by A. J. Cronin
After I had spent myself I would sit and rest looking up at the University, the old noble building outlined dark and towering against the western sky. The chances that I should ever study there were now depressingly remote, yet when my breath came back, impelled by an ineradicable longing, I climbed the hill and wandered round the precincts. Passing through the deserted cloisters I read the names above the lecture rooms, drawn always to the Department of Biology where, lingering outside the locked door, I sniffed the aromatic odours of carbo-fuchsine and Canada balsam. Then indeed, turning away to return to the city, I felt that I had fallen on evil days and that my life had sunk to a dull and profitless routine.
Chapter Twenty-Four
One afternoon as I walked up Union Street rather slowly, returning from yet another of Leo’s commissions, a young man, bareheaded, and of extreme elegance, came out of the Criterion Hotel accompanied by a stylish but rather over-dressed woman somewhat older than himself. I knew him instantly, and as his eye met mine in mutual recognition I instinctively called out ‘Terence.’
He did not appear to hear me. Avoiding my glance, continuing to address his companion in the liveliest manner, he passed me as though I did not exist while, cut and humiliated, I stood staring like a fool. A few paces up the street, opposite the entrance to the hotel grill, an open red Argyle car upholstered in padded red leather was waiting with a chauffeur in attendance. Towards this rich vehicle Terence escorted his lady friend, saw her seated with every sign of solicitude, then after a vivacious and tender farewell, watched her driven off.
As he turned I stirred myself and began to move hurriedly away, confronted suddenly by the recollection of that moment eight years ago when in Terry’s company I had repudiated Maggie. Now she was avenged. At that moment, however, a piercing whistle, such as might be used to summon a cabby, made me spin round. Terence was coming towards me in leisurely fashion, handsomer, more charming than ever, not a hair out of place and immaculately got up in striped trousers and a dark jacket, a regular fashion plate. As he looked me up and down I quivered slightly. In the face of such sartorial, mannered perfection it was impossible not to blush for my own inadequacy.
‘Well, well, well. What a long drink of water you’ve turned into,’ Terence said slowly. ‘What are you doing up here, man?’
The total absence of communication that now existed between my mother and Lochbridge had left him in ignorance of our present situation. When I explained he emitted another whistle, but in a low and meditative key.
‘So you’re working for that skinflint. I never pass him in the street but I want to spit in his eye. Why didn’t you come to me, man? I always liked your mother. A nice little woman. I’d have straightened you both out in no time. No time at all.’
‘Why … what are you in, Terry?’
‘The hotel business. Learning it on the inside; I’m the receptionist here at the Cri.’
Deeply impressed, I looked from Terence to the pillared marble portico and through the wide glassed doors to the vista of rich carpeting and gilt chairs in the foyer beyond. The Criterion was a new hotel with a sophisticated Continental atmosphere, not large but exclusive. In Winton it touched the heights of fashionable opulence.
‘I suppose Leo feeds you well,’ Terence said suddenly, examining me sideways with a satiric eye. ‘ Or could you do with a bit of a snack?’ Before I could answer he went on, ‘Well, then, you nip round to the back of the building and I’ll let you in at the other entrance.’
The service entrance was easily found and Terence, already at the door, admitted me to a long passage which led into the hotel kitchen, an enormous lofty chamber, dazzling the eye with its display of shining metal and gleaming white tiles. A young man in a white apron and puffed cap was reading a newspaper.
‘Tony,’ Terence said, ‘ I’ve just discovered a long-lost starving relative. Can you knock up something for him?’
Tony lowered his newspaper. He did not look particularly pleased.
‘Three o’clock in the afternoon. And me the only one on duty.’
‘That’s why we’re here.’
When Terence smiled no one could withstand him for long. Tony put down his paper and got up.
‘What does he want?’
‘Something with beef in it. And plenty.’
It was a relief to find the staff dining-room, into which Terence now led me, completely empty. Here, after a surprisingly short interval, Tony brought me a large helping of what looked like stew.
