Troubles - James Gordon Farrell [28]
Sarah had changed her mind and no longer wanted to go to Finnegan’s Drapery. She wanted to be taken home, off this hateful street; it wasn’t far, the Major needn’t worry, she wouldn’t detain him long even though he obviously thought her company intolerable and was dying to get away...
“But I don’t think anything of the kind,” protested the Major, amazed. “Wherever did you get that idea?”
Ah, it was as plain as anything from the way he kept looking round him all the time, particularly when a pretty girl (one with two sound legs) passed by, dragging her skirts so prettily through the cowpats. The Major, with his “ram-rod posture,” obviously had far better things he could be doing and, besides, he must be simply dying to get back to his dear Angela by now and, in any case, he had been in a great old hurry off somewhere when they had first bumped into each other...
“That’s true. I was going to make some inquiries at the railway station. I’d forgotten completely.”
“What? Are you leaving Kilnalough so soon? Have you and Angela had a quarrel?”
“Not only have we not had a quarrel; we haven’t even spoken to each other—at least, privately. There was never really an understanding between us, you know—at least, I don’t think there was; nothing serious—except that we wrote to each other regularly, of course.”
“I didn’t know that. In fact, I thought...but never mind what I thought. Why did you come here, then?”
“Oh, to get it straightened out, I suppose. I hardly know why myself. In any case I never seem able to find Angela alone. You don’t think she might be deliberately avoiding me, do you?”
But Sarah made no reply. They had now turned into a street of small but well-kept buildings of red brick, in one of which was housed the bank, behind and above which Sarah lived with her parents. Would the Major care to come in and have some tea?
They went in by a side gate and followed a path between trellises of climbing roses to where a shallow wooden ramp made for Sarah’s wheelchair led up to the back door. Of course, she explained, the house was not nearly as grand as the sort of place he was no doubt used to, but it would do him no harm to be in a “miserable hovel” for a change. Indeed it would do him good. She pointed out the door of a room and said she would join him there in a minute, he was to make himself at home as best he could. The Major went into the room and sat down on a blue velvet sofa to wait. An oil-painting of a cow and some trees hung over the mantelpiece. There were a few books in the bookcase, for the most part fishing and travel reminiscences. There was the piano, too, no different from other pianos except for the iron clamps which held its broken legs together. In this neat, clean room, so utterly without character, it was only these broken legs which provided a touch of comfort.
The Irish Times lay neatly folded on a table. He picked it up and scanned it idly. Officers’ families in abject poverty. Good luck to the R34. A new era in transatlantic travel was about to begin. The Bolshevists were advancing—British seaplanes had been in action on the Finnish border. At Wimbledon Lieutenant-Colonel A.R.F. Kingscote, M.C., R.G.A., had gratifyingly beaten a young American. Dr King’s Liver Pills (Dandelion and Quinine), guaranteed without mercury. Absolutely cure the symptoms of the TORPID LIVER...combat Depressed Spirits, etc. The Major folded the paper carefully and replaced it with a sigh. He was ill at ease, wondering whether it had been disloyal of him to discuss Angela with Sarah.
“I hope you won’t mention our conversation to Angela,” he said when Sarah at last appeared. “As you know, I haven’t yet had a chance to talk to her properly.”
“Of course not,” Sarah said with indifference. “It’s none of my business. Besides, I never see her.”
“But I thought you were great friends.”
“We used to be friends, but not any longer. I’m surprised you’re so unobservant. Didn’t you notice how coldly they treated me at the Majestic? Edward hardly speaks to me any longer. The only reason