Julia in Ireland

by Ann Bridge

  “O.K.” Julia said, spreading the General’s oilskin, folded double, at the edge of a bank and seating herself; she knew how important it is, when sitting out of doors for hours on end, to have one’s feet well below one’s knees. The place Gerald had chosen was a long pool below a shallow fall, its further bank fringed with the tall dark-green fronds of Os-munda Regalis, Royal Fern, beautiful against the golden grass; behind her, the nearby mountains stood up with an extraordinary authority, grey and craggy, dominating the valley—a pair of ravens were tumbling and fooling about in the sky overhead, as ravens do—beyond the Osmunda, the ground fell away in gentle undulations towards a distant blue line—the Atlantic Ocean.

  Immediately below the further bank ran a stream of bubbles from the fall, and into this Gerald threw his fly gently, and let it float downstream. Julia unslung her haversack and rubbed her face, neck and hands with her anti-midge mixture, lit a cigarette, and composed herself to watch. The solitude and isolation were complete; except for the nonsensical ravens she and her companion had this beautiful place entirely to themselves. But what soon struck her was that this man, her dear Gerald, who had been so insistent that she should come and share this wonderful thing, a day’s salmon-fishing, had forgotten all about her—he was utterly absorbed in what he was doing. She for her part watched him more carefully than she had ever done before, for so long at a stretch: she was struck by his patience, his absolute concentration, the perfect co-ordination of his movements as he cast—hand, arm, and rod were like one beautiful piece of mechanism as, over and over again, he placed the fly so delicately on the water, in precisely the spot, she was sure, that he wished. A good angler at work is worth watching, on any showing; if the watcher happens to be intensely interested in the angler, something can be learned about him. Slowly, slowly, he moved down the pool, casting now on the far side, now in the centre, and letting the fly float gently down with the current.

  At last, suddenly, she saw the rod bend—he was into a fish; Julia jumped at the scream of the reel as the line ran out. He got out onto the bank and stood there; slowly, steadily, carefully, he worked the head of the rod up; and then, still slowly and steadily, very gently, he began to reel in. The fish was a fair-sized one, and dashed wildly about the pool. Dumping all her belongings Julia took the landing-net and moved cautiously down towards her companion, and perched herself on a slab of rock. Gradually the fish’s struggle grew less violent, its dashes about the pool more infrequent, till after some fifteen minutes it lay lax and passive at the end of the line.

  “Julia, bring the landing-net!” Gerald shouted peremptorily.

  “I’ve got it here” she said, coming up beside him.

  “Well get the other side of me, put it in the water, and hold it still.”

  “Right.” She moved round and a step or two downstream from him, and did as she was told; when the net was in the water Gerald floated the fish down into it. Using both hands, Julia managed to heave it out onto the grass behind her.

  “Fine!” he said. “Gosh, he is a beauty!” He took the fish, still in the net, up onto the grass well away from the river, and laid it down—Julia herself was moved by its beauty, its strength and wildness.

  “How will you kill it?” she asked. She had caught and killed plenty of trout in her time, up at Glentoran, but obviously one couldn’t pick a salmon up in one hand and knock its head smartly against a rock—and the fish was still flapping its tail in the net, albeit rather feebly.

  “So,” Gerald said. He pulled a 9-inch bolt out of his pocket and hit the salmon on the nose with the heavy end—immediately it lay still.

  “One ought to have a priest” he said, “but as I have no salmon water I’ve never bothered to get one. Anyhow this is every bit as good—the weight at the end is what matters.” He wiped the bolt with a tuft of grass and put it back in his pocket. “You take the rod” he said, and carried the fish up to the head of the pool, where they had left their gear.

  Julia followed with the rod, and managed to find a place on the uneven bank where she could lay it perfectly flat; having done this, she re-seated herself on the oilskin, and drew the haversack towards her.

  “Lunch?” she asked.

  “In a minute.” He lit a cigarette, and for a few moments just stood looking at the salmon—Julia felt that he was still in the other world that he and the fish had shared during their long struggle. Then he came and perched beside her on the oilskin. “I can’t hope that that has meant to you what it meant to me, but I hope you got something out of it, my dearest” he said gently, but with a sort of muted urgency, putting his arm round her.

