The Secret Journey (41 page)

The tram rolled on down the hill.

‘But who am I to believe? That's the question. Maureen or him. Oh, Maureen, you little fool, if only you were sensible. If you only realized that you
are
settled—that you can't go gallivanting off now. You're no girl now—you're a grown woman.'

Yes. He, Joseph Kilkey, wasn't as soft as all that. He knew a thing or two. But—‘No, I won't think about that,' he told himself, ‘one thing at a time. Well, we're nearly there now, thank the Lord.' His hand went to his collar, he straightened his tie, drew his trousers up a little higher to keep the crease in them, and brushed the sleeves of his coat. At least, he was respectably dressed—he wasn't going to see the King, of course, but he was going on a business that called for appearance, and he stood up and looked at himself in a glass mirror that advertised somebody's biscuits.

The tram stopped, and Joseph Kilkey alighted. He knew the street, and he knew the building. To find the office on the top floor was not a very difficult matter, and he took the stairs two at a time until he reached the top of the building. ‘What a hole!' he said to himself, as once more he halted to put his tie in place again. The building seemed deserted. On this floor absolute silence reigned, and the only sign of life at all came from the reflection of the light in the office where Desmond Fury was now seated writing a letter. He heard the knock on the glass door, but did not immediately answer it. He was intent upon the letter, and determined to finish it before he opened the door. As though Joseph Kilkey had somehow divined this, he did not knock a second time, but waited very patiently for another few seconds. Then he heard the furious scratching of a pen on paper. Whoever
was
in there was very busy. Joseph Kilkey decided to wait until the scratching ceased. Just as he made to knock again on the window the handle turned, and the door opened.

Desmond Fury, now sporting a new grey suit and a very red tie, looked at the man outside and exclaimed, ‘Good-morning, did you wish to see me?'

He had not recognized his brother-in-law, and again the position in which Joseph Kilkey was standing threw his face in shadow.

‘You don't know me?' said Joseph Kilkey, and he began to laugh. Then he took off his hat, and said,' Good-morning, Mr. Fury. You probably know me now?'

‘Why, you're Kilkey, aren't you? Do come in. Very pleased to meet you. I do believe I met you once before—but where, I can't very well remember. Excuse my bloody manners—but then I'm a bit short-sighted too.'

This was true, and this was why the recognition of Joseph Kilkey was not immediate. But, now, neither was the welcome. The first thought that flashed through Desmond's mind was, ‘Him of all people! I wonder what the hell he wants?'

He shut the door, saying, ‘Can you find a chair, Mr. Kilkey? There! That's better,' and Joseph Kilkey sat down. The use of the ‘Mr.' was deliberate. Desmond sat on the desk, swinging his leg.

‘I must say you are a surprising visitor,' he said.

Smiling, Joseph Kilkey replied, ‘Yes, I dare say. The world is full of surprises these days, Mr. Fury. But you understand the position, I'm sure. I didn't exactly call to see you about your health,' and he gave a short laugh, ‘but you might have an idea why I've appeared so suddenly.'

‘I might too, Mr. Kilkey. But perhaps I had better explain one thing. To-day I have much work, and I'm afraid I'm rather a blunt chap when I'm busy and worried over my work. What's brought you here? No! That's a bit bloody—I mean, why have you come to see
me
of all people, Kilkey? I remember when I got married, and when Maureen told you the circumstances, I remember you rather sat on your high horse. But then, people like you always do sit on high horses, and issue condemnations with the same moral fervour as the Pope issued his Bulls long ago.' He lit a cigarette.

‘Let's keep religion out of it,' said Joseph Kilkey. ‘We're all entitled to our own opinions.'

‘Yes—but not to force them down other people's throats.'

‘I'll be glad to know, then,' said Joseph Kilkey, and he got up from the chair, ‘I'll be glad to know why you lent my wife money.' Mr. Kilkey nearly said Maureen, but something prompted him to say ‘my wife.'

‘What?' Desmond Fury yelled with laughter. ‘What? I lent Maureen money? Christ, man, this is the limit surely,' and his great body rocked to and fro upon the desk. ‘No, sir! I never lend money; it's a bad habit, Kilkey. It makes people even more sorry for themselves. It's bad. It makes them lazy—dissatisfied. No! You've made a mistake. This is the wrong office. It's the Loan office you're looking for. Oh no, Kilkey, you've made a mistake.' And once more Desmond Fury burst out laughing. His hands were clasped about his knees and he swayed to and fro. ‘This is a good one, I must say.'

