Leila

by J. P. Donleavy

  And my loyal

  Lady

  From whom

  Every unblessed day

  Keeps

  My love

  9

  Darcy Dancer, a glass of port to his lips. The front hall door opening wide. A roar of draught up the chimney. Two ladies standing, their gloved hands politely up, smiles vanishing on their faces as Gearoid’s quickly widened on his greasy one.

  ‘Ah jasus wasn’t it a good hooley gone great they had in here.’

  ‘Well, isn’t anyone going to say hello to us.’

  Darcy Dancer turning round to the sound of this familiar voice. My god. My sisters.

  ‘How do you do.’

  ‘O dear, how formal. We are your sisters you know.’

  ‘Yes of course, indeed how are you. Forgive me. We’ve had an entirely unpremeditated small disagreement here this evening.’

  ‘Well you must forgive us for not giving you more warning. But we thought as we’re now back in Dublin we’d pop down and see the old place.’

  ‘Delighted to have you both I’m sure.’

  ‘Well we are glad to be home, especially for the hunting as a matter of fact.’

  ‘And so nice to have you both.’

  ‘I’m afraid this person here has presumed to help us with our luggage. And I’m afraid we’re rather short of change.’

  How of course are they to know that Gearoid, with the face like a toad, is a now and again unofficial footman at Andromeda Park, and officially permitted as a one time farmer to wear his cap and muddy boots in the house and to stink to high heaven of horse piss, stables and farmyards, while making familiar with guests and as an equal helping himself to copious of his host’s wines and beers in order to keep himself happily half out of his senses. And how are they to know this goggly eyed, shabbily attired crew before them are the same lot who in our mother’s day ministered in such impeccable splendour. I suppose if they ever dreamt of this place over all these years it must be one ruddy rude awakening. As good grief tennis racquets in their luggage. What on earth are they expecting. Of course in one’s sunnier moments one did think of restoring the tennis court to playing condition. And needless to say soon find oneself lobbing balls up into the rain sodden clouds as one splashed muddily underfoot splattering one’s white playing garments and sending gobbets of muck unhelpfully into one’s partner’s eyes. Perhaps from childhood, one is overly alarmed by their sense of presumed ownership being as the pair of them purloined my toys and constantly plotted to frighten me out of my wits. Even to threatening to snip my penis off with a scissors. And now, by the sound of their first few words, they return such utter Sassenachs. And I am as Sexton says. Undisputed Pasha of Andromeda Park. At least one is relieved to find them quite mature looking ladies of attractive facial appearance. Hope to god their high flown vowels, gay laughter and light jokes, will distract the Mental Marquis’s rabid gaze and attention from Leila. Which is so utterly enlarging the hole at the bottom of my sinking soul. And of course, as would embarrassingly happen, my sisters’ names, on the tip of my tongue, have gone both flying straight out of my head. Quite maddening as one does at least want to make a decent impression. But bloody hell the Marquis has cocked his other leg forward, changed his drink from one hand to the other and is now smilingly pointing out Leila’s most admired painting to her. As my blood drains away into a groaning yawning abyss of jealousy. And O god. I am completely ignoring my sisters. But that bloody man is there brazen and blatant, clicking his heels on the tiles and clearly adoring to hear himself talk while his engorged prick is absolutely forcing his breeches out a mile. Leaving me in deep spiritual snooker. Yes, that’s where you are my dear chap. Blue bloody bananas, how incredibly stupid it was to have invited him to dinner tonight. But then he did kick one or two interlopers in the arse and one was flattered by his back slapping camaraderie and jollity in nearly regarding me as a long lost friend. Of course it will relieve oneself of one’s sisters’ prying questions. For instance, where are our dear mother’s jewels. To which I would adore to lay hand to, myself. Of course the Marquis does occasionally display a sensitivity of spirit that comes of deep melancholia. And his words did rather cheer me up.