‘That suit you?’
‘Oh yes, thank you.’
As I began to eat Terence took a chair opposite me and lit a cigarette.
‘Heavens, kid,’ he said, after a few minutes, ‘you’ve got a swallow. You must be famished.’
‘Not really, Terry. It’s just that this is the most delicious meat I’ve ever tasted.’
‘It ought to be. It’s Boeuf à la Bordelaise. As a matter of fact, my friend, Miss Josey Gilhooley, had some for her lunch today in grill.’
When he said this in so conscious a manner I felt some response was expected of me. I could not well say that she was pretty, since even in my brief glimpse of her I had been struck by the prominence of her nose. So I said:
‘She’s very smart, Terry.’
He nodded complacently, with a gratified proprietary air.
‘Was that her car?’
‘Her old man’s. Gilhooley the builder. They’re rolling. For your own information, kid, and strictly on the q. t., Josey and I are as good as engaged. At least, it’s not official yet but she’s practically my fiancee.’
‘I always thought you liked Polly Grant,’ I said, unthinkingly.
The nearest possible approach to a flush passed over Terence’s face, confirming those early rumours of his frequent visits to Ardencaple.
‘That was just a flash in the pan. This is the real thing.’ He added after a pause: ‘Don’t you ever go out with the girls yourself?’
The idea was so preposterous I merely shook my head.
‘What!’ exclaimed Terence, ‘you haven’t got a girl yet?’
I felt myself redden. I had no wish to enlighten Terence on my longings in that direction defeated by an abysmal shyness—a state of inner conflict only maintained in balance by the discipline I inflicted on myself.
‘I’m not interested in girls,’ I lied, bravely.
‘Then what in God’s name do you do with yourself?’
‘I’m kept busy all day,’ I said, defensively. ‘And at nights I go out to the Park and run.’
‘You do?’ For the first time Terence seemed interested. ‘I remember you were pretty fair.’ He seemed to make a joke of this, then considered me thoughtfully. ‘Have you done any serious running—at sports and such like?’
‘Oh, yes, I went out often with the Ardencaple Harriers, and won the under-fourteen steeplechase two years in succession.’
‘You did.’ He regarded me even more thoughtfully. ‘One of these nights I might come out and clock you. I still keep up with the track, although I’ve too much on my mind to go in for it myself.’
‘I remember you telling us how you won the hundred yards at Rockcliff.’
He looked pleased.
‘Sure. I left them like they were standing still. I was the champion there, man, or near enough to it. A pity you never managed to Rockcliff.’
I acquiesced sadly, adding under my breath: ‘I’d still give anything to go.’
‘Well, who knows?’ he said encouragingly. ‘It’s not too late. There’s ways and means. As I mentioned before, I have connections. Gilhooley is a big man. A strong Catholic too and Irish as you make them. Don’t give up too easy. Why, speaking off-hand, it just occurs to me that the Bursar there now, a fellow called Phelan … or is it Feeney, was a pal of mine. He took the collar. I might write to him, he’d do anything for me. Or even the Principal, they remember me there, I can tell you.’
Terence’s expansive attitude quite lifted me up. My eyes glowed
as I murmured my gratitude.
‘Say nothing of it.’ He pushed back his chair and got to his feet. ‘I must get back to the reception now. We’ve some important guests coming in this afternoon. But keep in touch with me. I want to time you on the mile. If it works out it might do you some good. Don’t forget now.’
‘I won’t, Terry. I’ll come to the service door.’
‘That’ll be easier for you,’ he approved. ‘By the way, did you know that Nora was in town?’
‘No, Terry.’
‘Well, she is, and doing famously for herself.’
‘In what way?’
‘She’s junior assistant to Miss Donohue, the buyer in Earle’s. The Donohues are good friends of ours, old Donohue and my old man were pretty close at one time, so it was all fixed up nicely for Nora to train under her. You know what a buyer is, don’t you?’
