J. Donleavy - Leila - Further in the Life and Destinies of Darcy Dancer, Gentleman

‘The Earl of Ronald Ronald please. Lord Ronald please.’

‘My god, that cheeky bugger, Rashers. God he must be this city’s biggest chancer. Sounds as if he’s staying right in this hotel. Must confess I never thought I’d ever extricate him from Andromeda Park. Of course when they weren’t dancing attendance upon him, he kept the whole staff idle with laughter. One had the guilty feeling that one would be kicking a great artiste out into the wet. Each morning confronting me in the library, reading yet another volume of Punch. Telling me yet again, how much the protracted comfort was healing his previous wounds of indignity. Futher soothed now no doubt by his having clearly taken unto himself a title. And he no doubt is at this very moment planning some new coup. To help land his lady pub and tobacconist owner up the aisle. And not even at this moment is one safe from his depredations. As one carried this very last forgotten one hundred pound note. Miraculously stuffed away all these months. And dredged up from the very bottom seam of one’s jacket’s barrister’s pocket. Designed so handily for either stuffing therein, torts or a stray pigeon or snipe one might shoot out walking. Such a welcome find, this big and sickly green coloured paper. A plentitude of ready, as Rashers would call it. Before one sinks instantly back into a nightmare of the unready. Unravel it. Bearded man’s face on the back of this legal tender. Fish, swans’ necks and sea shells hanging over his brow. A shawled lady, her chin in her hand, leaning on a harp. Her face the shape of Leila’s.

‘Sir you’re ready are you for your champagne.’

‘I was expecting a guest. Who doesn’t appear to be coming.’

‘Will you have some yourself sir while you wait.’ ‘Please.’

‘It will do your elbow no harm, sir. And maybe you’d fancy a sliver of smoked salmon.’

The waiter with his white hair combed flat back and parted in the middle of his red cheeked face. This high priest of his profession, taking his steps with his aloof dignity. A figure so familiar for so many years. Who brought us tea as I sat then waiting for Mr Arland trying to stop my eyes staring down between Clarissa’s alabaster bosoms. Now he disappears away through the door and down into the great ample bowels of this hotel which one feels so reassured is so full of plenty.

‘I trust sir, the Heidsieck is to your satisfaction.’

‘Excellent as a matter of fact.’

‘Shall I pour the other glass sir, for luck and for the welcome ghost that may be in it.’

‘I don’t think I’ve heard that one before.’

‘Me old granny, sir down the country alone, never poured a cup of tea without a cup for the welcome ghost.’

‘I see. Well in that case do pour a glass in the hope that either my guest or the ghost may soon arrive.’

‘Pleasure’s all mine.’

One sits. Long and lonely. And sad. Mr Arland always so prompt. Wrote me back a fortnight ago. Only three days waiting for him to reply. To say he would come. Near where his beloved Clarissa died. And now he has not. One is tempted to venture down to his address. Mount Street. Not particularly salubrious as an area. Must be near Westland Row Station. Wait at least cosily quiet in here. Feeling no pain. He still may come. While one avoids the more desperate of Dublin’s denizens. One or two of whom I see briefly creeping by. Among whom Rashers must be the king of chancers. Dispensing his endless charm. To even the beaten and broke. Who are always there to applaud one’s largesse. Who seem never beaten, but always broke. Forever able to stick forth a hand to take to their lips a drink when someone else who can pay is buying their round. And now I count myself among the beaten. Walking away from the boathouse that day. A pall so great one was hardly able to bear it. She would not even go a few paces back with me. Our goodbyes are better this way, she said. Let us leave each other just as we do in this room. I hardly remembered returning back up the path. Oblivious to the briars scratching my hands and face. Through the wood and by the fields and meadows along where they joined the land of the great castle. Where the Mental Marquis was a guest. Imagining their making a tryst. During her hours off in the afternoon. Somewhere in the woods. That she would submit to the Mental Marquis’ arms. He could touch her. Do other angering unspeakables. And then cast her back into the gutter again.

Darcy Dancer downing the last of the champagne. Rising from his chair. Stand over the ghost’s glass with the tiny bubbles still arise in the pale light. The taste bud bliss in one’s mouth of the soft slivers of salmon. Lunch bustle of waiters in the dining room. Blue flame of alcohol burners. Pleasant fume of sauces. My god, people actually speaking French are upon this doorstep. Mountains of very good quality luggage. Although the gentleman’s tailoring is a trifle tight, the tall dark woman he is with has exquisite long slender legs, tapering wrists and ankles. Aloof beauty. Her dark eyes and satin soft skin. My god Miss von B is right, these clearly aristocratic people from the continent do put us to shame. By their effortless casual elegance. Put my key to the porter. Must make an inquiry.

‘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.’