  ‘I say there Kildare. Can you imagine the bloody insolence coming into a man’s house causing a disturbance like this. Demands a boot up a few holes. But damn it. I do seem to accost you at the most delicate of times. How are you my dear chap. Not seen each other I do believe since last we met at the barber’s. Following your delicately relieving me of a fiver in the Royal Hibernian Hotel. Caught me incognito you did. As I was reflecting on St Paul’s Epistle to the Ephesians. But you’re the first man who’s ever touched me for a fiver and repaid it by god. But apropos of this season’s hunting don’t you think it nice that we have a Master of Foxhounds with the signal advantage of having particularly strong piss to release in our various badger and fox holes. And by god cause any fox getting a sniff to definitely avoid seeking shelter therein and to go on merrily chased running for his life. Don’t you think that a damn good thing Kildare. Except that the thirsty chap has to damn near quaff all one’s whisky to do his required peeing.’

  Of course I did fervently think that an absolutely marvellous benefit. And indeed did watch close up the Master unravel his astonishingly long penis and take several of his pisses, till he lurchingly missed a hole and stank up my boot. One can’t suppose the Marquis is all bad. In fact his taste in women appears to be too damn good. He’s awfully hairy arsed of course. And I’m sure he knows it was me galloping along the old avenue of lime trees, and thundering down upon him to jump flying over on the Master’s stolen horse as he rogered Baptista on the mossy ground. The vision of him pumping away between Baptista’s unbooted flailing legs, totally unconcerned for my mount’s hoofs scraping the top of his balding head, will go with me to the grave. Provided the Royal Hibernian Hotel keyhole sight of him with his chastisement equipages and his besaddled hind quarters being whipped as she giggled and gasped around the room doesn’t blot it out. And I cannot bear to contemplate him even standing near Leila never mind being nudely on top of her. Especially as the bastard is used to riding such big enormous horses. Perhaps one’s sisters changing décolleté for dinner out of their rather less than fashionable clothes may attract him. My god it wouldn’t be the worst thing to end up with a brother in law with sixteen thousand walled in acres, possessed of a damn good trout lake, salmon river and a castle where your voice echoes in the front hall.

  ‘Now there you be your ladyships. Weep not. And both of you sine dubio let me tell you are a sight for my one sore eye, dominus vobiscum.’

  Sexton. Saviour of his master, and utterly in his element Having all those years ago danced so much previous attendance on my sisters. His little goddesses he called them. For whom he now runs twice back and forth, both arms loaded with the rest of their luggage which Gearoid, spotting a nearby whiskey bottle, suddenly found too heavy to carry. And the amount of which my god does ruddy indicate much more than a short stay. Two vast steamer trunks. Five suitcases. And at least eleven hat boxes clearly means as many as a half dozen race meetings. Sexton, obviously intending to continue severe social elevation of my sisters’ entitlements. And thank god, reminds one of their names.

  ‘Ah Lady Christabel. Ah Lady Lavinia. Sine dubio too long has this great house been denied the great beauty you took from it upon your departure and now bring back to it upon your return.’

  ‘Oh how nice of you to say, Sexton.’

  One must confess. It was pretty damn nice and just in the ruddy nick of time. And Crooks thank god, blessedly minus soiled bandages and not looking like some down and out alcoholic person, has emerged too. Into the desperation of one’s inadequacy. And bowing to each of them.

  ‘Lady Christabel. Lady Lavinia. Welcome home. I trust your journey did you no discomfort that your ready and waiting hot baths will not completely dispel.’

  My god. Listen to him. Why don’t I get some of this rudd
y elegant attention occasionally. He really is on his best behaviour. Of course the Marquis does rather tone up the atmosphere. And damn him, is pretentiously conducting Leila around to further paintings, spouting out what god awful guff one can not imagine. As I’m damn sure the only culture he’s ever been acquainted with is the curvature of his prick. Which bloody hell is now even more pointed in his breeches. Somehow one wishes one had Crooks’ crossed eyes. When no one can even remotely guess where you’re looking. Can be such a help sometimes. Since I can see so straight. At this painful sight resulting in one’s most painful sour demeanour. And then the next awful embarrassment. Triggered off by Crooks.

  ‘Shall I show their ladyships to their rooms.’

  With Christabel stretching her neck out of an emerald green satin scarf and pointing her nose upwards, taking it upon herself to suggest.

  ‘Thank you Crooks, Mummy’s old rooms will do for me.’

  ‘I’m afraid your ladyship, I venture to regret that her late ladyship’s apartments are already occupied.’