  She was moved by this.

  “Indeed I did, dear Gerald” she said, and turned her face to his for a kiss; as she did so she realised that she was turning to him with her whole being, and that the answer to the question she had been asking herself for the past few weeks was an unhesitating Yes. She did love him, and always would; there was no question of marrying to secure a kind step-father for the Philipino, though that would undoubtedly be thrown in as a bonus. With a happy sigh she laid her head on his shoulder.

  “It’s so difficult to explain” he said. “When a salmon takes the fly it’s like an earthquake—and afterwards its a mixture of a battle and a love-affair. Can you imagine that?”

  “Yes, I can indeed. Oh Gerald, bless you for wanting me to understand.”

  “I want you to understand everything I do—that might seem to be only my thing” he said, slowly. He bent his head to kiss her again. “Why, you’re crying!” he said—there were tears on her cheek.

  “Only because I’m so happy” she said. “Oh Gerald, I do love you for being so kind!”

  “I don’t see what’s kind about that” he said. “But darling—you say you love me—does that mean that you’ve made up your mind?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh my dearest!” He enveloped her in a tremendous embrace—then took her by the shoulder and held her a little away from him, and studied her face. “And you really think you can take it all—poor shabby old Rossbeg, and Bridgie, and everything?”

  How like Gerald, she thought, to realise how daunting the prospect of Bridgie would be to any new mistress of his house. “Yes, precious Gerald” she repeated, nodding her head.

  “I shouldn’t like to fire Bridgie” he said thoughtfully, “she’s been with me for such ages.”

  “No, you couldn’t possibly. We’ll make it work somehow. Are you fond of her?” she asked, with genuine curiosity.

  “Oh no!—she’s a maddening old creature, and lazy with it” he said frankly. “But if I’d been going to fire her, I ought to have done it years ago, and I was too lazy then.”

  “Well, now you can’t, so that’s settled” said Julia. “We’ll make it work” she repeated.

  They had a very peaceful, happy lunch after that; Julia observed with horror the sandwiches of meat paste and stale bread which the odious Bridgie had supplied for her master, and fed him copiously on the excellent provisions which she had brought from the Rostrunk larder.

  “D’you think you could teach Bridgie to make meat pies like these?” he asked, munching.

  “I doubt it. I’ll make them myself when she’s gone to bed. She goes up quite early.”

  “Does Helen make these herself?”

  “I shouldn’t think so—she’s taught her girls to cook. They’re younger—you can teach young Irish girls to be beautiful cooks, Helen says.”

  He drove her back to Rostrunk, but wouldn’t come in—“There’s more work I must finish at home tonight.” They kissed goodbye in the lane, and Julia ran in over the cattle-stops. She went first to the garden; Helen as she had hoped, was there, just wiping her tools prior to bringing them in.

  “Have a good day?” she asked.

  “Yes, Gerald got a lovely salmon. Helen, I’m going to marry him.”

  “Oh, well done!” She dropped her tools and gave her friend a warm and unwonted kiss. “I am glad. You couldn�
��t find a sweeter person if you combed Europe. And it will be lovely to have you within reach.” She picked up her tools and started back towards the house. “What about Bridgie? Shall you be able to stand her? She’s a ghastly old creature.”

  “Gerald asked that” Julia said, beginning to laugh.

  “He would! And what did you say?”

  “Oh, of course I said I could. What I’m secretly hoping is that she won’t be able to stand me— and a nursery.”

  “Ah, I daresay you’re right. Well, I couldn’t be more glad, Julia.” They stowed the tools in the shed; washing her hands in the adjoining cloak-room—“May I tell Michael?” Lady Helen asked.

  “Yes, do.”

  “I’m not sure that he’s back yet”—but when they went through into the library for drinks General O’Hara was there, pouring himself out a whiskey.

  “Oh, hullo! Julia, how did O’Brien get on? Get some fish?”

  “One—a beauty.”

  “What weight?”

  “I’ve no idea, but it was that long” Julia said, holding her hands some thirty inches apart. “And it was all I could do to lift it out of the water in the landing-net.”

  “H’m—nine or ten-pounder, I expect. Which pool did he kill it in?”

