An Irish Country Wedding Page 29

  Barry saw Sue looking up at him. She mouthed, “Thank you, Barry.” He smiled back and despite the chattering of his teeth, his heart swelled and he was warmed inside.

  Ted appeared on deck. He held on to a couple of blankets and handed a bath towel to Barbara. “Get Sue out of her wet clothes, dried off, and wrapped in a blanket. Barry. Here.” He handed Barry a second towel.

  As Barbara worked on Sue, Barry peeled off his sodden clothes, no time for modesty, towelled himself dry, then accepted and gratefully snuggled into the folds of a heavy blanket.

  By the time he was sitting on a bench opposite a blanket-swaddled Sue, the crew had hoisted sail and Glendun was well under way for home.

  Ted, who’d vanished below, reappeared carrying two steaming mugs. He handed one to Barry and one to Sue. “Tea,” he said, “with lots of sugar. Get that into you.”

  Barry sipped. God, but the drink was wonderfully warming. He raised his mug to Sue. “This is good stuff,” he said, “but when we’ve got ashore and into dry clothes, Sue Nolan, I’m going to prescribe the O’Reilly cure.”

  “What’s that?” John asked.

  “Large hot whiskies for two.” And, he thought, to be taken somewhere in privacy now he’d fulfilled his Hippocratic obligations and was simply a young man who wanted to know where he stood with this young woman.

  Sue managed a weak smile and a laugh. “Whatever you say, Doctor.”

  “Good.” Barry wanted his nagging question answered.

  “And Barry,” she said quietly, “thanks again.”

  She was regarding him solemnly with those emerald-green eyes, and her copper hair was starting to dry into long, wavy plaits. He wanted to be alone with her, to have her accept another invitation for dinner or lunch this coming Saturday. It would sure as hell be a good time and a good place to start getting that answer.

  39

  He That Seeketh Findeth

  “W-day minus seven,” said O’Reilly. He was finishing a plate of scrambled eggs garnished with fried tomatoes and mushrooms and a rasher of bacon. Pity Kinky had stopped serving the usual plate of porridge to start breakfast and had cut the number of pieces of bacon down to one, but she’d become as serious about his calories as a trainer about the feeding of a thoroughbred racehorse. He was beginning to think that when she and Kitty had gone shopping for bridal outfits five days ago they had decided on a united front to wage war on his diet. He helped himself to a second cup of tea. “I must say I’m looking forward to next Saturday, Barry. Big changes coming for both of us.”

  “I know,” Barry said. “I’ll be starting my new job next Thursday.”

  O’Reilly buttered a slice of toast. “There’s bugger all point you charging off to Ballymena in darkest County Antrim and haring back down here for my wedding three days later. I spoke to Professor Dunseath yesterday. He’s agreed to have you start on Monday, July fifth, not Thursday, so you can stay here until Sunday, then drive up.”

  “That’s a lot more convenient. Thanks, Fingal.” Barry held out his cup.

  O’Reilly poured, and ignored the thanks. “I’m relying on you as my best man,” he said. Just, he thought, as I’ve come to rely on you in the practice. With complete confidence.

  Barry, who was behind in the scrambled egg stakes, looked up and said rather than sang, in a poor imitation of Stanley Holloway, “‘Oim gettin’ married in the mawnin’. Get me to the church on toime—’”

  O’Reilly laughed and said, “It is a bit daunting. I can empathize with Alfred P. Doolittle—”

  “Character in the Shaw play Pygmalion turned into a musical, My Fair Lady—”

  “Ah, but did you know that Ovid in his poem Metamorphoses described a sculptor named Pygmalion who fell in love with the sculpture he had carved?”

  Barry choked on a piece of scrambled egg, held up one hand, grinned, and finally managed, “Okay, okay, I submit. I always thought Ovid had something to do with eggs. God, but I’m going to miss working with you, Doctor Fingal Flahertie O’Reilly, M.B., B.Ch., B.A.O. Duelling quotes games, chucking malingerers into rosebushes, ‘Never let the customers get the upper hand,’ talk to patients in a language they understand, Jameson’s instead of sherry. With all due respect, you are definitely, absolutely, and as Donal would say, teetotally one of a kind.”