  Even then one should have quite clearly known it was already obvious how the wind was blowing. And to get a further blast of it as one was an hour later descending dressed, for drinks to be served in the library. Overhearing one’s sisters just at the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘I think I shall any moment scream aloud.’

  ‘Why Christabel.’

  ‘Because Lavinia, it is so damn cold in this house and so wretchedly dirty and dusty.’

  Of course no dirt or dust on them as they did appear, teeth flashing at the Marquis, well washed and brushed up. Although mountainously goose pimpled and blue on their much exposed anatomies. The Marquis immediately taking to announcing over his full whisky glass a rather boastful account of his most recent hunting mishap. While Christabel and Lavinia, fanning their arses feverishly at the fire, tittered and titillated over their sherries. The Marquis obviously just waiting to roll his vowels concerning his horse rolling on him as each time Leila came in the library from whence she was removing two candelabra for the dining room. His eyes flicking up at her. Ignoring my sisters’ adoration. And my distinct irritation. I must say even as rich as he is rumoured to be one does even vaguely, and very vaguely think one should hint of a substantial dowry available with the better built of one’s sisters. Who by present cleavages would appear to be Lavinia. Perhaps a little plumpish on the upper arm. No matter. She’s slightly taller than Christabel. And broader in the beam. That helps in breeding. But I do think she has, on further real scrutiny, smaller tits. Yes she does. Of course who’s ever to notice when for the rest of their Irish sojourn I’m sure both will be bundled up in long flowing armour plated thick tweed suits. And boots of one sort or another. But O god one just knows, that those self same mounds on the chest of Leila would be revealed as such rare delicate gems. Nor are my sisters’ good legs apparent in these most awful ankle boots edged with sheep fur they’re still bloody wearing, thinking they can’t be seen under their gowns. Obviously not taking any bloody chances with the temperatures in the dining room. Of course their best points are their accents. British in the extreme. Damn Marquis ought to appreciate that. But of course doesn’t. Arse is the only thing on his ruddy mind. They must have both said jolly good show twenty times in the last five minutes. And would no doubt have said it fifty times if they weren’t so busy smiling their heads off at him. And then had the nerve to look about at me at what one irritatingly suspects are one’s occasionally more than slightly broguish vowels. And that’s now the second bloody full glass of whisky he’s downed. Just as one turns around. First he’s there toying and touching a brimming drink you think he’s never going to put to his lips. And then presto. The glass is empty. Perhaps one ought to bolster one’s own spirit, and quaff an equal amount. Then in the luxury of loose tongues remind his lordship of his station in life. Not ruddy done to prance about with one’s prick pointing at someone else’s servant. Divert his attention back to one’s sisters. In the shabby hope that mauling about in a drunken coupling somewhere discreet upstairs he might get one of them pregnant. Ah, at long last, Crooks. And look at this. White gloves. We are on parade tonight.

  ‘Sir, Master Reginald, dinner is whenever you are.’

  The dining room lit like a ballroom. And the fire blazing so hot in the grate Lavinia said her back was getting sunburned. Serves her right. Crooks barking out orders. As if he were really on some ruddy parade ground. Or even on the bridge of a ship. The latter distinctly in a hurricane. Leila, Kitty and Norah, and even Dingbats. Bumping into each other. Cutlery continually clattering on the floor. But only two plates breaking. Which Dingbats accomplished taking away his lordship’s too soon, to which she clung as he tried to grab it back. A nice exhibition of impeccable appetite if not manners.

  ‘Hey where the hell again my dear do you think you’re going with that when a chap is as famished as I am from hunting all day.’

  ‘I am sorry your majesty.’

  ‘I’m not a bloody king.’

  ‘Pardon me sir.’

  ‘I’m a potato digging bog trotter like the rest of you. Just have a few more acres than most to do it in.’

  Of course my sisters loved every word out of his mouth. Even laughed as he ladled a little gravy on his pate. And rubbed it in to make as he said, his hair sprout. Of course he was not known as the Mental Marquis for nothing. And I must confess myself finding him occasionally damn funny. But one’s amusement wore damn thin each time he actually stopped talking waiting for Leila to come back into the room.

  ‘Ah wait, we must wait, till all our beautiful ears are listening.’

