By William Trevor
What used to be the tragedy that grew to become O'Neill's resort from an opulent institution right into a dingy residence of disrepute? Ivy Eckdorf is set to determine. a qualified photographer, she has come to Dublin confident tragic and lovely story lies at the back of the facade of this crumbling lodge.
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Extra info for Mrs. Eckdorf in O'neill's Hotel
You're a smug, unimportant man,’ said Mrs Eckdorf, and did not speak to him again. She applied lipstick to her mouth and powdered her cheeks. She hummed to herself, and after a time she addressed a passing hostess, enquiring about the weather. ’ she asked. The hostess smiled at Mrs Eckdorf. Less than ten minutes ago the pilot had spoken to the passengers, telling them where they were and the weather that night in Dublin was cloudless. ’They're enjoying a heat wave actually,' the hostess said to Mrs Eckdorf.
I can't be sure. ’ ‘No,’ said the man. ' . The man sighed inwardly. He tried to smile at Mrs Eckdorf. ' She reached up and again switched on the little orange light above them. A hostess came and Mrs Eckdorf ordered further drinks. She waited in silence until they came and then she thanked the hostess. She drew a street map from her handbag and opened it in front of her, asking her companion to hold one edge of it. With a red, shapely finger-nail she indicated an area of the sheet. 'Somewhere there,' she said.
What are the lives of these people like? How are they the victims of other people, or of each other maybe? Has tragedy made them what they are? What would they say if they knew that a skilled photographer was flying in for the birthday of the woman who sits at the centre of them all? What happened once - ’ ‘Shut up,’ cried the man in a snarling voice and threatened then that if Mrs Eckdorf did not at once cease talking he'd make an official complaint. ‘You're a smug, unimportant man,’ said Mrs Eckdorf, and did not speak to him again.
Mrs. Eckdorf in O'neill's Hotel by William Trevor