An Irish Country Wedding by Patrick Taylor Read Free Book Online Page A

called back up and trotted to the staircase.
    “Jameson or sherry?” O’Reilly was standing at the sideboard when Barry entered the room.
    Barry hesitated then said, “Whiskey, please.”
    O’Reilly, who already had his own glass refilled, poured and handed Barry his. “Who was that?”
    “Maggie and Sonny with a cottage pie.”
    O’Reilly nodded. “News travels,” he said. “Come and sit down.” He moved to an armchair, shooed Lady Macbeth out of the seat, sat, and made no objection when the little cat sprang into his lap and curled up in a purring ball.
    Barry took the other chair. “ Sláinte .” He sipped the smooth Irish whiskey.
    “Cheers.” O’Reilly drank. “How’s Colin?”
    “Greenstick. I splinted it and sent him to the Royal.”
    “Good man.” O’Reilly scratched Lady Macbeth’s head. “And I’ll say again that you were absolutely right to send Kinky too so you’d be here if anybody needed one of us while I was out.” He frowned. “It’s dawned on me how much we’re going to miss having her here to answer the phone or doorbell.”
    “We should be able to manage. One here, one out doing calls, like this afternoon.”
    O’Reilly frowned. “I’m not so sure. What if both of us are out? Or take tomorrow. Someone must go and see Kinky.”
    “She’d appreciate it if it’s you, Fingal.”
    “I know. I’ll look in on Donal Donnelly too. See how he’s doing.”
    Donal. With all the anxiety about Kinky, Barry had forgotten that Ballybucklebo’s arch-schemer had had a head injury last Saturday, been operated on that night for the removal of an intracranial blood clot, and was recovering well. “Say hello to him too.”
    “I will.” O’Reilly paused. “Trouble is if you’re out on a visit — ”
    “There’ll be no one to answer if a patient calls here.” Barry frowned. “Any chance we could get a temporary receptionist?”
    “I doubt it,” O’Reilly said, “but you never know.” He took another swallow. “There’s one thing in our favour. By now everybody in the village, aye, and most of the townland, will know Kinky’s sick. They’ll probably understand if they phone and there’s no one here to answer.” O’Reilly finished his whiskey and handed the glass to Barry. “Get me another, like a good lad. I don’t want to disturb her ladyship.”
    Barry put his glass on a table and went to the sideboard. He sloshed a finger of whiskey into O’Reilly’s glass. “Here.”
    “Cheers.” O’Reilly raised his glass.
    The front doorbell rang.
    “Bugger it,” said O’Reilly, rising, decanting Lady Macbeth, and putting his drink on the sideboard. “My turn, and I want to see how my spuds are coming on anyway. I’ll be back in a minute.”
    Barry rose, sipped his drink, and wandered over to the bookshelf. It was all very well for O’Reilly to recommend a book about the charge of the Light Brigade. The man had absolutely no system of shelving his books. Two of Graham Greene’s novels were separated by The Wind in the Willows and, Barry had to tilt his head to one side to read the upside-down title of Rudyard Kipling’s Verse. Inclusive Edition 1885–1926 . He scanned book spines until he saw, on a shelf he could only reach by standing on tiptoe, The Reason Why: The Story of the Fatal Charge of the Light Brigade by Cecil Woodham-Smith. He pulled it down and read in the Acknowledgement, This curious story has never been told before — Good start, he thought. The author’s got my interest. He was well into chapter one when Fingal reappeared.
    “Spuds are coming on a treat,” he said, “and I peeped in the oven. Talk about a scrumptious smell, and my egg yolk’s browning the pastry to perfection. We’ll eat in five minutes.”
    “Who was at the door this time, Fingal?” he asked.
    “Alice Moloney,” he said. “Bacon-and-egg pie for us and please give Kinky her love and wish her a speedy recovery. I put it in the fridge.” He picked up his whiskey.