Our Time Is Gone (36 page)

‘Bloody interesting! Make my wife laugh. Bloody interesting!'

‘That's why I set out to find my sister. And now I want her to go back. Just to see mother. I'm most sorry for mother. Sometimes I feel that …'

‘Bloody funny!' said Desmond, ‘I even feel that——Oh yes, bloody interesting! Waiter! Hey there, waiter!' and, having called his loudest, Desmond Fury sat up.

Where were the waiters? The rows and rows of waiters. Of course! They were dancing about on the panelling.

‘You know, Mr. Downey, I used to think—Ah Christ, what does it matter, anyhow! What you think's no bloody use. It's what you
do
. Yes, sir. I know! I know! Bloody interesting! You people think. We do—I mean
they
do——No, blast it, I've got it wrong. Not
they
but
we
—where was I? Lemme see! Oh, yes. You think, what you think the bloody world does! That's it. Got it! You might bring me a large beer—draught beer if you don't mind'—laughing suddenly—‘colour doesn't matter. Yes, bloody interesting! Nice feller made of cotton wool. Oh yes. This room is full of bastards. Look at them! Look at the bastards who think! My God! The bastards who think for the world. Oh! Ha! Ha!'

‘Beer, sir.'

‘No. No! Not nice to laugh. What say, Mr. Downey? Not nice to laugh here. The sods …'

Desmond Fury's head rocked, but not for long. ‘Damn! I thought it was my head rocking. It's his. Wake up, Mr. Downey. Not getting tight on
that
stuff.'

‘Once I used to think that life would be one long——'

‘So did I, Mr. Downey. So
do
I. Sweating my guts out on the length, you know. One long, bloody farce! But now, here I am amongst the sods!'

He laughed; Lieutenant Downey laughed. The table shook a little. In a far corner two idle waiters watched them. Money to burn. The bastards. That's what they were. Drink, drink, drink! Ordering everybody around. The bastards.

‘'Course if I had been home at this time, well, I would have knocked my father down. Trouble with him was nobody ever did. The world left him alone. He liked it. It left mother alone, Sheila alone. Only Sheila hated that.'

‘Bloody interesting! Must talk to her about that. Loved my brother once. Oh yes. Silly little bastard's in gaol now. Bloody interesting, Mr. Downey! Please to meet you. No. Don't shake hands. Mine might crush yours. Never know.'

The Lieutenant nodded. Desmond nodded.

‘How often you do that?' Desmond said.

‘Not often, but somehow I feel that since my sister left everything began to break up. And my father seems to have disappeared. The place is rotting away.'

‘Bloody funny that!'

‘Fourteen thousand acres.'

‘Bloody interesting!'

‘Woods, lakes, parks, farms, rivers.'

‘Bloody curious that!'

‘The most fertile land in Ireland.'

‘Bloody interesting!'

‘And the Ram's horns are shown.'

‘Bloody interesting!'

‘Come here, waiter! Come here, you! More beer. Hock and whisky for the Lieutenant.'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘No, sir. Say it again.' Desmond said, grinned broadly at the man in white.

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Bloody interesting! Oh, bloody funny! Very nice. “Yes, sir! No, sir.” Fine.'

‘Some people think that that kind of life—I mean the life without contacts outside its own rigid circle—is bad. But it's not. Contacts in life aren't everything. I learned that from mother. And she was defeated by father.'

‘Bloody funny! Defeated? What for? Because Sheila wouldn't go away—aye, I don't know. Yes, sir. No, sir! Just look at these greedy bastards. Eating, eating!'

‘'I'm drunk.'

‘You're not.'

‘I am.'

‘Rot! Feeling cheery. Feeling cheery. Meeting Sheila. Bloody interesting! Is very, very——'

‘But I
am
drunk.'

‘'Course you're not. Bloody fool! Hey there, waiter! Come here a minute.'

‘Come, Fury, you're getting slightly clumsy now. We must have a talk.'

‘Talk! Oh yes.
Bloody
interesting! Run away from thousands of fertile lands. Married a plate—Captain Fury. Oh, bloody interesting!'

Lieutenant Downey had looked very cheery, had seemed rather drunk. But now he was on his feet. Leaning over the Captain.

‘Good heavens! A whisky and a few glasses of beer.'

