An Irish Country Love Story (49 page)

“Quite the spread,” she said, cocking her head and surveying the array of dishes.

“Any time you ask Kinky to cater,” O'Reilly's words preceded him through the door, “you'd think she'd started with five loaves and two small fishes and ended up with enough to feed five thousand.” He wore the trousers and jacket of his tweed suit, but was tieless.

“I'll not bore you with chapter and verse,” Barry said, still enjoying their duelling quotations game, “but the story is the only miracle to be reported in all four gospels.”

“But Matthew and Mark also reported the feeding of four thousand,” O'Reilly said, with a look on his face which said, “Game, set, and match.”

Barry laughed and shook his head.

“Evening, Doctor,” Donal said. “The usual for yourself and Mrs. O'Reilly?”

“Please,” O'Reilly said. “And your hands are empty, you two.”

“A glass of white, please.” Sue turned to Kitty and said, “Where did you get that dress? It's quite stunning.”

Barry had to agree. The jade-green silk set off Kitty's eyes and silver-tipped black hair to perfection. While the women chatted on about fashion, Barry put in his order for a small Jameson. “I'll go,” he said when the front doorbell rang.

“Come in,” Barry said, greeting the Bishops, the first guests to arrive. “Good to see you both.” Neither wore coats, but Flo sported a white conical hat like those once worn by Chinese coolies, tied under her chin with a diaphanous white scarf. The evening was mild as April approached. The sun had just sunk beneath the distant blue Antrim Hills, leaving a soft glow of early twilight to limn the steeple of the Presbyterian church across the road against the satin evening sky.

“Grand evening for the time of year it's in, Doctor,” Bertie said, ushering Flo into the hall.

She took off her hat with some ceremony and handed it to Barry, who carefully hung it on the hatstand. He wondered if the creation was one of Alice Moloney's and then saw the woman herself walking toward him from the direction of her flat over the shop and saw Doctor Fitzpatrick's angular shape coming the other way. He was wearing his protective collar. “Go on into the dining room,” Barry said to the Bishops. “I'll welcome some other guests.”

Barry heard the greeting noises, glass clinking on glass behind him, as Ronald Fitzpatrick doffed his trilby and bowed to let Alice go before him through the front door.

“Good evening to you both,” Barry said. “May I introduce you to Doctor Fitzpatrick, Miss Moloney?”

Alice smiled and said, “Pleased to meet you, Doctor.”

Fitzpatrick nodded, stooping his tall frame into a small awkward bow. “It is my pleasure.”

Barry pointed to the dining room. “Please go through,” he said. He'd seen Lars's motorcar turn into the lane and knew he and Myrna would let themselves in through the kitchen. The only invitees missing were Lord John MacNeill, who had had to attend an emergency meeting in Belfast for one of his many charities, and Nonie, who with graciousness had offered to take call tonight and was out on a maternity case. Her medication was still doing its job.

Barry went into the now-crowded dining room to pick up his drink. Donal was serving O'Reilly his second. “Wee Colin Brown was out the other day with Murphy til visit Bluebird,” he overheard Donal saying. “‘I'm going til Bangor Grammar School in September,' says he til me. And says I til him, ‘You work hard like a good man. You was quare and smart getting your Eleven Plus, so you were. It's no time now to be resting on your sorrels.” He nodded at his own sagacity.

O'Reilly was turning puce trying not to laugh.

“My whiskey, please, Donal,” Barry said.

“Here y'are, Doctor Laverty, sir.” Donal handed over the glass.

Barry glanced around and then said softly, “I was sitting beside Doctor O'Reilly at the meeting on Monday and I nearly died when you yelled out what you did. Then I thought I saw Bertie Bishop grin in your direction. Just between you and me and the wall, did Bertie put you up to it?”