  But Julia wasn’t able to describe the pool and its location in such a way as to satisfy O’Hara as to its identity, nor could she say what fly had been used; however she was able to state firmly that Gerald had played the fish for just over a quarter of an hour before it was landed—it so happened that she had looked at her watch with the idea of suggesting lunch just before that unforgettable moment when the scream of the reel made her jump. Lady Helen wisely waited till her husband had finished his inquisition before coming out with the news which she was burning to impart, but as he poured himself a second small whiskey she said—

  “Michael, Julia’s going to marry Gerald O’Brien.”

  “That so, Julia? Oh, good show! Fix it up today? no wonder you’re pretty vague about the fishing! Well, I congratulate you—he’s a first-class chap. Bit retiring, but I daresay you’ll be able to alter that—bring him out, and so on.” He came over and wrung her by the hand. Julia was very much startled and touched by this expansiveness on her host’s part, and his unexpected percipience; she was still more touched when he looked at his watch and saying—“Yes, there’s just time to chill it”—hurried out to the cellar to get out a bottle of champagne, in which her and Gerald’s health was formally drunk at dinner.

  This pleasant business over, the husband and wife each began to recount their doings, as middle-aged, and still more elderly, married people are wont to do when they have spent the day apart. Lady Helen’s activities were soon dealt with, they were customary and dull, but the General had plenty to say. After the Committee in Ballina he had had lunch with some fellas, and they had started talking about the fella Moran and his development schemes—“He is behind O’Rahilly, so I daresay you were right about him being the man who went to see Mary Browne, Julia” O’Hara said—very handsomely, Julia thought. “And they say there’s some big American interest behind Moran. Of course I told them how I’d given O’Rahilly the brush-off.”

  “Well, have they got any plans for stopping horrible Moran? That seems to be the important thing” Lady Helen asked.

  “Ah, the less said about that the better” the General said darkly. “There are a lot of riding men in Dublin.”

  “I don’t like that idea much” said his wife. “But if it’s the only way …”

  “Gerald thought it might be worth while if someone went to see the head of Moran’s firm, and got them to tell him to lay off” Julia put in.

  “Ah, one of the fellas at Ballina had that idea too” O’Hara said. “Seems he knows them all. Did O’Brien say anything else, Julia?”

  “Yes. He told me that Mr. Fitzgerald had been to see Lady Browne, and had got her to sign two letters, which they had drafted together—one to him, Gerald, undertaking not to sell any land at all, to anyone; and the other to Moran, saying that she had changed her mind and wasn’t going to sell, ever, and that he could have his £3,000 deposit back on application to her lawyers. He’s got copies of them, initialled by Mr. Fitzgerald; they were witnessed by ‘Mr. Richard,’ as they call him, and old Annie.”

  “Well, I suppose that gives a certain measure of security” Lady Helen said.

  “Mr. Fitzgerald gave the priest copies of both, so that he could keep an eye on her” Julia went on.

  “Smart fella, Richard!” O’Hara said. “But I should like to see those letters. Did you say O’Brien’s got copies of them, Julia?”

  “Yes, he said so today. Mr. Fitzgerald brought them to him yesterday evening, I think.”

  “I should like to see what young Richard got Mary to put her name to, I must say” the General repeated. “I don’t suppose O’Brien would mind, eh?”

  “I’ve no idea” Julia replied prudently.

  “You could ring him up and ask him, dear” Lady Helen said.

  “No, better not telephone about it.”

  “Then send a note.”

  “Don’t want that sort of thing in writing, either.” O’Hara hummed and hemmed, in obvious embarrassment; at last—“I don’t suppose you’d mind taking a message to him, Julia, verbally?” he said, with unwonted hesitation. “Then, if he didn’t mind, you could bring them over.”

  “I don’t mind doing that in the least” Julia said readily. “Only I shan’t be able to catch him at home unless I go tomorrow. Would I be able to have the car, Helen? What about Mass?”

  “Have the big car. You’d better ring him up and fix a time. Has everyone finished? If so, let’s go” the General said, getting up, regardless of the slice of pineapple half-finished on his wife’s plate.

