it was for women you were looking. John is a boy.”
The meal was served when they returned to the house. He ate alone, with the sheepdog by his chair, and no one spoke. The only sounds were the knife and fork on a plate or a stirring spoon and the small birds on the green bank outside the window. Kate and Ruttledge left the room and returned without attracting his attention. When he rose from the table he said, “That was great. God bless and keep you, Kate.”
They saw him to the car. The sheepdog leaped into the front seat and placed his front paws on the dashboard. He turned under the four iron posts and let the windows down to call out, “God bless yous,” as he passed the porch. They watched the light flash on the glass and metal as the car appeared and reappearedin the breaks in the big trees as it went slowly out around the shore.
They continued looking for a long time at the evening sparkle on the lake until a dark figure appeared in a pale space, walking slowly, disappearing behind the trees. When the figure moved across the last clear space, it could either turn uphill or enter the fields along the shore. So even was the slow pace that Patrick Ryan emerged into the shade of the alder above the gate at the expected moment.
“Talk of the devil,” Ruttledge breathed as soon as he recognized the figure in the dark suit.
He came at the same slow, studied pace up the short avenue to the porch. The dark suit was neatly pressed, the white shirt ironed, the wine-coloured tie carefully knotted and the black shoes shone beneath the thin white dust of the road. He was five feet, six inches in height, with broad shoulders, a remarkably handsome head, sixty-five years of age, erect and strong.
Ruttledge knew that his first words would have been pondered carefully, and waited in front of the porch instead of going towards him.
“I have been meaning to come round several times but there’s been people hanging out of me for months,” Patrick spoke slowly and deliberately.
“That doesn’t matter. You are welcome,” Ruttledge said, and led him into the house.
“Where is she?” he demanded when he was seated in the white rocking chair. “Is she here?”
“In the house somewhere.”
Kate came into the room. She had changed into a blouse of pale silk and brushed her hair. “You are welcome, Patrick.”
“It’s great to see you, Kate,” he rose from the chair with natural easy charm.
It was cool and dark within the house after the brightness of the porch, the green bank outside the large window glowing in the hidden light.
“You’ll have a drink—it’s a while since you were in the house,” Ruttledge said as he took out a bottle of Powers.
“I bar the drink,” Patrick Ryan raised his hand dramatically. “I completely bar the drink. There’s too much fucken drink passed around in this country.”
“You’ll have tea?” Kate said.
“No tea either. I came on a mission. I want this man to drive me to Carrick.”
“That’s easily done.”
“I suppose you have all heard that our lad is bad in Carrick?”
“Jamesie told us that Edmund is poorly,” Ruttledge said carefully.
“With Jamesie around, this place will never lack a radio-TV station,” he said sarcastically.
“We’d be lost without Jamesie,” Ruttledge said.
“I suppose he told you that I was never in to see our lad. He probably has it spread all over the country.”
“He just mentioned that Edmund was poorly and that old Mrs. Logan and the dog are lost since he went into hospital.”
“They are casting it up that I was never in to see him when I only heard today that he was in hospital. When you are working here and there all over the country you hear nothing.”
“When do you want to leave?” Ruttledge asked.
“We’ll go now, in the name of God.”
“Would you like to come?” Ruttledge asked Kate, though he knew Patrick Ryan wouldn’t want her and she was unlikely to come.
“No, thanks.”
“I’ll be
The meal was served when they returned to the house. He ate alone, with the sheepdog by his chair, and no one spoke. The only sounds were the knife and fork on a plate or a stirring spoon and the small birds on the green bank outside the window. Kate and Ruttledge left the room and returned without attracting his attention. When he rose from the table he said, “That was great. God bless and keep you, Kate.”
They saw him to the car. The sheepdog leaped into the front seat and placed his front paws on the dashboard. He turned under the four iron posts and let the windows down to call out, “God bless yous,” as he passed the porch. They watched the light flash on the glass and metal as the car appeared and reappearedin the breaks in the big trees as it went slowly out around the shore.
They continued looking for a long time at the evening sparkle on the lake until a dark figure appeared in a pale space, walking slowly, disappearing behind the trees. When the figure moved across the last clear space, it could either turn uphill or enter the fields along the shore. So even was the slow pace that Patrick Ryan emerged into the shade of the alder above the gate at the expected moment.
“Talk of the devil,” Ruttledge breathed as soon as he recognized the figure in the dark suit.
He came at the same slow, studied pace up the short avenue to the porch. The dark suit was neatly pressed, the white shirt ironed, the wine-coloured tie carefully knotted and the black shoes shone beneath the thin white dust of the road. He was five feet, six inches in height, with broad shoulders, a remarkably handsome head, sixty-five years of age, erect and strong.
Ruttledge knew that his first words would have been pondered carefully, and waited in front of the porch instead of going towards him.
“I have been meaning to come round several times but there’s been people hanging out of me for months,” Patrick spoke slowly and deliberately.
“That doesn’t matter. You are welcome,” Ruttledge said, and led him into the house.
“Where is she?” he demanded when he was seated in the white rocking chair. “Is she here?”
“In the house somewhere.”
Kate came into the room. She had changed into a blouse of pale silk and brushed her hair. “You are welcome, Patrick.”
“It’s great to see you, Kate,” he rose from the chair with natural easy charm.
It was cool and dark within the house after the brightness of the porch, the green bank outside the large window glowing in the hidden light.
“You’ll have a drink—it’s a while since you were in the house,” Ruttledge said as he took out a bottle of Powers.
“I bar the drink,” Patrick Ryan raised his hand dramatically. “I completely bar the drink. There’s too much fucken drink passed around in this country.”
“You’ll have tea?” Kate said.
“No tea either. I came on a mission. I want this man to drive me to Carrick.”
“That’s easily done.”
“I suppose you have all heard that our lad is bad in Carrick?”
“Jamesie told us that Edmund is poorly,” Ruttledge said carefully.
“With Jamesie around, this place will never lack a radio-TV station,” he said sarcastically.
“We’d be lost without Jamesie,” Ruttledge said.
“I suppose he told you that I was never in to see our lad. He probably has it spread all over the country.”
“He just mentioned that Edmund was poorly and that old Mrs. Logan and the dog are lost since he went into hospital.”
“They are casting it up that I was never in to see him when I only heard today that he was in hospital. When you are working here and there all over the country you hear nothing.”
“When do you want to leave?” Ruttledge asked.
“We’ll go now, in the name of God.”
“Would you like to come?” Ruttledge asked Kate, though he knew Patrick Ryan wouldn’t want her and she was unlikely to come.
“No, thanks.”
“I’ll be
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