This light-heartedness certainly did not impress Joseph Kilkey. He had grown very red in the face. ‘This is a serious matter, Desmond Fury,' he said. ‘I see nothing to laugh about. I came here on a very serious matter, and I want to explain it, and I want you to use your common sense.'

Desmond Fury's light-heartedness vanished. ‘Fire away,' he said. ‘Hang it all, I could see this coming. How the hell do these bloody things happen? By a sheer miracle I bumped into my own mother the other day, and when she had gone I said to myself, “Hello! Hello! This is accidental, but none the less fishy.” And now you see it's come true. I'll have all Hatfields coming down here soon. Listen to me, Joe Kilkey, I want to be very plain—bloody plain. I'm not the least bit interested in my family, or in anybody from Hatfields. I'm telling you what I told your wife the other day——'

‘She was here, then?'

‘Yes. She was here! And I told her straight that I don't want her or anybody else dogging around after me. I keep clear of them—and that, I must say, is done out of a certain respect, Kilkey—and I want them to do the same. I've said my good-bye to family ties—old associations, old orders, old habits, and old—oh! old everything. I'm in another world and I'm building up something else. So I haven't time and I haven't the
slightest
interest in anybody's family affairs. That's plain enough, isn't it? I simply don't want anybody coming here to this office. It's a Union office, not an advice bureau. Maureen and yourself—how you got the idea into your head, Christ knows—you both seem to think it's a loan place.'

‘All that stuff doesn't interest me one bit, Fury; what does interest me is my family and my home. I'm asking a plain question and I want a plain answer. Did you give my wife any money?' He leaned on the desk, gripping the half-open drawer with his hands. It was the attitude, the expression upon his face, rather than the question, which set Desmond Fury laughing again.

‘Maureen was here, Kilkey! That's quite true. She came for money—at least she wanted me to help her financially, but I didn't give her any. And that's all I have to say about the matter.'

He climbed down from the desk, and seating himself began making up figures upon a large sheet of ruled paper which was headed ‘Federation of Railworkers and General Labourers'—to the complete astonishment of Mr. Joseph Kilkey, for this was indifference indeed, in fact, what Joseph Kilkey later called ‘rank bad manners.' To sit there and ignore him, to calmly add up figures when his, Joseph Kilkey's, mind was anything but easy—well, it certainly took the biscuit. He tapped Desmond Fury on the shoulder.

‘Is that all you've got to tell me, Fury?' he asked. ‘Just that?'

‘That's
all,'
replied Desmond. ‘Christ, man, can't you see I'm busy?' and he went on writing laboriously with a pencil stump, counting under his breath.

Joseph Kilkey sat down again. He took his pipe out, and filled it leisurely. He crossed his legs, lay back in the chair, and surveyed the room. Then he lighted the pipe. If this man thought he could treat him like that, well, he'd made a big mistake. This ignoring of his presence was quite deliberate.

‘Hope you haven't been offended by my calling here. However, as you're quite sure, and I'm quite sure, that you didn't give money to my wife, then I shan't bore you with my company any longer. Hope you don't mind my shag.'

Mr. Kilkey puffed audibly. Desmond Fury did not reply. He went on with his figures.

‘What the devil does this ugly-looking gorm want here?' Desmond was asking himself, time and again. Suddenly he put down the pencil, swung round in his chair, and exclaimed:

‘Is that what you've come for? Just to find that out? Did Maureen actually tell you she got money from me? Christ, it's amusing. Some people think that because I no longer sweat my guts out in the Length, that I'm a millionaire, come into a legacy or won the Calcutta Sweep.'

‘She said she got help from you,' said Joseph Kilkey.

‘Then she's a liar,' replied Desmond. ‘There's something behind this, Kilkey. I wonder if it's just an endeavour to mix me up in some of their secret business?'

