Troubles - James Gordon Farrell [204]
“I agree that it’s maybe not wise,” the Major said gently. “But my mind is made up. Besides, I’m getting to be too old a dog to learn new tricks. Now let’s forget about it and talk about something more pleasant on our last afternoon.”
Edward was looking relieved. His eyes wandered away from the statue and came to rest some distance away on the bed of lavender planted by his wife “before she died.” What was he thinking about? wondered the Major. Of his dead wife, perhaps...of his eldest daughter, the dead one whom he had loved the most and even now continued to love more than he could ever love Ripon or the twins.
And presently, as if the Major had been able to divine his thoughts, Edward said: “I remember the day we brought Angie home in the snow. She was only a baby. It hardly seems any time at all.”
The telephone was ringing in Edward’s study. So still was the afternoon and so silent the house that the Major heard it ringing from outside in the park. District Inspector Murdoch was calling from Valebridge.
“Is anything wrong? Did they get on the train all right?”
Well, that was what he was calling about. The train hadn’t yet left Valebridge because of some trouble on the line between there and Dublin. It wasn’t yet clear what was wrong but it might mean a considerable delay.
“They’re all elderly. They mustn’t be put under any strain. If there’s no chance of them reaching Dublin before night-fall you’d better send them back here and we’ll try again tomorrow.”
“Very well, Major.” There was a pause. “By the way, I’m sending one of my men over to have a look round the Majestic.”
“Why?” asked the Major. But Murdoch had hung up the receiver.
“How dead everything is!” thought the Major as he wandered aimlessly through the empty rooms and corridors. Utter silence. He could no longer even hear that strange underwater cracking sound. Strange to think that Edward and a few old ladies could make such a difference to the place.
The parting had been a painful one. Convinced that they would not live to see their dear friend the Major again on this earth, the ladies had allowed themselves to surrender to their emotions. He had been obliged to kiss one faded tear-stained cheek after another, clasped to one frail lavender-scented bosom after another—all this combined with the alarms and distractions usually attendant on old ladies travelling: forgotten purses, mislaid tickets, letters for the Major to post, tips that they had forgotten to administer (but who was there left to tip at the Majestic, unless the Major himself?), addresses and timetables that had to be remembered and consequently were swiftly forgotten, little parcels (containing handkerchiefs on which his name and rank had been elaborately embroidered) for him to open after they had gone, urgent visits to the lavatory that had to be made at the last minute when everyone was ready to leave. The Major endured all this with good humour and insisted on remaining cheerful, chaffing the ladies briskly lest they should incapacitate themselves completely with sobs and be obliged to lie down, missing the train.
But at last the ladies motoring to Dublin in the Daimler with Edward had moved away, followed by the hired char-à-banc taking the rest to the railway station at Valebridge. The Major had found himself standing alone in the drive. Of the ladies nothing remained except a faint odour of smelling-salts on the still air.
Not yet accustomed to the strangely silent and deserted house, he had decided to continue his interrupted stroll through the grounds. On his way he began to come across traces of Edward’s activities that he had been too preoccupied to notice before; a small cache of ammunition wrapped in an oilskin package was the first thing he happened to see. All the time that he had been working frantically to close down the Majestic Edward had been outside