then his attention was taken by the large and jovial figure of Bob Russell, the timber merchant from Maryborough, who had come up to congratulate him. Arm in arm and puffing cigars, they sauntered back to the ballroom where coffee and liqueurs were being served.
“Why have you left those beautiful daughters of yours at home?” Edward was inquiring amiably as they passed the Major. “But of course! They’re still at school in England!”
He turned briefly before leaving the dining-room and his face clouded for a moment. Perhaps he too was thinking that the shortage of young ladies was acute.
A few moments later it became more acute than ever, because the twins hared off somewhere with shrieks of laughter, dragging Padraig with them. Left to drink by themselves, the Auxiliaries’ merriment declined and although there was now a general movement back to the ballroom they remained morosely where they were. Since the servants were no longer filling glasses they seized bottles of champagne and served themselves, moving out on to the terrace through the open French windows. The Major followed them and stood on the threshold looking out. The moon had now risen, washing the stone parapets with a pale light; farther along, outside the open French windows of the ballroom, a galaxy of coloured lanterns swayed in the mild night air. The orchestra had begun to play once more, the sound of violins mingling sadly with the distant thud of waves from the darkness below. With a shiver the Major went back inside. He stood, hands in pockets, in the middle of the dining-room, which was now empty except for the servants clearing away the tables. He wished the ball were over so that he could be alone.
The Major stood irresolutely at the door of the ballroom. He still had some old ladies who had to be danced with. But, knowing that he must come face to face with Sarah, he was unable to bring himself to enter. Instead,