  This plan was soon settled on the telephone. Gerald expressed a wish only to go to late Mass, as he had been up so early that morning, so Julia’s visit was arranged for the afternoon; Lady Helen did up two sections of honey for Mrs. Keane—“You won’t mind dropping them, Julia, as you’re passing the gate? She adores honey in the comb.” Julia again said that she would not mind in the least; she would like to see Mrs. Keane again. So the following afternoon found her backing the car into the field-road opposite the two pretty whitewashed stone gate-posts, ready to drive straight out again; the car was heard, and as she walked up the path between the rose bushes Mrs. Keane opened the door to her.

  “Well well, if it isn’t Mrs. Jamieson! You’re heartily welcome. Come in to the fire.”

  “I’ve brought you a little present from Lady,” Julia said, sitting down by the glowing turfs—to her relief “the louts” appeared to be absent. Mrs. Keane took the honey joyfully—“Well now, isn’t Lady too kind altogether!”—and put it in the cupboard below the shelves, from which she reached down glasses and the bottle of the detested “hard stuff”; but Julia begged off this, and asked if she couldn’t have a cup of tea?—the metal teapot was sitting snugly in the ashes on the hearth.

  “ ’Tis only a minyit since I wet it, but I’ll make fresh” Mrs. Keane said; this Julia wouldn’t allow, and presently they were sitting sipping cups of fine strong tea. After enquiries for “Lady” and “the Gineral” Mrs. Keane asked anxiously about the well-being of “Lady’s” car—“Didn’t it get mended yet? I see ‘tis the big car ye have today.”

  “Oh that’s only because Lady wanted the little car for visits, and the General wasn’t going out this afternoon” Julia explained.

  “Ah, I heard he was in Ballina yesterday” Mrs. Keane said, surprising Julia—now how on earth did this pleasant woman know that? Oh well, something might have taken the louts to Ballina, she supposed, or a neighbour might have been there. But she was more surprised still when, after refilling her cup with tea now the colour of stewed prunes, Mrs. Keane asked—“And did Billy O’Rahilly get poor old Lady Browne to sell him the land he was wanting for his hotel? I’m after hearing he was going to have a swimming-pool with ho
t water in it!”

  “I don’t think anything has been settled yet” Julia replied cautiously.

  “The General soon stopped him back the Bay at Ros-trunk!” Mrs. Keane pronounced with evident satisfaction in her tone. “Sure and why wouldn’t he? What do he and Lady want with a great hotel right at the end of their garden?”

  “I don’t think they were worrying so much about themselves, and the hotel, though it would have disturbed their privacy, of course” Julia was moved to say—since Mrs. Keane knew so much already, she might as well hear of the more objectionable features of Billy’s plans. “It was the casino they thought would be so bad for the neighbourhood.”

  “And what might that be, Mrs. Jamieson, dear?”

  “Oh, a casino is a place for all sorts of gambling—with cards, and gambling machines, and of course lots of drinks. But more for gambling than anything else. That’s putting a terrible and perfectly needless temptation in the way of all the young people for miles around, the General felt.”

  “He was in the right of it” Mrs. Keane said. “Will Billy put one of them things up on Lady Browne’s land, if he gets it?”

  “Yes—he seems to have a casino along with the hotel, wherever he puts it—you can be sure of that” Julia stated roundly.

  “The Lord have mercy on us! That’s a wicked thing altogether. Well, well! ‘Tis to be hoped Mr. O’Brien will argue her out of it, the creature! He and that priest at Lettersall— he’s a most holy man, they say. And Mr. O’Brien’s a good Cat’lic himself.” She eyed Julia rather craftily. “Is Mrs. Jamie-son a Cat’lic?”

  “No” Julia said smiling. She got up. “I must be getting along” she said.

  “Ye’ll be looking in at Rossbeg?”

  “Yes, I’ve got to fetch something for the General. Goodbye.” She rather hastened out—Mrs. Keane might be a sweet person, but her all-knowingness and interest could be a little embarrassing.

  Gerald was perfectly ready to let General O’Hara see the copies of Lady Browne’s two letters. “After all, he laid the ground work, and persuaded her to give up the money the first time” he said. “He has every right to see them. But I shall want them back. Maybe you could bring them?”