Our Time Is Gone (35 page)

Captain and Lieutenant sat opposite each other in a far corner of one of the upper rooms. Around them people talked, coughed, rattled cutlery, made jokes. The waiters went about noiselessly, white-coated ciphers. The frequenters of Tapton's liked servility. Tapton's could supply this. Servility without the sharp edges. Meanwhile Lieutenant Downey watched Captain Fury's hands as he studied the menu. And then he raised his eyes and looked, not
at
the assembly of provincial big-wigs, but over their assembled heads. The eyes, after making this rapid survey of the room, settled once again on Captain Fury's hands. He supposed his own hand would simply get lost in one of those paws. They
were
big. And what muscles!

‘What are you drinking, Fury?' asked the Lieutenant. He picked up the menu.

‘I'll have some mild draught beer,' said the Captain, letting the menu fall to the table, and then he too looked round all the assembly; he looked
at
them.

‘H'm,' he said to himself, ‘these are the people I've been up against all my life. The pack of greedy-looking swine that they are!'

‘Oh!' exclaimed the Lieutenant, ‘I thought you might care for some wine. They have good hock here. Anyhow, you'll have a sherry. Waiter!'

Desmond Fury sat up. What a voice. What a voice! By heavens, he had entirely misjudged this fellow. What a voice! What a ring, what
command
in it! Yet to look at the fellow you simply imagined he had no voice at all.

‘Two sherries, please,' said Lieutenant Downey, one eye on Desmond, the other on the waiter. One eye said: ‘Well, what about it? Having wine?' the other said: ‘Wait.'

‘I thought you might like some Hock,' he said, and now both eyes were on the waiter. ‘You have some Hock?'

The waiter bent down and Desmond was amused by the action. The two men seemed to be whispering to each other in the most confidential manner.

‘Splendid,' said the Lieutenant, and this time both eyes were on Desmond. ‘
Have
some hock, with me?'

‘I'll have—oh, all right,' said Desmond. ‘Whatever you say goes.'

‘Two sherries, two bottles Rhinelander.' The waiter departed as though on wheels.

Desmond Fury hadn't made up his mind yet. But he was very hungry. The waiter came with the sherries. He then read out from a lengthy list.

Lieutenant Downey listened—said: ‘Yes—No—Yes—Good. Right. Thank you.'

Desmond listened too. Said: ‘No. No. No. Yes. No. Yes.'

The waiter went away again. They drank their sherry. Desmond, raising his glass, said: ‘Good luck,' and one or two heads were turned his way. But before lunch had finished all or nearly all of those heads were to turn. The man was so huge, there was something dynamic about him. Somehow, when he entered a room his body set up a kind of hum. One
felt
his presence. Lieutenant Downey said: ‘Your health, Captain.'

Trays and dishes and plates arrived. John Downey passed everything over to Desmond. He picked, plunged and picked again. Knives and forks began to clatter loudly. They commenced their lunch. Lieutenant Downey talked.

‘It's curious meeting you like this, Fury. You once worked at the docks or something, didn't you? But never mind that. I'm worried about my sister.'

‘Why?' asked Desmond, and he said to himself: ‘I'll let him talk. Now I can find out everything. It will be interesting.' He smiled across the table.

‘I'll tell you why,' said the Lieutenant. ‘Because she let us down, you see——'

But here Desmond Fury interrupted sharply. ‘Not because she married me?'

‘No. No! Don't be dramatic, Fury,' said the Lieutenant. ‘I mean mother believed in her so much, she meant so much to mother. Mother called her her faithful right hand, and really she had no need to run away like that, Captain Fury. It wasn't as though her life was so monotonous, or that people had been cruel to her. In fact the very opposite. Everybody was kind, too kind
I
think. Even from a small child she was petted and favoured. Father idolized her. It's only fair to us all, Fury, that you should know that she was not
forced
to run off like that. Nobody ever was cruel to her, and the result is that ever since, mother has gradually let herself go down the ruck. I'm the only brother she has. Naturally she means much more to me. All my child's days were sort of concentrated on her. I mean we had to rely on each other. You see we were the only children. And the house was always full of grown-ups. Always. When I was sixteen I went into the Navy and I've been in it ever since. I won't deny that I too was glad to get away.'