‘Better get out of this,' he said, and managed to get free of the table without getting too clumsy. He took Captain Fury by the arm, but an obliging waiter now took both their arms, walked them slowly to the door. And then the Lieutenant was himself again. Was it the walk across the floor or was it something instinctive that made him get this vital hold on himself?

‘Waiter! Get a taxi.'

When it came he bundled them both into it, and received his tip with good grace.

‘Where to, sir?'

‘Anywhere! Drive,' said the Lieutenant.

‘Where to?' asked the man. ‘Must know where to.'

There seemed only one place to which they could go. He hadn't forgotten the address.

‘Repton Park Road,' he said.

The taxi-cab chugged away from the door. Captain Fury fell back heavily against the seat. Lieutenant Downey pulled down the window to get some air. He whistled a tune as the cab sped along. Captain Fury dozed—began to snore—sat up bleary-eyed, looked around.

‘What ship is this? Am I drunk, Mr. Downey?' and without even bothering for an answer settled himself down for what looked like a comfortable sleep.

When eventually they reached the house it seemed that the Captain was far more drunk than the Lieutenant, and both the driver and the Lieutenant managed to help him to his door. Fortunately for Desmond, Alice, who didn't belong anywhere, and ‘who was
she
anyhow?' was out. Sheila herself opened the door. She stared at all three.

What was this? What did it mean? That fellow back here again. After all she had said to him only yesterday. She watched them help her husband into the hall. She was speechless. The taxi-cab went away.

‘Hello, Sheila,' said Lieutenant Downey, suddenly cheery, and he pecked her cheek.

‘I told him not to bring you here, John,' she began, but there he was holding on to the redoubtable Captain and smiling in her face; and even seeing a trace of that old boyishness there did not lessen the humility that she now felt. He had promised to come back early. It was nearly four o'clock. And here, on the step before her, was the very person she did not want to see.

Desmond stood upright, smiled sheepishly at his wife. ‘'Lo, darling. You see, ducky, instead of him bringing me—I brought him!' and still smiling he went on down the hall, Sheila following them. Eventually they got him to his room. Lieutenant Downey put him across the bed. When he looked at his sister, her look said: ‘Get out!' This he did, and descended the stairs, admired the furnishing, and ran his hand up and down the banister.

‘You're drunk. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, she said as she began to undo his tunic. This big, hulking child had so far been controlled. To-day was unfortunate. What would to-morrow be like?' You fool, Desmond!' she said.

‘Fourteen thousand parks, lands, lakes, trees. Oh! Bloody interesting! Waiter! Waiter!'

She bent over him as she dragged off his tunic. His face was livid.

‘I thought that at least—that with him there—you'd be—well——Oh, it doesn't matter. There!' She flung his tie to the floor.

Desmond opened his eyes. Perhaps it was the scent, or was it just the
feel
of her being there.

‘Did you see your mother?' she asked, taking off a boot.

‘Bloody interesting! You get out. She's with me!'Night, everybody. Sad and beautiful. Life is so—yes'Course it is. Bloody——'

‘Did you see your mother, Des?' She bent down and kissed him. A big, silly brute.

‘Mother! No! I forgot. What time is it? Fourteen thousand trees. Christ!'

He opened his eyes wider, and then he seemed to see her, to realize her for the first time. ‘'Lo, Sheila! Darling!' and with a kind of spring he had both arms around her. ‘Sheila, ‘lo, Sheila! Come into bed. Come on, Sheila. Fourteen thousand miles of trees. Christ! All there! Sheila! Come on!'

‘Is this what to-morrow will mean?' she wondered. ‘You're drunk, and you're behaving like a fool.'

She struck him in the face. Then she went downstairs to see the Lieutenant.

‘And you ought to know better!' she said. ‘I thought you would.'

She stood in the middle of the hall where John Downey still appeared to like the shape of the banisters and the high polish on them.

‘But he was so funny!' he said. ‘Don't be nasty, dear. I—oh, Sheila, I wish you knew—it's so long now—and mother over there—it's dreadful! Won't you let me even explain? You see,' and suddenly hands on her shoulders, he was leaning over her, begging, pleading, explaining. She listened in silence. Finally they both sat down.

