Rashers shouting to me in the tub. And in my room, feet propped up. Tucking in once more to his innumerable eggs, bacon, stacks of soda bread, dishes of butter balls, and washing it all down with replacement pots of hot coffee. And not that many minutes later, rustling his racing journals open under his cigar, was deeply into his first bottle of the day’s champagne.
‘Join me Darcy. Very nicely fruity this. Dry too. But fruity.’
Rashers did set one’s mind to thinking. Why should one not become enormously rich. Go out into the world beyond this world. Not have to each day wake up wondering where one’s fivers were to come from. Or to contemplate going off deep into the oak forest at Andromeda Park and put a barrel of one’s best Purdey to one’s head. Meanwhile Rashers did see me to one or two meals at Jammet’s. And one unforgettable one in the company of his beloved. Blonde dyed lady on the verge of being what one might charitably refer to as pudgy. Whose middle structure was clearly the same circumference as her rather voluminous bosoms decorated by the neckline of plunging sequined fabric. Her legs equally misproportioned, at least in terms of good equine conformation. Her very high heels making her very upright in the pasterns. Rashers uncustomarily becoming so becomingly shy. Nervously putting his hand on top of hers following the serving of each course. Throughout the evening watching her eagerly as she deposited a first mouthful in her mouth. Always smiling, and jumping to do her merest bidding. Lighting her cigarettes. Even adoring as it dangled from her lip, and the smoke she let rise into her eyes making them water. Fetching her opera glasses from her nearly ankle length muskrat fur coat. Which she said she planned, as soon as one appeared in Dublin, to replace with mink. And then for her to rudely peer at other, albeit and thank god, distant guests. And the most astonishing thing of all. I do not believe I shall ever encounter anyone who has ever loved anyone else in the world as much as Rashers seemed to love her. She did keep rather silent in my company. But was appreciatively more talkative as we brought up the subject of horses. And one was astonished she knew exactly my family racing colours and the names and pedigrees of many of my mother’s fillies and colts running long before I was even born. She kept staring out into the middle distance. As another name would come to mind. Rashers grinning approvingly from ear to ear. But I could see him wince as she snapped her fingers at the waiter which I found frightfully embarrassing. And poor Rashers equally so as he did slump more than slightly in his chair. But he was treating one extremely handsomely. To an utterly incredible enrapturing rare magnum of Pommard, with which I washed down my roast wild duckling á 1’orange. And Rashers at evening’s end smiling elatedly and bowing across the room to three gentlemen. All of whom grinned happily back.
‘My former professor of Bacteriology and Preventive Medicine, Dr Bigger dear boy. Indeed that’s my actual tutor in the corner. He was as well my King’s Professor of Materia Medica and Pharmacy. You see Darcy practically across the street is a private gate through Trinity’s wall through which properly entitled College Fellows may discreetly slip out of college to dine.’
The flames of the blazing fire dying over brandy and cigars. Tears in Rashers’ eyes lifting his glass as we toasted his beloved. Who’d excused herself to retire to the ladies. She was I am certain not a moment younger than an entire forty five or even more years.
‘You do like her, don’t you Darcy. You do find her acceptable. You are enamoured of her, even a wee bit.’
‘O my god Rashers, not to put too fine a point on it, your lady is a trifle on the robust side. But she does have a remarkably pretty complexion and rather nice ringlets of blond curls.’
‘There is no need for you to go on. I know she is not the most beautiful lady in Dublin and that she is what is commonly referred to as of stout build. But you do not have to be so hurtfully euphemistic about it, do you. You don’t, do you, believe I love her. Do you.’
One could see the pleading in his eyes. So desperate for one’s approval. And somehow I could not restrain myself from remarking.
‘Well as a matter of fact Rashers, no, I don’t believe you love her. I rather think you find her attractive for perhaps a few other not insubstantial reasons.’
‘Well I’ll tell you. I’m not after her pubs, tobacconist’s shops and her country house as you may think. I respect her too much for that. How would you know what a fine noble person she is. And from a damn decent family too. You do don’t you attribute to me only the crassest of motives. I’m sorry now I made the mistake of having you meet her.’
No amount of insistence would dissuade Rashers that I had not meant a word I said. Arriving at the race course, I attempted to refer to her in my most offhanded manner, as such a cheerfully buxom girl who would make a fine wife.
‘There is no necessity for false praise of her. I know you think I am sulking. And I was deeply hurt. But may I remind you, I am born under the planet Jupiter. And as a jovialist, the depths of despair is simply not my cup of tea.’
At the paddock Rashers hardly glanced in my direction from his race card. And continued to behave in this fashion till the last race. When I saw Awfully Stupid Kelly in a natty brown trilby and what he must imagine is an extremely well cut suit, giving his jockey a leg up on Ulidia Princess The Second. Which Rashers already has as a hot tip to win. Kelly popping the handle of a tightly rolled brolly over an arm and holding his race card aside as he lifted his jockey’s knee with his free hand. One spied Baptista Consuelo attempting to look glamorous with a party of friends including some of the bastards descended upon me in my own front hall. She’s just the sort of female with whom one would open up one’s dinner conversation by announcing that when one was in Egypt one was attacked by wild dogs. And always my eyes wherever they looked, hoping for a sight of Leila, that I might speak with her. That she must be somewhere, hopefully not in the company of the Mental Marquis. That she had come to Dublin and found employment. Then I saw through the heads one’s once mean old stable boss, Matt. When I, a runaway from school and home was an itinerant like Leila. Exploited and shunned. And Matt watching from the paling and looking much down on his luck again. How quickly the world forgets you were once on top of it. How soon the hounds howl out in their long moans heralding death. His shabby clothes, his cheeks sunken on his face. Just as he was when one came to his rescue before. And from whom, in exchange for my compassion, came the biggest racing win of my life. So strange now to see other familiar faces in this passing parade, and to even think that I could have been a stable lad in Kelly’s stables. Even Foxy Slattery with an owner in the paddock. And seeing me. To wave. Shaking his head up and down yes and nodding at his horse. Must mean the brakes are off. And someone is nudging me in the back.
‘Hello Matt.’
‘Hello sir, I saw you from across the paddock there.’
‘How are you.’
‘Ah not great. There used to be a decent time when no one could be unknown in Dublin and now by god people are forgotten all over the place. But I can still judge a good horse. And I’ve come to give you a tip. Those mean gombeen Kellys have a winner there, again.’
‘But I’ve just got a tip on number six, Rumoured Ghost.’
‘Not a chance.’
‘Thanks Matt.’
‘Would you have a pound now sir to spare.’
‘Not to spare. But certainly Matt.’
‘Goodbye and thanks sir.’
So sad. Matt goes. As Rashers comes. Jovial again. Grinningly puffing his cigar. Known by all around him. Like some kind of king. But I suppose jollier than most monarchs. His binocular case flying myriad colours of his many private club enclosure tickets. And finally his cognomen ringing out on the public address.