Troubles - James Gordon Farrell [86]
“Which ones?” asked Faith dubiously, poking at the heap of clothing with her tennis racket.
The Major had lit his pipe and was watching the twins as they rummaged in the pile of clothing, holding dresses up to see what they looked like. It was clear (one of the countless things the Major had never known about her) that Angela had dressed extravagantly. Almost all her dresses had tucks in descending horizontal tiers; there was a heavy afternoon dress of velvet embossed with chrysanthemums which reached to the ground and trailed in a swallow-tail behind; there were heavy woollen dresses with overdresses, all with a great deal of frogging and embroidery; there was a blue satin evening dress with a band of black velvet that trailed as a sash behind; there was a dress of black taffeta or chiné silk with a vast amount of braid; and there was a moleskin cape and muff.
“It’s all so horribly old-lady!”
“Come on, we haven’t got all day,” Edward told them. “Make up your minds. If you don’t pick one of these dresses each within thirty seconds I’ll pick them for you.”
Under this threat the twins reluctantly made their selections: Charity a simple blue linen morning dress with a white organdie collar, Faith a silk jersey afternoon dress with a belt of gold cord and tassels to the ankles.
“I feel a bit sick, Daddy...”
But Edward’s patience was now clearly at an end and the twins retired sullenly to change.
Slumped in an armchair, the Major was wondering whether he might ask Edward for the photograph of himself which stood on the dressing-table (a picture taken in Brighton in 1916 showing a relatively carefree youth who bore little resemblance to the stoically grim head which these days accompanied him to the mirror). He wanted this picture merely to remove it from the room, from the neighbouring hairbrushes and other relics, to destroy it...he did not know why he wanted to do this. In any case, he was afraid that Edward might look askance at such a request.
Edward was kneeling among the bundles of clothing and rummaging through them abstractedly.
“Poor Angie! There’s lots more somewhere: petticoats and knickers and corsets and so forth...she liked clothes, used to buy things nobody’d ever wear out here in the country.”
He held up a dress of black velvet that billowed emptily in his hands, empty of Angela.
“Wore this the day she was presented at the Viceregal Lodge. For a joke we went out to Phoenix Park on the tram instead of hiring a carriage, both of us dressed up like dog’s dinners. How people stared at us! Bit of fun we had, you know, pretending to be Socialists. Angie said she was ashamed to be seen arriving on the tram, but she laughed about it afterwards like a good sport.” He stood up and went to stare at himself moodily in the mirror, picking up one of the silver brushes (tarnished blue-grey by months of neglect) and rubbing his thumb over the bristles.
“They’re only kids and it doesn’t really matter what they wear so long as it keeps them warm,” he added defensively. “Got to get hold of a bit of spare cash one way or another if I’m to give that blighter Ripon a helping hand.”
“Is that the reason?”
“Well, you said yourself that with a wife to support he’d be needing some cash to set himself up.”
The Major could remember saying no such thing but could see no point in denying it.
“But don’t you think his wife will have something?”
“I doubt it. Anyway, Ripon’s not the sort to accept charity, whatever his faults. In some ways, you know, he’s a chip off the old block. I suppose I should sell off these brushes and things as well. They’re not much good to poor Angie now. These trinkets might fetch something. Hate to do it, though.”
They lapsed into a lugubrious silence. Presently, with a sigh, Edward began: “You know, the one time in my life when I was really happy...” But at this moment the twins entered.
“My! Don’t they look smart?” cried Edward in genuine admiration. “Well, what d’you think of that, Brendan? Aren’t they lovely?”
The Major had to agree with him. The twins looked more lovely than