The Empire Trilogy by J. G. Farrell Read Free Book Online Page B

ball, which had ended in the net at his feet. And then Angela had wandered away absently and was helping a very old lady, whom the Major provisionally identified as Miss Bagley, to wind her wool.
    â€œIf I were you, Major,” Ripon said gesturing up to the left, “I should aim for a room up there somewhere around the third floor...that part of the place is in reasonable condition by the look of it.” He must have noticed the Major’s look of astonishment because he added: “A lot depends on how the roof is. We’re not as watertight as we might be...though the weather does seem fairly settled at the moment.”
    Could it be that Ripon was actually suggesting that he should go and forage for a room by himself while he remained slumped in a deck-chair? A moment later and there was no doubt of it. Ripon said: “In my experience it’s usually best to have a look before the sun goes down because sometimes, you know, one finds that not all the lights are working.”
    â€œHow incredibly...well,
Irish
!” thought the Major bitterly. The fellow might at least have collared a servant and told him to show him up to a room. And was one expected to draw one’s own bath? However, he would no doubt have accustomed himself to the idea since the quickest way to find a bed and a bath was plainly by not depending on the Spencers, had not the wretched, cruel (though crippled) girl Sarah not immediately divined his suffering and said: “Ripon, you can’t possibly let the Major who looks so pink and exhausted and offended wander all over the hotel by himself trying to find a pillow on which to lay his head. Major, you mustn’t let the thoughtless and inconsiderate Ripon treat you this way.” A surge of anger took hold of the Major. He would gladly have strangled her. As he stood up Ripon said: “Oh, the Major doesn’t mind fending for himself, do you?” Then, possibly concluding that the Major did, after all, mind, he added: “I’m going upstairs anyway so I may as well give you a hand.”
    Ripon got to his feet and led the way out, but not before Sarah had caught the Major’s sleeve and said: “I’m sorry... I’m always saying stupid things that come into my head.”
    She must have known, of course, that that would only make things worse—but no, perhaps she really wanted, in spite of everything, to be forgiven.
    The room he found, though dusty, was a pleasant one on the third floor facing the sea. He had chosen it after looking at only three or four others. Ripon had disappeared immediately, but arrangements, he hoped, had been made for someone to clean it and make up the bed later on. In the meantime he had unpacked his suitcase and was glad to find that his bottles of cologne and macassar were unbroken after all; for some time he had been intending to achieve a smarter appearance, hoping that this might dissipate the notion that he was unstable and suffered from “nerves.” Having arranged the bottles on the dressing-table beside his silver hairbrushes he investigated the adjoining bathroom. A great gush of rust-coloured water came out of the taps at first, but then gradually it cleared to a pale amber and though it never became quite warm enough for comfort he endured it and felt better afterwards.
    It was true that there was a curious smell in the room, a sweetish and disturbing smell which lingered even when he opened wide the French window on to the balcony. But he decided to forget about it and enjoy the splendid view over the series of terraces descending to the sea, until at last he heard the distant boom of the gong and made his way downstairs in search of the dining-room.
    He found the Spencers waiting for him around a dimly lit table above which a faint aura of exasperation seemed to hang. He assumed that they were displeased at being made to wait for him. As soon as he made his appearance Edward picked up a heavy