‘John! Have I to go back there just because mother was such a fool that she——? Oh no! I've had enough of all that. It isn't life. It was just a long death—a long quiet death with flowers and silence and all the beautiful peace that rots. John! I wish you hadn't come. You thought him funny! Why? Because he hasn't your fine cut, or because he's just a great big child. But for me it's living, and I love him. He's proud just like you—he's alive, and even his greed is more human than that which made for us the life we had to live
there
! No! I wouldn't go back. Let it rot! If we had stayed we would have rotted with it.
That
, I was afraid of. Desmond is my life, and if he is funny to you, what matter? And now there isn't a single reason why you should stay, is there? And don't for heaven's sake slobber over my shoulders! I wish you had never come—
never
come.'

And whilst she stood looking at his soiled tie, she heard Desmond above stairs:

‘Fourteen thousand trees—marvellous! Bloody interesting!'

PART II

SHADOWS

CHAPTER VI

I

‘A Mrs. Fury to see you, sir,' announced the clerk, putting his head round the door of Mr. Trears's private office. He looked down on the top of his employer's head. Mr. Trears did not move. ‘A Mrs. Fury to——'

‘I heard you, Ranson,' replied Mr. Trears, still showing only the top of his head. ‘I heard.'

‘Yes, sir. Will I——' and more of Mr. Ranson appeared, a round, elderly, jovial Mr. Ranson.

‘Shouldn't it be
the
Mrs. Fury, Ranson?' asked the solicitor and he looked up from the desk.

The legal profession could hardly have adopted a less legal-looking gentleman. At least on first glance one felt that he should have been sitting, not in an office, but on a horse's back. It was the somewhat horsy look that mystified, especially his fellows, the clerks and functionaries of court, the Judges of Assize; the whole legal profession looked twice on Mr. Trears. A client passing into his office might well be laying a bet on a horse, instead of bringing in all the facts of the case which he wanted Mr. Trears to fight. Mr. Ranson, however, never judged anybody by their looks. Mr. Trears said that was good and he became confidential clerk.

‘
The
Mrs. Fury then, sir,' the ghost of a smile appearing on his purplish face.

‘Come in, Ranson,' said the solicitor. ‘And shut that door.'

Mr. Ranson entered. He sat down. Whereon Mr. Trears stuck his thumbs inside his vest, leaned back in his swivel chair and proceeded to spread himself. He looked over at the clerk.

‘Which do you most admire in a person, Ranson, stubbornness or energy?'

Smiling, Mr. Ranson replied: ‘I can't very well say, sir. The laziest person in the world may look the most energetic——'

But here the solicitor interrupted him.

‘I'm not thinking of the laziest person in the world, Ranson. I am thinking of the woman now sitting in the outer office. Ranson, I am beginning to get tired of seeing this woman. It's so hopeless. And waste of my time. I've done all I could.'

‘Well, sir, would you like me to deal with her? I mean I could explain—well—I understand, sir. She is something of a nuisance. I recollect that——'

‘It's only a month ago she was here. And just after she'd gone I wrote her. I explained I couldn't do anything about her son. Really, Ranson, I think you'd better explain.'

Mr. Trears seemed to catapult back into his former position at the desk.

Mr. Ranson rose to his feet. ‘Very well, sir. You may rely on me. I shall explain that.'

‘Wait! I'll see her, Ranson. Tell her to come in. I'd better deal with her myself.'

‘Yes, sir. Very good, sir,' and Mr. Ranson went out. The door closed as though by ghostly hands.

Mr. Trears tore up some papers on his desk and flung them into the basket. ‘Week in, week out. Month after month coming here. Can I see my son? I want to see my son. Mr. Trears, I wondered this, I hoped that. Mr. Trears, is there any possibility of seeing my son, Peter? Mr. Trears, he is all I have! Mr. Trears, could you try again!' And now
here
she was again. Water washing against granite.

The door opened, Mr. Ranson's head peeped round. ‘Mrs. Fury, sir.'

The door opened wide, and the woman came in. Mr. Ranson shut the door and went back to his desk, his admiration for Mr. Trears's patience considerably increased. He must have seen that woman—how many times—well, thousands.

‘Good morning, Mrs. Fury. Take this chair, please. You aren't looking so well to-day.'

‘I'm quite well, Mr. Trears, thank you,' she replied, and took the proffered seat. When she had seated herself, she indulged in her old habit of looking everywhere—at the walls, the desk, the carpet, the telephones, the ceiling, the papers and scrolls and filing cabinets, everywhere excepting at Mr. Trears. Trained as he was already in this curious habit he saw no reason why, if her thoughts were wandering, and she was endeavouring to gather them up, he should interfere. If it pleased her to admire his office—well, let her.