‘I wish you'd keep cool,' said Joseph Kilkey. ‘So many things have happened up our way lately that I see no reason why you shouldn't be told about them. After all, who are you to stick your head in the air at a time like this? I came here not only to find out what business my wife's been up to, but I came also to appeal to you as the eldest son. Desmond Fury, one admires your independence—it's nothing to do with me who you married—it's nothing to do with me what your ideas are. But ideas aren't everything. We want a bit of human feeling too. I'm not coming here begging, either. But I think it's your duty now to go to Hatfields and find out what is going on. Something's going on. Something's going on on the quiet that I want to know more about. Your father's suddenly cleared off to sea. You and others who I thought had made such a good start have swallowed the anchor, and your aunt from Ireland's here for no other reason than to take old Mangan out of it. If she, who lives hundreds of miles away, suddenly scents something, what about us? You see, Maureen is looking for an excuse to leave me. Now perhaps you'll understand why I want you to go and have a talk with your mother. Somebody'll have to. The woman's getting quite light in the head, and who is there to look after her? That lad Peter? Not him! And your father cleared out—and your grand-dad almost on the way home to Ireland.'

‘Tell me something,' said Desmond. ‘Tell me something.' He lowered his face so that his eyes were on a level with Mr. Kilkey's. ‘Why has that fellow suddenly swallowed the anchor? Tell me that!' His face seemed to draw closer to that of Joseph Kilkey, who drew back, saying:

‘All right! All right! Don't eat me. I never made the silly little devil swallow the anchor, did I? His mother did that. D'you understand? His mother. She's hanging on to him all right. D'you know why? I'll tell you, Desmond Fury. She's afraid. And she's afraid because she's lonely. And now she's just flung everything to hell for that. She'll have him, only him and Anthony. D'you know why I reckon your mother's going a bit scatty, do you? Because she's talking of making a new home again. Why the hell don't you go up there and see her? I like your mother, Fury—I like her a lot, but somebody's making a bloody fool of her,' and that ugly face became animated with passion. ‘Somebody's doing her one in the eye. It's not really my business—I mean, I never interfered in any way. In fact, I tried to help her—did help her, and all I got for my trouble was this—my home threatening to break up. Ask yourself this, Fury, why should my life be interfered with, the happiness of my home—just because your mother reared a family who don't care two brass tacks what becomes of her?'

‘Why should you come here interfering with my life?'

Like a shot, Joseph Kilkey replied, ‘Interfering with your life! Am I the only one interfering with your life? When have I done it? Never! All that brought me here—but you already know it. I——'

‘That's all. And I've told you that I gave her no money, though I did give her a bit of advice. But she's a liar. Ah, Kilkey, you've made a mess of yourself marrying her. She hasn't enough feeling—she's like her mother. She——'

‘All right! Leave that out,' said Mr. Kilkey. ‘Leave that out. Will you listen to what I say? A word—one kind, helpful word from you, would make all the difference. Your mother hasn't a single friend, and that's true enough. She had me—she still has me—but what use is my friendship to her? I'm in the same boat as herself.'

Joseph Kilkey, his eyes still fastened upon Desmond Fury, realized that he had got the man's interest at last, for Desmond Fury lit another cigarette and said, ‘Kilkey, I'm in a boat too, but not the same kind of boat. I really believe we might be of help to each other. I'd like to ask you to come and have a drink.' He paused to look at his watch. ‘I tell you what, we'll go out and get a cup of coffee. I know quite a decent place. It's quiet there. We can talk over the matter. Here, it's quite impossible. Every now and again somebody knocks, and they're bound to knock just when I'm up to my bloody eyes in work. Funny thing how one gets used to the knocks, even understands them, for they all come with a tale and it's always the same old tale, Kilkey. The same old tale. The world's lousy.'

He got up, took his hat from the hook, and saying, ‘Let's go,' opened the door for Joseph Kilkey. He turned low the gas and followed him out into the dark and stuffy corridor. He regaled Mr. Kilkey with news about his forthcoming candidature, periodically slapping him on the shoulder as they passed from one flight of stairs to another. What effect this had upon Joseph Kilkey he did not know, for the man's face was in darkness. They reached the ground floor and passed out into the street.

‘Some time ago,' began Joseph Kilkey—but stopped, for Desmond quickly said ‘Ssh! Ssh!' as the waitress approached with a tray bearing two cups of coffee. In the saucers lay two biscuits and one cigarette. Desmond paid for these. ‘Thanks,' he said, and when the girl had gone clear of the room he said as he stirred the coffees, ‘Go ahead.'