He laughed, adding quickly, ‘But I suppose by this time you'll simply assume that our home was a kind of bogey home. Not at all. For one thing my father and mother could not agree. But that's stretching a point and I don't want to go into all that. But I want you to understand, Captain, that Sheila had nothing really bad, or silly, or useless to run away from. Some more hock?'

‘No thanks! I believe I'll have coffee and some brandy,' said Desmond.

‘
Really?
‘The Lieutenant seemed somewhat startled by this announcement.

‘They know she's married, then? I mean, married to me. Tell me, Mr. Downey, what did you think yourself when you found it out? I mean that she had sort of run off and married the first person she set eyes on. In this case
me.
'

‘I shouldn't have thought it was desperate, yet I shouldn't have thought it wise.'

‘Don't you like me?' asked Captain Fury. ‘I mean, are you sorry she married me?'

‘My dear chap, I never think in that fashion. What has it got to do with me? I'm not worried about
who
she married—but
why
she married. But there again I'm stretching the point. It's not necessary. You ask me if I like you. Well—yes I do. I mean as far as it goes. I don't
know
you.'

‘Mr. Downey, I begin to have an idea why your sister married me, but as it would hardly be pleasing to you I won't tell you. I don't know you either. You are an utter stranger! Whether we know each other better as time goes on depends not on me, or you, but simply on Sheila. I know nothing about your people or your home. Nor do I know why she ran away. She need never tell me now. I don't want even to be bothered going into things. We are very happy. I knew that from the beginning I could have dragged it all out of her. But why bother? We loved each other, we are both happy. Why bother?'

Yes, why bother? He wasn't even interested in this fellow or his father or his mother or his childhood. He sipped his coffee, sipped his brandy. And finally there was nothing more to sip. He sat up in his chair, surveyed the plates, the dishes, the Lieutenant, the panelled wall behind him. A clock chimed.

‘Some more hock,' said the Lieutenant, but unfortunately the bottles were empty.

‘I still think I'll have that beer,' said Desmond. Why not? Somehow the meal didn't seem
right
or complete without that beer.

The Lieutenant smiled. ‘Good! Waiter?'

And again Desmond said to himself. ‘What a voice! What a voice. Who could think that that tall weak-looking creature had something bronze-like in his voice?'

‘A large beer,' he said. ‘
Large
. Bring me a Benedictine, waiter. And coffee.'

‘Yes, sir,' and the human cipher was gone again.

The Lieutenant leaned on the table, then on his hands. A knife crashed to the floor. People looked. Desmond picked it up. ‘There's nothing mysterious, or marvellous, or outstanding about Sheila,' began the Lieutenant, ‘I mean—well——'

Oh! thought Desmond. Wasn't there! Wasn't there something marvellous? There just was. Such a face—such lovely eyes and hair—such a smile. And
what
a body. What grace! Good Lord, wasn't there! Did this fellow ever see a woman, a beautiful woman, a beautiful, tantalizing, clever creature?
And
a weak creature. But he had made her strong. He knew what she wanted. Oh yes.
He
knew.

‘She's just one of those young women who has lived in a large house in the country,' went on the Lieutenant. ‘And it
is
a beautiful home still. But there was nothing to do. I mean—oh well, you understand.'

Desmond smiled. ‘You understand.' Perhaps he did and perhaps he didn't. What matter? How talkative the Lieutenant was getting. Surely it wasn't the sherry and the hock mixed. And at this moment the waiter arrived with beer and the liqueur.

‘Thanks! Yes, there was a kind of monotony in that living, I suppose. Yet I think she was foolish to go away like that. You may like a house in the country or you may not. But the point about that kind of living is that the more beautiful it gets, the more you love it, the sadder it gets, you know——' The Lieutenant laughed.

So did Desmond. It was rather funny. Presuming he knew everything. He sipped his beer, put the glass down, watched the other finger his liqueur. ‘Go on,' he said.

