Tell Them I'll Be There by Gerard Mac Read Free Book Online

good care of it.’
    â€˜You better,’ the steward said. ‘Now let me look at you. Yeah. You’ll do. Come on, follow me.’
    It was a calm pleasant evening and as the steward led him along the deserted upper deck Dan caught the plaintive strains of an orchestra. Then as the steward led him indoors the music became louder and close at hand. Double swing doors now and an elegant restaurant, many of the tables occupied.
    Barbara, in a long silk gown, was nursing a glass of champagne . She saw Dan at once, excused herself from the people she was with and came over to greet him.
    â€˜Go get ’em, son,’ the steward said, under his breath. ‘Looks like you got it made.’
    Dan had never seen anything like this, except in a silent movie or in a poster for one of those shows in Dublin. Men in dinner jackets and black ties, expensively clad ladies with diamonds that sparkled at their mostly wrinkled necks, and in the background on a curved stage a ten piece orchestra, in white trousers and blue striped jackets, was playing Moonlight and Roses .
    Barbara looked him over, at his dark eyes and wayward black hair, and seemed to approve of what she saw. A waiter led them to their table and Dan saw that several of the ladies looked at him quizzically as he passed. They were all without exception, as Michael would say, ‘well past it’. Nowhere was there any competition for his amused hostess.
    â€˜What’s funny?’ he asked as they sat down.
    â€˜You are,’ Barbara said and she leaned forward and laughed. ‘You have awakened the dead and the dead don’t approve.’
    Dan bristled. ‘I don’t need their approval,’ he said, his chin raised as he looked around.
    â€˜Don’t get upset,’ she said. ‘It’s me they don’t approve of, not you.’ She leaned closer. ‘Why aren’t you ignorant and stupid? You’re from Ireland, for God’s sake.’
    â€˜I am ignorant,’ he said. ‘But I’m not stupid. If I was stupid I wouldn’t know I was ignorant. Being stupid is tough. But being ignorant is OK. That can be put right. I’m a fast learner.’
    A slightly stooping man in his late sixties had arrived to catch this last bit. ‘Fast learner, eh? I’m glad to hear it, son. You’ll have to be if you’re gonna work for me.’
    Dan jumped to his feet at once. 
    â€˜Joe Baker,’ the older man said. ‘An’ you must be?’
    â€˜Dolan, sir. Dan Dolan.’
    â€˜Well sit down, Dan. I need a drink.’
    Mr Baker barely raised a finger and at once a waiter arrived. He ordered water and looked across at Barbara but she shook her head. She still had the champagne. ‘What’ll it be, Dan?’
    â€˜I’ll have what you’re having, sir.’
    â€˜An indigestion tablet?’
    Dan laughed and Mr Baker ordered two beers. The menu was in French but, fortunately for Dan, an English translation in pale type was under each line. He read what was on offer and felt maybe an indigestion tablet was not a bad idea. In steerage there was a refectory with bare wooden tables where you could buy a plate of fish and chips, or cabbage and ribs, or sometimes a bowl of doubtful-looking stew that most of the passengers gave a miss.
    He wanted to ask Mr Baker about America and the prospect of advancement. But he soon found it was his host who was asking the questions. He told him about the village where he came from, about the estate of the absentee English landlord he had worked for and, embellishing the facts only slightly, he explained that he had been responsible for the staff and the day-to -day running of the place. Why had he left? Limited prospects, he answered. At home, he said, America is seen as the land of opportunity.
    â€˜And so it is, son,’ Mr Baker said, ‘so it is. But only for those prepared to work.’
    â€˜I’ve always worked, sir.