  O’Reilly smiled. “Actually, Barry, my friend, we all are. Every single one of us. And over the last year I’ve seen you come to realise it, and above all that’s what makes you a damn fine GP. It’s the individual patient who counts. The disease is secondary.”

  “You’ve taught me that … thank you, Fingal.” There was sincerity in the young man’s voice.

  “Rubbish,” O’Reilly said. “You’re a quick study, that’s all, and if we don’t have time in the next few days, because this whole wedding thing’s getting to be like a snowball rolling downhill—” He held out his hand, which Barry shook. “—I want to thank you now for all the help you’ve been here for the last year and wish you the very best of success if, after you’ve sampled it, you do decide to pursue specialising.” O’Reilly knew he didn’t have to remind Barry that if he didn’t like obstetrics and gynaecology, the job here would be his for the asking until January 1966—and he sincerely hoped Barry would take up the offer to come back.

  “Thanks.” Barry lowered his head. “I’m going to miss Number One and all the folks here in the village.” He looked up and smiled. “And speaking of folks in the village, I’ve a bit of good news.”

  “Oh?”

  Barry grinned. “I saw Sue at the Yacht Club on Thursday. Well, to be honest, I fished her out of Ballyholme Bay—”

  “Good heavens. Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine, just fine. I’ve not had a chance to tell you, but I’m taking her for lunch today.”

  O’Reilly smiled. “I take it your heroic rescue means things are looking up?”

  “They might be,” Barry said.

  “More power to your wheel. I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you,” Fingal said. “I hope it does work out.” It was delightful to see Barry back to his own cheerful self.

  “And you, Doctor O’Reilly dear,” Kinky said, coming through the door, “are not going to have things work out if you miss your appointment with Miss Moloney.”

  O’Reilly saw Barry looking puzzled. “Kitty has asked me to wear my naval dress uniform. I tried it on. I was younger the last time I wore it. It’s shrunk.”

  “By four inches at the waist, so,” Kinky said, and raised an eyebrow, “but Alice is a fine seamstress and you’ve an appointment this morning for a fitting, sir.” She began clearing the table. “I’d appreciate it,” she said, “if one of you gentlemen could acquaint me with your call system for this weekend and for the days to come. It does seem to have become what I hear English folks call ‘ad hoc.’”

  “Sorry, Kinky,” O’Reilly said. “I’m doing this weekend. It’ll be my last for a month.” He chuckled. “Kitty’s coming down here later. Says she’s things to do in Belfast this morning.” He glanced at Kinky.

  “She does. In Robinson and Cleaver’s, and when you see what she’s bought there I think you’ll be very pleased, sir.” Kinky’s smile was one of deep satisfaction. “But you’ll have to bide until next Saturday. It does be very unlucky for the groom to see the bride’s wedding outfit before the ceremony, so.”

  O’Reilly pretended to be disappointed. He grunted, then said, “At least I’ve been let in on the secret of my honeymoon. Feherty’s, the Bangor travel agent, is making the arrangements. We’re going to Rhodes.”

  “Getting another Colossus, are they, Fingal, in a let-out uniform?” Barry said, and both he and Kinky laughed.

  “Less,” said O’Reilly, “of your lip,” but he joined the merriment. “And there’s a nice young lass, Doctor Jennifer Bradley, who’s been doing locums for a couple of years. She’ll be starting this Wednesday as your replacement, Barry. We’ll need to show her the ropes before you leave and I head off to the Med. She�
��s experienced enough to cope on her own until I get back. July’s not usually a busy month.”

  “So it’ll be yourself this weekend, sir,” said Kinky. “Grand, so.” She turned to Barry. “And what will you be up to today, Doctor Laverty?”

  “I’m going to pick Sue up,” he said. “I’m taking her to The Widow’s in Bangor for lunch then Sonny Houston has a puppy for Colin Brown. Connie says her husband’s given the go-ahead, spoken to Sonny, and asked him to pick one. It’s all to be a great surprise for Colin, but I’d like to nip out to the Houstons, cast an eye on the beast.”