‘She's a little spoiled, that's all. It's—oh—well, a long time since I saw her. And yesterday, you know I got a queer sort of feeling, I can't quite describe it. I mean when I saw her—at last. After seven years. You know how you feel, say if you're in the middle of a desert or lost in some huge city, and you are amongst strangers and you feel lost. And then you see somebody, a friend, even an utter stranger who has the same sort of—well, he's done what you've done, lived like you, liked things you like——That sort of thing, and you feel at last, here's something to which I
do
belong. That's how I feel. She was a funny little girl too. She grew up with the idea that everything would be the same—nothing change. We almost lived in each other, you might say. We played, dreamed, studied, wondered together, and we
were
together. Then I went into the Navy. It quite shocked her. The funny creature thought that I would stay with her for ever. She couldn't understand why I should ever go away.'

Desmond drank. ‘Why did you go, then?' he asked.

‘Waiter!' and when he came: ‘Bring me a whisky and soda, please.'

‘You might as well ask me why I grew up,' replied Lieutenant Downey. What a silly question! But then there was something silly-looking about the fellow. And he looked straight into Captain Fury's face. ‘You don't know why, Captain,' he said.

‘Whisky and soda, sir.'

‘I say, waiter. You might bring me one too,' said Captain Fury.

‘Because she hated living there, that's all.'

‘It isn't all. I'll tell you something. Eight years ago I was home on leave from China; my father wasn't there. He'd gone. That was another shock, Captain. Nobody could understand. He had always loved his home. My mother took it very badly,
very
badly. Something broke in her. And what happened to her happened to my sister. I suppose it had to. They were like one person.'

‘Is he getting a little sozzled?' thought Desmond. ‘Or am I?'

‘Yes. I see,' he said, and then he said to himself: ‘Hang it. I'm getting drunk.'

‘My father often used to go to London on business. And one week-end he returned, and there was a young woman with him. A dreadful creature so I've been told. I've never seen her. Mother didn't know her. Sheila didn't know her. She was an absolute stranger and for a stranger awfully fond of Dad. That kind of person, d'you understand?'

Did he understand—didn't he understand? And Lieutenant Downey watched Captain Fury lean farther forward over the table. If he had been able to see out of the Captain's eye he would have had the pleasure of seeing continuous lines of waiters approaching with glasses of whisky and soda, and bottles of hock. And these same glasses and bottles go sliding across to the other side of the table at the edge of which lay a large open mouth. It steadily consumed their contents.

‘
That
kind of woman. Father said, “A friend of mine. Come for the week-end.” Mother was surprised. Still, she did her best, without ever expecting the worst. Sheila loathed her. At least so she said. Mother said: “You might have let me know, Patrick, that you were bringing a friend down.” I don't know what the friend said, or did, nor how she looked. But it gave mother a bit of a shock. She had never associated father with women, not in that way. But she offered to have the spare room got ready. The friend could sleep in that. Whereon father said: “Not at all.
You
sleep in the spare room. Ada's sleeping with me.” That was all he said, and so far as I know they slept together and the next morning father went, taking this woman with him. That's all—and that, Captain, is why Sheila left. I couldn't blame her. But on the other hand there was mother. It was leaving her. It was dreadful. I know what my sister must have been thinking. If
I
stay something like that will happen to me. It's only what I think, mind you,' and he looked up, or rather down at the Captain. He called: ‘Waiter! Bring me a whisky and soda. Same for the Captain, please.'

Whatever was the matter with the Captain? Then the Captain spoke.

‘Bloody interesting, bloody—interesting! Sheila's great! She's my wife, you know. But you—Christ, I don't know
who you
are! Bring me a beer, waiter. And hurry up with it.'

Was the Captain drunk? Not quite. He looked up at Lieutenant Downey. ‘So you want her to go back to that. H'm! She's got to ask me first.'

‘Whisky and soda, sir.'

‘Thank you.'

‘You know, Fury, I think you ought to go over there. I rather think you'd like it.'

What was he saying? That
that
fellow should go over there. Good God!

‘Bloody interesting!' muttered the Captain, whilst the line of waiters grew larger, the glasses taller, and the mouth began to gulp.

‘Yes, I'm afraid things are rather gone to the devil,' went on the Lieutenant. ‘Nobody has seen father since. And poor mother! I hardly dare think about that. She has lost all interest in life. As for that other person,' here the Lieutenant became animated, ‘yes, our whole life is now run by a housekeeper that dad engaged after he'd left. He wouldn't let mother engage one. One might as well say the devil had chosen her. She has taken over everything. Everything, you know, Captain …'