Troubles - James Gordon Farrell [29]
“But Angela was so pleased to see you; and you’re so pretty and amusing. Really, I’m sure you must be imagining all this,” exclaimed the Major in surprise. “What possible reason could they have for not liking you?”
“They think I’ve been encouraging Máire (you remember that fat, ugly girl who was pushing my chair), they think I’ve been helping her to ‘trap’ their darling Ripon. They’re quite wrong, of course. The last thing I’d do for a friend of mine (and she is a friend of sorts, that part is true) is to help her to ‘trap’ someone as odious as Ripon.”
“But what do they have against her, anyway? I mean, if she’s so rich and so on. The Spencers live in that huge hotel, but they don’t appear to be all that well off. Ripon could surely do a lot worse.”
Sarah shook her head sadly. “I can’t believe that you’re such an innocent, Major. D’you really mean to tell me that you don’t see why the Spencers wouldn’t want Ripon married to that rich, ugly creature? Well, I shall tell you, though I refuse to believe that you don’t know. The reason is that Máire is a Catholic. Now do you understand?”
But before the Major had a chance to reply there was a polite knock on the door and a small dapper man dressed in a grey flannel suit of dubious cut made his appearance. He advanced holding out his hand nervously. He was, he said, Sarah’s father (Sarah made no comment but looked annoyed) and he hadn’t been able to resist taking a moment off to say hello to the Major, about whom he’d already heard a great deal, both from his old friend Mr Spencer and, of course, from Sarah herself (here he smiled fondly but Sarah looked more exasperated than ever)...
“I hope what you heard was complimentary.”
Oh, most complimentary, of course, and it was really very kind of the Major to wheel Sarah home...getting about was something of a difficulty for her, as he could imagine, but she did very well, all things considered, she had so many kind friends who helped to lighten her load. He hoped too that the weather would be less changeable than it had been recently, particularly while the Major was visiting, it made such a difference, especially if the Major was, as he expected, a sporting man...And this was Mrs Devlin...
A heavy-set lady had entered wheeling a tea-trolley on which (the Major noticed with relief) there were only two cups, saucers, plates and cake-knives (and a splendid-looking cherry cake). Mrs Devlin nodded at the Major without speaking, hesitated for a moment and then withdrew. Mr Devlin patted his hair which was oiled flat and neat against his skull, smiled, and said that he would have to be getting his nose back to the grindstone but that it had been a pleasure and that he hoped the Major would often come again to visit them. He backed out of the room smiling and the door closed softly.
Sarah’s mood had changed. To the Major’s attempts at conversation she answered only in peevish monosyllables, all the time glancing round the room as if she were seeing it for the first time. Abruptly she interrupted a laborious compliment that the Major was paying to the cherry cake and said: “What an appalling room this is. You’d think some awful English person lived here.” And with that she wheeled herself quickly to the door, opened it deftly and disappeared, almost before the Major had time to realize what was happening. He sat there, a half-eaten piece of cake in his fingers, wondering what she had meant by “some awful English person” and whether she intended to come back. Presently he heard the sound of a muffled argument from some other room, a woman’s voice raised in protest. But then a door slammed and a moment later Sarah reappeared, her face so dark that the Major asked her what was the matter.
“Nothing at