I did, more or less. And as Earle’s was the leading establishment in Winton for women’s fashions I knew also that Miss Donohue’s position must be a good one.
‘Nora’s always asking about you,’ Terence went on. ‘Why don’t you look her up? She lives with Miss D. I’ll give you the address. It’s in Park Crescent.’
He took a gold-cased pencil from his waistcoat pocket and wrote it down.
I could not thank him enough. Indeed, when he had shown me out by the back door, I went on my way rejoicing in the fortunate chance that had reintroduced me to my own people. I had been so long without proper human companionship that the prospect of friendship with Terence and Nora excited me. And more: the subject of Rockcliff had been raised. What might Terry, or Terry’s friends, do for me? The name Gilhooley, linked to that splendid car, to say nothing of the dashing daughter to whom Terence was affianced and soon would probably marry, suggested possibilities which, while as yet undetermined, seemed almost unlimited.
Chapter Twenty-Five
For several days I waited hopefully in the expectation that Nora would get in touch with me. I was reluctant to take the initiative and Terence must surely have spoken to her of our meeting. But as no word came from her, on the following Saturday when I was free I wandered in a desultory fashion towards Park Crescent. The afternoon, I remember clearly, was mild, still, and sunny, full of a delicious promise of spring.
Park Crescent was situated in a favoured residential district on the west side of the city. It stood high, a quarter circle of tall Georgian houses, now converted to flats, overlooking Kelvingrove Park. Already discouraged by the superior atmosphere of this locality, which contrasted markedly with the crudities of Argyle Street and Templar’s Hall, I barely paused outside No. 9 and did not arrest my self-conscious transit until I was fifty yards further down the Crescent. Here, with the air of a disinterested observer, I leaned over the railings and surveyed the Park beneath me. Should I or should I not advance boldly and ring the bell? The spears were breaking on the chestnut trees, yellow forsythia was already in bloom, perambulators were circling on the broad path where I took my evening run. Nora could not possibly wish to see me. Yet I had liked her when we last met and now I wanted her as a friend. Half-turning, I perceived that the street maintained a total emptiness. At least I should be unobserved if I were rejected and thrown out. Bracing myself, I turned back, mounted the portico steps of No. 9 and went into the long entrance hall. From a variety of doors, peering in the semi-darkness, I selected one on which was tacked a visiting card with the name: Miss Fidelma Donohue. I straightened my tie and, reminding myself that I was fairly presentable in my soberly dyed brown suit, pressed the bell.
The door was smartly opened by a short, tight, bustling little woman dressed for the street in a stylish hat and coat who, in a well-corseted attitude, her head thrown back, appraised me with a hard, bright, competent eye and inquired:
‘Well, young man?’
‘Is Miss Nora Carroll in?’ I murmured. ‘ I’m her cousin, Laurence Carroll.’
She relaxed immediately, her expression altered, she smiled a welcome. At ease, she had a full, rather humorous mouth, richly embellished with a gleaming set of false teeth.
‘Come in. Why haven’t we seen you before? And why didn’t you give us word you were coming?’
As I entered she put a hand on my shoulder and continued to look me up and down.
‘Yes, you’re a regular Carroll. I knew your father well, poor lad. So now you’re making your fortune with your Uncle Leo.’ Without giving me time to deny this suggestion she went on, impelling me towards a half-open door. ‘Nora’s in there. Hurry in now and get acquainted, for as bad luck would have it, we’ve both got to go out. But don’t forget to come again.’
I saw that, like a fool, I had come at the wrong time and was prepared to apologize and retire. But, under her propulsion, I entered the room she indicated, a small feminine bedroom, done up with flowered chintz curtains and chair covers of the same material.