Donal sucked in his cheeks and cocked his head. “Mister Bishop did have a wee word before the meeting,” he said, sotto voce. “Says he til me, ‘Donal, I need a hand for til get at your man Doran the night. You and me's going til get the vote in Doctor O'Reilly's favour.' ‘Aye?' says I. ‘I love a good caper, so I do. You know that, sir, and I'd do anything for Doctor O'Reilly after all he's done for me and mine. Ask away, sir.' Says Mister Bishop, ‘After Doran's had his say, and he'll be supporting demolition of Number One, you yell out you want til know why he's picking on our Doctor O'Reilly. That's all. He'll rise til the fly and swear he's not, and then I've something he said that'll half scupper him. He'll have til deny it.' I said to Mister Bishop, ‘It'll be your word against his then. No harm til you, sir, but I don't see how that'll help much.' Mister Bishop laughed. Says he, ‘Will the council doubt his lordship's word too?' ‘Bejizzis,' says I. ‘You're setting up the ould one-two punch, aren't you?' I reckoned they must have had something cooked up between them. Anyroad, a wink's as good as a nod til a blind alley. ‘I'm your man,' says I, and between the three of us, we put Doran back in his box, so we did.”

Barry chuckled. “And nailed the lid shut. Thanks for telling me, Donal. It'll go no farther.” It wouldn't be Ballybucklebo if Donal Donnelly wasn't wrapped up in some scheme or other. Barry turned and surveyed the big room. Kitty and Sue were in conversation with Bertie and Flo in the recess of the bow window. New curtains were bunched with ties at their middles to tethers on the walls.

Ronald Fitzpatrick, with a glass of Bass ale, and Alice Moloney, holding a Cantrell and Cochrane brown lemonade, stood deep in conversation nearby. He seemed to be hanging on her every word. “And you actually met Mahatma Gandhi? In person? How positively intriguing. You must tell me all about it. I'm fascinated by the Orient. I grew up in China.”

“Hello, Barry,” Lars said. “Dry sherry and a whiskey water please, Donal.”

“Lars. Myrna.” Barry's eyes widened. Myrna, whom he had always taken for a bit of a blue stocking, had had her hair done: short, curling under her chin with a parting on the left and a fringe diagonally across her forehead. She wore a lilac pantsuit with a hint of cleavage between wide lapels and slim trousers over flat heels. Elegant yet sexy. Lars, Barry noticed, was hovering protectively over her and smiling frequently.

“Barry,” Myrna said, accepting her sherry from Lars, “have you got a minute?”

“Of course.”

More laughter from the bay window, where Kitty and the Bishops were all on their second drink. Fitzpatrick too, was laughing his dried-leaves chuckle. He snatched off his pince-nez.

“Lars has had an idea. You know he has a place in Villefranche?”

“Yes.”

“He was wondering … Hello, Sue.”

Sue had appeared at Barry's side.

“Don't let me interrupt,” she said.

Lars picked up where Myrna had left off. “We know you two are getting married in July. Have you plans for a honeymoon?”

Sue shook her head.

“How would you like to have my place in Villefranche for a couple of weeks?”

Barry could see himself yesterday staring at a jet and thinking about whisking Sue off in one. “Sue?”

“It would be wonderful,” she frowned, “but, well, we are hoping to buy a house in April…”

“Broughshane's very near Ballymena, where the natives are renowned for their frugality,” Barry said, taking Sue's hand between both of his.

“Heavens. I wouldn't charge you,” Lars said with a laugh. “It would be our wedding gift to you.”

“Our wedding gift.” A few days ago Fingal had mentioned to Barry how pleased he was that Lars was becoming so attached to Myrna. That “our” sounded like a deep mutual attachment indeed. “Having your place would be wonderful, Lars,” Barry said. “Thank you. I'll have to talk to you about the actual arrangements, but—”

O'Reilly had moved to the head of the table and was banging a spoon on a glass.

At the same time Nonie appeared and whispered to Barry, “Normal confinement. Baby boy. Mother and child are doing well. Am I on time?”

“Right on time. Fingal's about to speak.”

“Right,” said O'Reilly. “I'm not one for speechifying, and as everyone here knows, Number One has been under threat of demolition for eight weeks. But thanks to the hard work of a few, and the solidarity of the many, Kitty and I will be able to stay on here in the home we love with Kinky looking after us as she has always looked after me. Doctor Barry Laverty can have his quarters until he moves out to marry his beautiful schoolmistress Sue Nolan, and the latest addition to the O'Reilly family, Doctor Nonie Stevenson, who I am very happy to say is better now, will be fed and lodged here on her on-call nights.” He took a pull on his second whiskey as Bertie and Flo clapped.