  “You do that, Barry,” O’Reilly said, and thought, By God, I do hope you come back in January, son. You’re getting to be so like me. This damn place is getting under your skin just the way it got into my heart. You could start filling my shoes tomorrow, he chuckled to himself as he rose to go and see Alice, but not my bloody let-out trousers. But then, Barry hadn’t had the benefit of nineteen years of Kinky Kincaid’s cooking.

  * * *

  Barry parked on the road outside the cast-iron gate in a low stone wall. “Just a minute,” he said to Sue as she started to open her door. Thursday evening, after the race, the crowded clubhouse had not been a place for a heart-to-heart. She’d been all smiles when he’d collected her today but had kept the conversation at a superficial level during lunch. He wanted, now they were completely alone, to talk about them.

  She turned to face him.

  He put a hand on each of her shoulders, looked into her eyes, bent, and kissed her. When they parted, he said, “And that’s because you are very kissable, Sue Nolan.” He felt as excited as a sixteen-year-old who had, for the first time, kissed a girl. “And you’re a damn sight warmer than the last time I put my lips on yours.”

  She returned the kiss, then said, “I never thought I’d be grateful for getting myself half-drowned.” She glanced away. “You know, Barry, I’d, well, I’d pretty much made up my mind that I really couldn’t … and shouldn’t … be bothered with a man who refused to see the injustices all around. So I’d simply let things fade between us.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I did try to explain that night at your place. I just don’t think doctors should take political sides.” I hope she’s not going to start preaching another sermon, and I hope she’s not going to say, “Thank you for fishing me out, but I still couldn’t care for you.”

  She smiled. “I can accept that. And it’s hard to get cross with someone who’s saved your life.”

  Barry lowered his head then looked at her and said, “Sue, it’s not very romantic to tell you, but I’m not a knight in shining armour. I did what anyone should have.”

  She looked back at him and shook her head. “Not true,” she said. “I’ve taken the sailing course. They drummed it into us … never, never, never go into the water even if someone is drowning.”

  “All right,” he said, “I did what any doctor should have.”

  She smiled and reached over to kiss him again. “And I understood that, and I think that’s when I realised that doctors aren’t always like other people. You risked your life—”

  Barry smoothed his tuft, blushed, and started to say, “It wasn’t—”

  “It was, Barry Laverty. You could have been drowned. Somebody who takes their professional responsibilities so seriously is entitled not to become too partisan in Ulster if that’s what they honestly believe they should do. If they’ve a reason for being that way. It’s not that they don’t care.”

  “Your friend Peter Gormley’s a surgeon. He’s on your side.”

  “I know,” she said. “That’s why at first I thought you were wrong, were sitting on the fence, but you’ve convinced me that you’re the kind of man who doesn’t make a fuss, simply practices what he believes. I respect your professionalism, Barry.” She kissed him again, a light, lingering kiss that left him breathless. “I have done ever since you looked after that little lad with skinned knees.”

  “Art O’Callaghan,” he said, remembering the boy who’d fallen in the schoolyard a couple of months ago. Barry felt as if shackles had been struck from his ankles. He was free to skip, run, tell her how happy he was. “Thank you, Sue,” he said. “Thank you very much.”

  “I could,” she said, “start getting fond of you, Doctor Laverty.”

  “And I you, Miss Nolan.” He kissed her, drew away, and said as he opened the door, “Come on. Let’s go and see a man about a dog … literally.”

  “Stay, Max,” Sue said to the springer in the backseat.

  “One thing, Sue,” Barry said. “I know your kids start their summer holidays on Wednesday. Could you possibly stay for a few more days before you go home to Broughshane? I’d like to take you to Fingal and Kitty’s wedding.”

  “I’d enjoy that very much,” she said, “and my landlord’s pretty decent. He knows I’ll want the place back in September. I’m sure he’ll let me stay.”

  “Great,” Barry said. “Now let’s go and see Sonny.”

  They walked along the garden path, through air perfumed with a mixture of mown hay and lavender, which grew in wild profusion in flower beds bordering the low stone wall. Overhead a flock of green plover crying pee-whit, pee-whit staggered across the sky. The clicking of Sue’s heels on the flagstones was nearly drowned out by the humming of honeybees.

  Sonny straightened up from where he was clipping a tea rose from a bloom-burdened bush. “Doctor Laverty. Sue. How lovely to see you both. Here,” he said, offering her the flower. “Please take this,” and as she accepted, he bent, clipped another, and said, “And this one’s for Maggie.”