My cousin was seated before the looking-glass of her dressing-table. She turned, and we gazed at each other. Although I knew she must be my cousin I scarcely recognized in this alarmingly attractive girl the skinny child who had butted me at my father’s funeral. For there was no doubt about it—Nora was a beauty. Not only so, but untouchably smart, wearing an embroidered silk blouse, dark green pleated skirt, and a necklace of speckled green beads, exactly the kind of girl for whom, with a lowered glance, I hurriedly stepped off pavements, lest my contaminating presence should offend her. Yet she was smiling to me, and her dark eyes, with their thick fringe of long curling lashes that seemed darker against her fresh delicate complexion, sparked with pleasure and mischief.
‘Oh, Laurence, what a fine tall boy you’ve grown into! But oh, dear, I can’t help thinking how I treated you in the hen house. Do you remember the egg?’
‘Of course, Nora.’
‘Anyhow, it’s done wonders for your hair. You’ve lots of it, and such a nice chestnut shade. But oh, dear, I did bang you against that wall.’
She came forward, put her arms round me and gave me a full long kiss.
‘There!’ she said. ‘That makes up for it. After all, aren’t we cousins?’
At that soft warm pressure I felt a kind of shock as though something within me had given way.
‘Oh, Nora,’ I said faintly, ‘it’s a treat to see you again. I’ve wanted to.’
‘Then why didn’t you before now, you silly fellow? No, no, it’s really my fault. We’re an awful family, the way we don’t keep up with one another. Of course Simon’s in Spain, and Leo is impossible, but we shouldn’t have lost touch with you. Well have to make up for it now. Stuck all those months with Leo can’t have been any fun.’
‘No, not much, Nora. But then I’m not much of a one for fun.’
‘We’ll have to go into that. And into all that’s been happening to you.’ She had taken up her hat from the dressing-table. It was a little chip straw with a single rose on the brim. ‘But not now, dear Laurence. It’s a great shame, but Miss Donohue and I have an engagement that just can’t be put off.’
‘I’ll clear out at once,’ I said hurriedly.
‘Oh, dear, aren’t we touchy!’ She finished putting on the hat at the mirror and swung round. ‘Now tell me, is that becoming? Be careful, it’s a model borrowed from the showroom,’ She burst out laughing. ‘Oh, Laurie, you are a funny chap, but if I‘m any judge, a nice one. Now listen, we’re all going, Miss D., Terence and I, and some others, to the second house of the Alhambra on Saturday night, and you’re coming with us unless,’ she looked at me mockingly, ‘it will make you even more miserable!’
‘Oh, no, it won’t, Nora.’
‘Then meet us at the stalls entrance at nine o’clock. We’ll have the tickets.’
I left the house walking on air in a trance of happiness which, as I turned instinctively into the Park, was succeeded by a surge of restless exaltation. How kindly Nora had received me, how naturally and affectionately I had been accepted, invited to another meeting, made to feel that I was wanted. No one
had ever kissed me like that … never, never in my life. The soft warmth of those lips pulsed and persisted in my guileless blood, and in a slow, delicious expansion I felt my heart go out towards my cousin. Sudden recollection of my absurd fancy for Ada, with whom I had not even been privileged to exchange a word, made me blush. That had been mere childish play. This was the real thing. I was grown up now. I understood life. And as I hacked along at a pace that made me sweat, I began to picture a future in which Nora and I would constantly be together. I no longer felt alone and Winton had ceased to be a wilderness.
Suddenly, as I came along the river walk, sharply intruding upon this blissful reverie, a static object, peculiar yet strangely evocative, caught my downward abstracted eye. Surely, in the remote past, I had been familiar with that short ebon stump, terminating in the angle iron that affixed it to the thick-soled surgical boot. I stopped instinctively and raised my head. Seated alone, on the park bench, a little shrunken man in a black bobtail suit, celluloid dickey and string black tie was regarding me with a benevolent half smile.
‘Laurence Carroll,’ he said.
That he should recognize me, in my present state and after an interval of seven years, struck me with such force I dropped out of my dream and responded involuntarily:
‘Pin Rankin!’ And then, hurriedly apologizing: ‘ Oh, I’m sorry, sir. I was so surprised you knew me it just slipped out.’