Базовый курс английского языка - Эккерсли К.Э.
ISBN 5-7871-0174-X
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Amongst them (and her chief favourite) was Ruperto. What his other name was I never knew; everyone called him Ruperto. He had come to England with our allies, the Ruritanian forces. He was a corporal, I think, or perhaps a sergeant, a gay, dashing sort of fellow with dark, romantic-looking eyes and black curly hair. He didn't speak much English, but that seemed to be no obstacle to his popularity with the girls of Manchester, and it was soon quite clear that Irene had eyes for no one except Ruperto. The end of the war came and he went back home to Ruritania. Quite honestly, despite the fact that Irene lost a lot of her gaiety, most of us hoped that we had seen the last of him. But a month or two later Irene got a letter from Ruritania (in hardly understandable English) asking her to come to Ruritania and marry him. Albert looked more solemn about it than I have ever seen him look
about anything. He had no high opinion of Ruperto; neither had I, but it was none of my business, so I said nothing. Eliza, of course, hated the thought of Irene marrying anyone, and was horrified at the thought of her mariying a "foreigner"; but Irene had no doubts. All her old gaiety came back at once; she was overflowing with happiness and laughed and sang about the house all day. She drew all her savings out of the bank, bought herself pretty clothes, bought things for her new home, presents for Ruperto, and set off in high spirits for Ruritania. A month or two later we had a letter from her. She was married to Ruperto and they had a little home about 10 miles from Strelsau-just on the borders of Ruritania and the Urbanian Republic-they were very happy and everything was wonderful.
* * *
I left Lancashire soon after that and took a job in Scotland, and later moved to London. Albert stayed in Lancashire and I lost touch with him. As I told you, he couldn't write and it was no use my writing letters that he couldn't read. Years went by. I married, and had more or less forgotten about the Hobdells. Then one day my secretary came to tell me that a visitor, a Mr. Hobdell, had called to see me. Hobdell!-Albert!-Irene! I went to the entrance hall and there was Albert, older, fatter, prosperous-looking, but the same old Albert. I think he was as pleased to see me as I was to see him. I had finished work for the day and we went to a quiet little tea-room near by to have a good talk and to get all his news. Yes, Albert had done very well-he was making a fortune.1 Eliza? Yes, she had a little house of her own. She had softened with the passage of time-but the piano legs still had cotton trousers on them.
"And Irene?" I said.
Albert's face lost all its smiles. It was as if you had turned off a light inside him.
"Irene's dead," he said. "As a matter of fact that's one reason why I've come to see you."
I was shocked to hear it. I remembered her so full of life and laughter and happiness: and all that was gone.
1 For the story of Albert see pp. 557-561.
595¦
"Yes," he went on, "it was a bad business. You know I never liked that fellow Ruperto that she married. He left her a year or two after her boy was born. Hob, he's called. Irene never told us about Ruperto leaving her. For a time she wrote a letter home fairly often. They were just short letters saying she was getting on all right. Then the letters came less and less often, then it was just a card at Christmas time, and then they stopped altogether. Eliza and Ben wrote to her (you know I'm no scholar), but the letters were returned 'address not known'. We were all very upset about it, for Eliza in spite of her sharp tongue was really fond of Irene, but there seemed to be nothing we could do. Then about six months ago there came a brief note from her saying she was very ill and asking me to come and see her if I could. I took a plane to Strelsau the very next day. She was lying in a bed in a poor little room, bare and comfortless. I could have cried to see how thin and pale and old she looked, but when she saw me she tried to smile as she used to in the old days at home. I'd have given all I have if I could have taken her home with me to Lancashire and brought back her rosy cheeks and smiles; but she knew, and I knew, that it was too late. 'Albert,' she said, 'I wanted to see you about Hob: he'll be all alone when I'm gone.' "'You need have no worry about him, my dear,' I interrupted. 'He'll come back to England with me and I'll do all I can for him.' "Tears came into her eyes. 'I knew you would, Albert,' she said. Two days later she died.
* * *
"Hob's been living with me for six months now, and I want some help from you. I want to do the best I can for the lad. He's a bit of a problem; he's lazy, untidy and not too particular about being clean (that's from his father), but he's warm-hearted, good-humoured and loves a joke."
"I know where that's from," I said.
Albert laughed. "I like Hob; he's a fellow after my own heart and I think he'll do all right in the end."
"And what is it you wanted me to do?" I said. "You can count on me to do anything I can. "