  “Thank you,” Sue said.

  “We’ve come to see the pups,” Barry said.

  “In that case, let’s go round the back first. I’ve built a run for mother and her litter. The other dogs keep trying to pinch the puppies’ meals.”

  They skirted the house and Sonny’s car.

  “I think I’ve more to show you, Miss Nolan, than pups. I believe I’m on to a remarkable neolithic find not far from here.”

  Whatever Sue said was drowned out by a series of yips and barks coming both from inside the house and from a roomy enclosure with a low chain-link fence and a green-roofed kennel. The bitch lay on her side on the grass giving suck to two pups while the other two wrestled and snarled and yapped, stumbling over their too-big feet. Their coats were a short-haired mixture of black and deep brown. As far as Barry could tell, they were part Labrador, part terrier, and possibly, if their oversized ears were anything to go by, part beagle.

  “They’re adorable,” Sue said.

  “And nearly ready to leave their mother,” Sonny said. He leant over the fence and lifted a squirming bundle. “I think this is the one for young Colin. Full of spunk.”

  “Just like Colin. He’s in one of my classes, Sonny,” Sue said. “At least he was a feisty little lad until his ferret had to go away.” She reached out to pat the little dog’s head and was immediately rewarded with a frenetic licking of her hand. “I think this fellah’ll put a smile back on Colin’s face and divilment back in his soul.” She laughed and Barry revelled in the music of it. “That American was right,” Sue said. “Happiness is a warm puppy.” She raised one eyebrow and took his hand. “Among other things.”

  And Barry looked at her smile and thought, True. He hugged the thought.

  The other pup was standing with its front paws on the wire, yelping and thrashing its tail as if to say, “Me. Me. Pay attention to me.”

  “All right,” Sonny said, “here’s your brother back.” He set the little dog in the pen and immediately the wrestling match went to a second round. “Let’s go in,” he said, leading the way. “I’m sorry Maggie’s not here, but I drove her into the village. She’s gone for coffee with Cissie Sloan and Flo Bishop at Aggie Arbuthnot’s.”

  Barry’s moment of joy was pricked. Poor Aggie. For all Barry’s good intentions he still hadn’t helped her find work. There was some comfort in the “Big Doctor” bei
ng an old friend of O’Reilly’s and having agreed to bend the rules and give Aggie another fortnight on “the sick,” but then what? And Barry had precious little time now to do anything before he left.

  “Come in. Come in,” Sonny said, ushering them into the kitchen. “And if you give me your rose, Sue, I’ll just be a tick popping it in water with Maggie’s.” Sonny smiled. “I give her one a day as long as the bushes are flowering.”

  A red rose for true love. One a day. What a beautiful idea, Barry thought, and wished it had been him who had given one to Sue.

  “Done,” said Sonny. “Now to business.”

  He took them to the dining room where a large map was spread on the table. “I’ll not bother you with my primary sources, but suffice it to say I have confirmed that Sanctum Lignum was founded by Saint Lairseran, son of Nasca. Your tip was most helpful, Sue.”

  She smiled. “I’m delighted. So it is modern Holywood and you already know your site is three miles east?”

  Sonny nodded furiously. “And it’s getting even better. In the papers of Bangor Abbey I unearthed two more references to the structure I’m looking for and its distance west of Bangor Abbey. And they both refer to it by name. Dun Bwee. The yellow fort, so it must be a lios or a ráth. I’ve plotted them on this half-inch-to-the-mile, Sheet Four, Ordnance Survey map. Look.”

  Barry and Sue craned forward. Taking their centres from the site of the abbeys in Bangor and Holywood, two circles, each the distances to scale that Sonny had gleaned from his references, had been pencilled on the map with a geometry compass. He’d drawn a cross at the spot where the arcs briefly touched.

  “X,” said Sue, “marks the spot.”

  “I believe it does,” said Sonny. “I did try statute miles and the arcs overlapped, but when I took 153 yards off both measurements the circles just kissed.”

  “How exciting.” Sue’s eyes shone. “You must be feeling very proud.”

  Sonny shook his head. “Not yet, my dear.”

  “Why not?” Barry asked.