Troubles - James Gordon Farrell [51]
He was not in the Palm Court, nor in the dining-room (where one or two pale but hungry-looking mourners were gravely feeding on a cold collation), nor in the residents’ lounge, nor in the ladies’ lounge, the ballroom, the breakfast room, the coffee room or the gun room. He stood in the corridor, baffled, trying to think where Ripon might be. He ascended to the Imperial Bar, but Ripon was not there either. It was some time since the Major had been here; a new litter of kittens were romping on the floor, charming little ginger fellows. The previous litter had grown considerably in his absence and had abandoned the carpet to the new arrivals. Instead, they dozed on dusty chairs or picked their way among the bottles on the bar, their eyes blazing. The Major was still holding Angela’s letter in his hand. He put it down on the bar and stooped to pick up one of the ginger kittens. It squirmed in his palm, mewing feebly, and dug its tiny claws into his fingers. With a sigh he dropped it and looked at his watch. He must hurry. Where on earth was Ripon? He decided, as a last resort, to try the billiard room.
There he found him, throwing a jack-knife from one end of the room to the other trying to make it stick in the oak panelling. His hand was raised to throw as the Major stepped across the threshold.
“Steady the Buffs!”
“Oh, it’s you. I just thought I’d come down here for a while. All those morbid old ladies, you know.”
“Just called to say goodbye. I’ve got to go back to England to see a relation who’s been taken ill.”
“Oh, I see,” nodded Ripon, putting on his jacket and for some reason patting his pockets anxiously. “I don’t blame you, really. It’s awful here, isn’t it? I’m thinking of trying to get out myself while the going’s good before the bloody ship sinks, so to speak. Matter of fact I’m glad you came because I’ve been wanting a word with you.”
For the second time in less than ten minutes the Major considered defending the innocence of his motives for leaving, but thought better of it.
“Well, I haven’t got much time. In fact, I haven’t got any time at all. You see, I missed the train from here and I’ve got to get myself over to Valebridge before, let me see...” He looked at his watch.
“You’ve heard the news, of course,” stated Ripon, ignoring the Major’s remarks. “It’s all over town, I expect.”
“Heard what news?” demanded the Major anxiously.
“About me and Máire Noonan. I’m sure that little bitch Sarah will have told you.”
“Yes, I did hear something. But look here, Ripon, you mustn’t go around calling girls bitches like that...I mean, really! Besides, she’s a cripple, more or less, and if you had her disability...”
“I suppose you know Máire’s a fish-eater...an R.C.?”
“Yes.”
“So there’s going to be an unholy row sooner or later. Or maybe I should say a holy row. And just at the moment it’s not such a good time, you know, what with poor old Angela and so on...But old man Noonan has been putting on the pressure, d’you see, and something’s got to be done.” Ripon paused and jabbed the knife violently into the oak panelling. “Can you lend me a couple of fivers, by the way?”
“No.”
“Just one fiver would be a help.”
“No.”
“It doesn’t really matter, of course, if you’re short.”
“Why has Mr Noonan been putting on the pressure?”
“It’s this R.C. business. He thinks that maybe I’m not going to...Well, what it all boils down to is that he wants me to make it public and the main thing is...”
“To tell your father?”
Ripon nodded gloomily.
“Well, I’m sure it will all turn out all right. After all, the Noonans are rather wealthy from what I hear. I don’t see why Edward would have any real objection once he knows you’re serious.”
“It’s this stupid religious business, Major. The point is, you see, that I’ve been trotting along to see the old priest for