There was silence in the room. Outside the iron-barred window hung the dark fruit and rough leaves of an elder tree. Ruttledge made a couple of attempts to rescue the interview. The official did his very best. The disaster had all the fascination of watching a vehicle set out on a predictable journey and then without warning see a wheel come loose and roll unpredictably along until it wobbled and fell flat. When they rose it seemed that they had been no more than a moment in the room, but the big electric clock on the office wall told that they had been more than an hour there.
Out in the busy evening street they felt as unreal for a time as if they had just emerged from a cinema, the shadows they had been part of more real than the substantial buildings and the passing traffic. Frank Dolan looked as if he had gone into shock, he who had been so articulate such a short time before in talking himself out of the loan.
“I think we went down,” he said.
“We didn’t do too well. Would you like a drink or not?” Ruttledge wanted to soften the raw taste of failure with some little act or ceremony before they left the town.
“I don’t drink,” Frank responded bluntly.
“I know. I was thinking of tea or coffee — or a glass of water.”
“Well in that case I’m taking you. It was my business that brought you to the town,” he insisted.
“Maybe we’ll leave it for another time. There’ll be a better time,” Ruttledge said.
The noisy Toyota battered slowly home. The rows of pleasure-boats moored along the Shannon at Rooskey appeared to lift Frank Dolan’s spirits briefly.
“I suppose it was a day out anyhow,” he said hopefully.
“It was a day out. It was a very interesting day.”
When it was considered carefully, all Frank Dolan had done was to be too honest and too self-expressive. Each quality alone was dangerous enough: combined together they were a recipe for disaster.
“We are not giving up. We’ll find some way. There has to be some way,” Ruttledge said when Frank Dolan pulled in beside his own parked car at the narrow bridge in Shruhaun.
“What will we say to his lordship if he asks anything?” Frank Dolan said.
“We’ll say nothing.”
“What if he puts put two and two together? He’s as quick as lightning in that way.”
“Tell him I’m looking after everything,” Ruttledge said. Frank Dolan was now downcast and uncertain after the strength of his performance in the bank. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll think of something.”
As soon as Kate saw Ruttledge, she said, “The meeting didn’t go well?”
“No. It could hardly have gone worse. We entered the meeting with the loan as good as guaranteed and left without a prospect of a loan. Frank talked a blue streak. He talked himself out of the loan.”
“Usually he is careful and watchful.”
“Not on this occasion. I think he felt he was getting into something above his head, that he was being trapped into the loan under false pretences. All he had to do was keep his mouth shut but he talked as if speech had just been invented.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. We’ll have to deal with the Shah first. He’ll be like a bloody lion if he finds out what happened.”
Very late that evening the Mercedes drew up outside the porch. He had left the sheepdog behind.
“Well?” he cleared his throat as soon as he was seated. “What happened?”
“Nothing much,” Ruttledge said cautiously.
“You don’t have to tell,” he said. “He went to Longford and made a holy show of himself. Once they got a look at him they wouldn’t entertain him for a minute. They threw him out.”
“Nothing like that happened,” Ruttledge said. “He made a show of nobody.”
“You’re not pulling wool over my eyes. He shouldn’t even have been let out. Did you get the loan or not? Yes or no?”
“We didn’t.”
“Aha, I knew it,” he said triumphantly. “I knew it the minute he stepped out of that wreckage of a Toyota. I have been watching him all my life. You can’t deny he didn’t go and make a hames of everything.” His intuition had grasped what had taken place.
“He’s not used to dealing with banks or institutions. That’s all that was wrong.”
“He should never have been let out. Is he able for the job?”
“That’s unfair. Of course he’s able. He’s just not used to dealing with banks.”
“You can say that again. I’m not going to be giving him forever.”
“He won’t need forever. We’ll get that loan some other way,” Ruttledge said.
“What do you think of all this, Kate?” the Shah demanded good-humouredly, and he began to relax. “That’s a most beautiful cake.”
“I like Frank,” Kate said.
“I’m glad there’s somebody that likes him,” he said.
Ruttledge was getting cash for John Quinn’s wedding when Joe Eustace called him into the inner office in the bank. “I heard about the interview in Longford. The whole bank has. The telephones have been buzzing.”
“Because of what happened?”
“What else? Not every day a man goes into a bank with a loan secured and walks out an hour later having talked himself out of it — big.”
“He was too straight, too honest.”
“I hear he spoke straight out that he was going to do far less than the previous man. There’s no way the bank could run with that. We’d be accused of giving loans to people to stay in bed.”
“There must be some way he can get a loan. He’s decent and intelligent. The bank is sure of its money.”
“I’ve been thinking,” Joe Eustace said. “And I don’t see many ways. The only way I can see is for you to take out and guarantee the loan in his name.”
“There must be some other way.”
“I’ll ring around. I’ll ask about it. If we can come up with anything, we will,” Joe Eustace said in his helpful way.
On the morning of the wedding, Bill Evans arrived at the house early. He was in his Sunday clothes, scrubbed and combed and polished. “Where’s the Missus?” he asked.
“She’s getting ready. You’re a bit early,” Ruttledge said and handed him a packet of cigarettes.
“Begod, it’s better to be early anyhow than rushing at the last minute,” he responded complacently and lit up a cigarette. “John Quinn getting married in the church. Who’d ever think to see the day. It’s a holy living terror.”
“I suppose you’d hardly take the plunge if you were in John Quinn’s place?”
“Begod I wouldn’t,” Bill laughed out loud. “I’d have far too much sense. I’d stay single and enjoy myself.”
The dress Kate was wearing she hadn’t worn in years. The surprise must have showed.
“Do I look all right?”
“You look beautiful.”
“Not too young?”
“On the contrary. Bill came early.”
“You look powerful, ma’am.”
“You’re looking great yourself, Bill.”
“We’ll have a great day.”
Though they left early, Mary and Jamesie were already waiting out of sight at the corner of the lake. Mary wore a suit, Jamesie was in his Sunday clothes, and their excitement was such that it overflowed in grimaces and awkward movements. Jamesie shrugged his shoulders and pretended to hide, as if they had been caught in something shameful. Amid jokes and laughter, they squeezed into the car.
“You’re a pure imposture, Jamesie,” Bill Evans said.
“That’s right,” Mary encouraged. “Give it to him, Bill. Give it to him good-o.”
“Good man, Bill. You’re dressed to kill. You’ll land a woman for yourself today,” Jamesie said.
At the church they stood outside on the gravel to watch the other cars arrive. Jamesie was vivid with excitement, continually greeting people, and when Patrick Ryan drew up in an expensive car that dropped him at the church gate he was all eyes. “Could be the Reynolds that have those big diggers and earth removers.”