  Shovelled in along with his Brussels sprouts, eight slabs of lamb he consumed. Pucks of potatoes. Quaffed two bottles of my best claret. Interrupted three of my best jokes. Of which I only know four. And he of course would take ages helping himself to anything Leila was serving. Remarking on how marvellously steady she was holding the dish. When anyone could see she was shaking like a leaf. And finally one found it a solace when my sisters withdrew. And I found it increasingly difficult to remain civil and execute one’s duties as a host. Crooks with the cigars and Leila placing the port on the table.

  ‘Ah there now Kildare is a combination. Exquisite decanter held by an exquisite hand.’

  One simply could not look at Leila’s face. In case she was pleased by this quite pedestrian observation. Plus she did have chilblains. Crooks did however close proceedings with one of his sepulchral announcements concerning the decanter’s contents.

  ‘Laid down the day upon which you were born sir.’

  ‘Ah Crooks are you referring to me or his Lordship.’

  ‘To you of course sir.’

  ‘Ah I do apologize Crooks but you will forgive me for saying so, I did think you were looking at his Lordship.’

  Needless to say we were all getting crosseyed. Crooks happily not taking my comment amiss. Clapping his hands going back in through the pantry door and whispering to those assembled there.

  ‘Get your ears back away from here listening at the door, the lot of you. Be quick about it.’

  The Marquis knowing of his eager audience beaming in a broad smile pouring himself a port and pushing the decanter at me. The wind bellowing and rumbling up the chimney just as one imagined one heard a slate crash off the roof somewhere. Or was it a member of the staff crying rape. All sounds were getting to sound the same.

  ‘Kildare, dear chap. Jolly good dinner. Jolly damn good port. Jolly damn good as my own. But let’s get down to brass tacks here, as hunting men. She is, quite without doubt Kildare, the most exquisitely alluring elegantly beautiful creature I have ever seen. And what’s more with a surname quite out of the context of being a servant. Surely you’re not keeping her here like this are you. I mean forgive me my dear chap I have no intention to meddle in your domestic affairs, none whatever. But come come. Out with it now. The lady, for that’s clearly what she is, knows about art.’

  ‘She does quite.’ />
  ‘Does quite. Does more than does quite, damn it. Telling me about the Florentine, she was. Giotto, Donatello, bloody Michelangelo. This o and that o. Of course I was mostly tight as a newt when I was in Florence. And the dear creature has hardly even been to Tralee yet. Got a mind as impressive as her beauty. Damn good port this. I mean to say dear boy, one does get one’s fill of empty chatterboxes occasionally. So nice to talk a moment of the finer things. But the middle ages are over. Can’t keep a girl locked away. I mean to say a man is now and again caught with his kilt up, like any man who likes a gallop.’

  ‘I can’t see what exactly you’re driving at sir.’

  ‘Damn it Kildare I’m not your grandfather, call me Horatio, that’s my Christian name. I know behind my back I’m called something else. But there’s a lass for which one lays down one’s future. Of course I’ve got my past plethora of indiscretions. Of course I have. Skeletons clacking in the rear vestibule pantry closet, and that sort of thing. One does get in an occasional spot of bother as a fledgling flying officer. Then as you rise up in rank you tend to try to stop your junior officers making the same sort of high flying fools of themselves. I could do with going up for a spin in a Spitfire tonight. What about that Kildare. I’ll come over in an aircraft one of these days. You’ve got enough level meadow for a landing field. Have a few wizard bloody prangs. Take you upstairs. Buzzing the bloody peasants hereabout downstairs. But now admit it. What’s a young devil like you doing with a girl here as a skivvy whose sidelong glances could one day change the course of nations.’

  ‘I’m afraid I rather do regard your remarks as being transparent.’

  ‘What. Bloody hell, Kildare. I don’t like the sound of that word one bit. But since I’m drinking your damn fine port let’s not quarrel about that, especially when the subject of brains is at stake. Now don’t you agree that a woman’s mind is of some importance. I mean let’s face it man to man. You put your old what for up their well meant for and you do your best done for and then you want to be immediately a mile away shooting snipe. Wouldn’t it be better to be able to have a civilized word with a woman one has just pranged. What the deuce is the matter with you Kildare. Don’t you see what I’m talking about here. It’s a matter of principle.’