‘Excuse me.’
‘Yes Mr Kildare. At your service.’
‘Ah, as a matter of fact I believe I heard the Earl of Ronald Ronald being paged.’
‘Yes sir, to be sure you did.’
‘Might I inquire if he is staying.’
‘Yes he is, sir.’
‘Ah, actually in the hotel.’
‘Would you like me to contact his apartments for you Mr Kildare.’
‘His apartments. Is that word actually plural.’
‘Yes, the Royal Shamrock suite, sir. At the corner of the fourth floor. Two bedrooms, a drawing room, anteroom and two bathrooms.’
‘I see.’
‘Is there something wrong Mr Kildare.’
‘No. No. Just a momentary dizzy faint. I’m quite alright. Thank you for your help. But tell me. We are aren’t we referring to the same gentleman, I think we both know.’
‘Yes. Indeed we are sir. Seems he was previously for private reasons under the incognito of a commoner. Isn’t the father a big English General. Sure I remember him as Rashers if you’ll excuse me now referring in that vernacular, in those days with his great friend Clarissa, the actress. May such a beauty rest in peace. The two of them now would be great gas together of an evening in there in the Shelbourne Rooms. Ah god she was lovely.’
‘Yes of course. Thank you so much.’
I went out the Shelbourne. Popping a shilling in the tinker lady’s hat. Her blessings crying out after me, one did lift one’s heels to saunter along the Green. Clearly Rashers is a bigger mountebank than one had already conceived him to be. I must damn demand my money back. But I suppose he does keep one’s mind off other dilemmas, even more irritating, attached to roof slates, livestock, plumbing and staff horrors which usually gloom over my life. And one does back in Dublin find a joy quickening and lightening one’s step. The breeze milder with this bit of pale sunshine down Grafton Street. Past the smoky coffee smells of Roberts’ café. Which Rashers said is forever full of perennially stalled first year medical students down from the College of Surgeons. Who maintained that if they ever got their first year exams they’d go flying through the rest. And then be in Fannin’s with their window full of medical instruments, buying their scalpels, saws and stethoscopes.
‘I say, hello, it is you Kildare.’
‘Why hello Kelly. Yes it’s me.’
‘Well. You are looking well. How nice to see you like this Kildare.’
‘Same to you Kelly, same to you.’
‘I suppose you’re up in town on business.’
‘A little business, Kelly. That and some pleasure too I hope. And I suppose you want your fudge I borrowed that night at the school fire, back.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t adhere to bringing that up again. That was all such a long time ago.’
‘Well you know Kelly, your horse, Tinkers Revenge saved my bloody life. I placed a bet on it at a hundred to one.’
‘Did you really, did you really.’
‘Yes I really did.’
‘Did you put a lot of money on him.’
‘Yes I did.’
‘You must have won a lot of money.’
‘Yes I did.’
‘I mean you could have won thousands.’
‘Yes I did. And as a matter of fact even planned to have Bewley’s post you a weekly box of fudge. But didn’t, thinking that it would make you extremely fat’
‘I see. Well, it would have done. Of course you were extremely decent to me at school. I’m sorry you came down in your life as you did. But you do seem to be doing alright now.’
‘Yes I am. At least not having to work as a stable lad or an indoor servant.’
‘You must not hold that against me Kildare. I did everything possible to make your life reasonable when you were down on your luck.’
‘Yes you did Kelly. Yes you did.’
‘Well we have another similar horse running. With even greater prospects. At Phoenix Park. Ulidia Princess The Second.’
‘Are the brakes off Kelly.’
‘I hate that expression. It implies deceit.’
‘My goodness Kelly you are taking a moral view of racing aren’t you.’
‘Well. Yes I do rather.’
‘Well I shall pop a moral bet on him, in memory of our school and previous squire and servant relationship.’
‘I don’t find that at all funny, you know Kildare. Throughout I looked upon you as my friend and I so behaved.’
‘Ah so you did Kelly, so you did. Well I must rush on. And Kelly you know, you are not at all a badly turned out chap. Very smart. Yes.’
‘Well I’m part of my father’s business now.’
‘Good.’
‘And what do you do, Kildare.’
‘Ah. Well. I may be breeding up a nag or two myself.’
‘Well Kildare, obviously you have improved yourself. This is my office right here.’
‘Ah.’
‘Please I should appreciate it, if you were to call in on me anytime. Really anytime. I should so like for us to keep in touch.’
‘I shall Kelly. I promise I shall. Ta ta.’
‘Goodbye Kildare.’
Astonishing, one noticed actual tears in Kelly’s eyes. Dear me. In spite of his awful parents he seems to have turned out decent enough. I suppose none of us really has to be as odious as our fathers. If the opportunity arises to be otherwise. Stand here a moment on the corner of Duke Street. Hard to know which way to turn in Dublin. There’s the turf accountant’s next to The Bailey. One must put something on old Kelly’s horse. Meanwhile why not perhaps stroll through the Trinity College squares. Heavens who’s poking me in the back.
‘Grosser Gott. It is you.’
‘O my goodness, Miss von B, my countess.’
‘Why did you not say you were coming to Dublin.’
‘Well as a matter of fact, I didn’t know myself. My you look awfully pretty,’
‘Thank you. I am just crossing here to go back to work after my quick coffee for lunch.’
‘Well won’t you join me. Later. For an aperitif at the Shel-bourne. What about six.’
‘Ah, my bog trotter, you are on.’
‘Ta ta.’
My goodness, one is meeting folk today. Plus seeing an awful lot of old familiar faces. Even the Master of Foxhounds whose horse one stole. An occasion to carefully make one avert one’s face. And turning in this gateway of Trinity College. One thinking of Mr Arland. Across the wooden blocks and out across the cobbles of the front square. And as I go closer and closer to the back gates. Past the green velvet lawns of the colleges. The sun coming out. The rugby pitch, churned up. Three gentlemen practising kicking goals in the mud. Why not go to Mr Arland’s address. At least perhaps find if something may have befallen him. He could be sick. Injured or worse. Even as one knows that somehow his letter seemed not to encourage one to visit.
Darcy Dancer walking past the buildings, Zoology, Chemistry, Pathology, Anatomy. And towards the back college gates. Porter in hunting cap outside the lodge, a watch chain across his waistcoat. Saluting as if one were a respected student in good standing on the college books. This turreted emporium looming across the street looking like something out of Constantinople. It’s said they were once Turkish baths. I suppose just one more desperate foreign innovation imported to hopelessly founder in the uncharted commercial seas of Dublin.
Sky darkening. Men just up the street, lurking in the doorway of the corner pub. Scarves wrapped up round their necks and eyeing me suspiciously from under their caps. One’s heart nearly breaks standing here. On these ancient worn granite steps. This is the number. This is the door. Past Magennis Place. Down Mount Street and its bleak perspectives. The grime and the gloom. Pointing washed away between the bricks and the drainpipe from the roof gutter leaking down by the door. One’s hand dare hardly reach to bang this knocker again. No sound inside. No sign. Not even his name. Yet must bang again. Wait. I may be mistaken. But his letter said he lived on the first floor of a Georgian house, with a broken iron balcony. Across from the back of Westland Row train station. And there it is, just as he said, the gentlemen’s convenience tucked into the wall with a rather dignified arched cut stone elevation. Bang once more. A sound. Feet coming. Slowly. Now in the hall. Latch pulled back. Door opening.