“I've only a wee bit more to say, so hold your applause til I've done, but it's us should be applauding Flo Bishop and Alice Moloney, who got the petition going. And cheering the thousands who signed, and Lord John MacNeill, Councillors Moloney, Bishop, Hare, Monaghan, Warnock, and Grahame, who voted in favour. Thank you. Thank you all.”

Everyone was clapping mightily now, and Barry looked around this now-familiar room, as familiar and as treasured as his own parents' dining room, and the site of so many of Kinky's wonderful meals. I hope, he thought, reaching for Sue's hand again, that when I've been here as long as you, Fingal Flahertie O'Reilly, I have the love and respect of the whole village too.

Bertie Bishop said, “Doctor, sorry til interrupt, but can I ask a question?”

“Fire away.”

“Would you consider running for council? There might be a vacancy.” Bertie grinned. “I heard tell Hubert Doran could resign.”

“You what?”

“Aye, he's ‘having second thoughts about his civic duty,' according to my sources. If anybody's been stewing in his own juice for the last couple of weeks, it's that gob—”

“Bertie, remember your blood pressure,” said Flo.

“Thinking of resigning. I'll be damned,” said O'Reilly. “Thank you, Bertie, for the offer. But you'll have to look elsewhere if you need a successor. I'm no politician. Now, I've still some people to thank. Donal, thank you for running the bar. Have one yourself.”

“Thank you, sir.” Donal poured himself a half-un.

“And thank you, Kinky and Archie, for all the fine grub.”

Kinky smiled.

“A couple of last things,” O'Reilly said. “Kitty and I have agreed to disagree about new curtains, but,” he walked over to the window, “if, Bertie, you and Flo, will move out of the bay?”

“Right you are, Doctor. Come on, Flo. Shift your chassis, woman.”

O'Reilly motioned Kitty to stay, bent and, with a flourish, undid the curtains' lashings, the signal for Barry to carry out his task. As he left, he heard, “Will you do the honours, Mrs. O'Reilly?” and two perfect teal-blue velvet curtains swished into place to another round of applause.

Barry hastened back with his burden only partially hidden behind his back and slipped it to O'Reilly as the curtains were reopened to let the stars smile down through the window onto the celebrants.

“Finally,” said O'Reilly, “unbeknownst to any of you, for some time in this household my dear wife and I have been having our own minor war of the roses. Kitty had her way in the waiting room and has changed the wallpaper, all but for Donal's magnificent rose mural—”

Loud laughter.

“And tonight, to help her celebrate her curtain victory, I have a gift that comes with all my love.” He solemnly presented her with a large vase containing two dozen red roses.

“Oh, Fingal, they're exquisite. Thank you.” Kitty accepted her gift and sniffed the flowers' perfume.

“Let me set it on the sideboard,” O'Reilly said. He did, turning the vase through 180 degrees to reveal, painted in bright colours against the jade enamel, one massive tea rose. “And,” he said, “when the last rose of summer has faded, the vase will stay.”

Barry Laverty,
Doctor
Barry Laverty, looked from O'Reilly to Kitty, their love for each other so clear. It was a love that had lasted long after the last rose of summer had faded. And this house, this village, these friends helped sustain that love. I'll never leave here, Barry suddenly vowed. I love you dearly, Sue Nolan, I love Number One Main Street, I love Ballybucklebo, I love Ulster, and, damn it all, I love you, you great untidy, crusty bear of a man with a heart of corn, Fingal Flahertie, the Wily O'Reilly.

 

A
FTERWORD

by

Mrs. Maureen Auchinleck

Here I am again, sitting at home with Archie. He's reading the
Belfast Telegraph
and I'm sat at my kitchen table, pen in fist, writing out more recipes for your man
Patrick Taylor
to put at the end of another yarn about the doings of the folks of Ballybucklebo. I've six for you this time: mussel and seafood chowder, pork in mustard sauce, beef Wellington, ginger biscuits, buttermilk scones, and hard fudge.

And, bye, I've some exciting news. With a bit of help from Doctor Laverty,
Patrick Taylor
, and Dorothy Tinman, I'm getting my very own
Irish Country Cookbook
published next February. Do keep an eye out for it, so.

And here are this book's recipes.

M
USSEL AND
S
EAFOOD
C
HOWDER

450 g / 1 lb. shellfish such as mussels, scallops, and shrimp

225 mL / 8 oz. dry white wine

700 g / 1½ lbs. white fish such as cod, haddock, or snapper