An Irish Country Cottage--An Irish Country Novel

by Patrick Taylor

  “We got married in 1922. Her family never spoke til her again. Cut her dead. We were very happy, but we never had no children.” He looked at O’Reilly. “No harm til you and your profession, but nobody could do nothing. We just had til thole it. But with no kids, Flo’s all I’ve got.” The crack was back in Bertie’s voice.

  “I think I do understand, Bertie,” O’Reilly said. “I’ve had enough patients with that difficulty. It tears the guts out of them.”

  “Aye. And it’s worse for the woman. Men can bury themselves in their work. I did.” Bertie shoved his plate to one side. “Once Flo and me was married, I decided til better myself. I took night courses at the Belfast Technical College.”

  “What did you study?” O’Reilly asked.

  “Bookkeeping, architectural draughtsmanship, quantity surveying. All useful in the building trade.”

  “And did they help you?” Lars said.

  “They did that. I started sparing Mister Gallagher from doing them things and worked less as a chippie. In 1928, he’d have been about sixty-five. In ’31, when he was sixty-eight, he offered me a partnership. He’d pay me a much better wage, but keep most of it back until I’d bought a half share. I’d done that by 1939, just before the war.”

  “You must have worked extremely hard,” Lars said.

  Bertie shrugged. “That’s what you do when you want something badly. And I got it, so I did. My partner was now in his late seventies and wanted til retire. I was making enough to get a bank loan. Bought him out. I paid it off in 1949. There was a brave lot of building going on after the war.” He turned to O’Reilly, who was finishing his last chip. “You’d been our doctor for only three years then. Where’d the time go?”

  Twenty years. Jasus. Where indeed? And given how hard Bertie Bishop had to struggle, no wonder when he got a bob in his pocket he wanted to cling to it. Until recently. “Bertie, that’s a remarkable story.”

  Lars finished his sandwich. “I am extremely flattered to be taken into your confidence, Bertie.”

  “This is all by way of saying that I want til do for Donal Donnelly and his family what Mister Gallagher done for me. But,” he paused, “I don’t want Donal til have to go through all I done. He’s got three weans at home. He should be able til have time with them.”

  O’Reilly wondered if he was hearing a touch of the envy that many childless felt for the fertile, and was this also a subtle way for Bertie to atone for having had a failed “go” at Julie?

  “Now I don’t know how long I’ve got left,” Bertie said. “So, here’s what I suggest. Donal’s quare nor smart even if he’s not learnèd. I can teach him all he’ll need to know about bookkeeping and quantity surveying. He can already read architect’s plans. I want til make him a partner.”

  O’Reilly’s eyes widened. He inhaled deeply. “That’s very generous of you, Bertie.”

  “Mebbe, but it’s Flo I’m thinking about. My idea is that Donal buys a quarter share. I’ll pay him enough so he can repay a bank loan and still be comfortable. I’m going til retire soon. Use some of the money from Donal til take Flo on a world cruise. Enjoy what time’s left til me.”

  O’Reilly said, “Not only are you a gentleman, Bertie Bishop, but I think you are a very wise man.”

  “As do I,” Lars said.

  “Mebbe, but when I go, Donal’ll still have to pay off the bank if he hasn’t already, but I’ll leave him the other three-quarters. No strings attached. He can have half the profit yearly, and the rest goes til Flo. What do youse think of that?”

  Lars said, “I’ve got my lawyer’s hat on, Bertie. Would it not be wiser to leave all the rest to Flo, have her pay Donal an increased salary, and let her leave the rest to Donal when it’s her turn?”

  O’Reilly, who tended to agree with his brother but didn’t want Bertie to think he was being ganged up on, finished his pint and waited to hear what Bertie had to say.

  He shook his head. “I thought of that. My dearest Flo is still my love. She always will be as long as I’m spared, but, and no harm til her, she’s as much business sense as a turnip. Donal will be so grateful, and because he’s smart, he’ll see the company does well.”

  “I believe that’s called vested self-interest,” O’Reilly said. “You’re quite the psychologist, Bertie Bishop.”

  “Oh, aye, I reckon I know a thing or two about human nature. Now, Lars, you’ll have to put in the contract with Donal that he can’t sell until after Flo’s gone, and work out provisions in case anything happens to Donal before Flo.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “And although he’s a rapscallion with his moneymaking schemes, I’d trust Donal with my own life, but—but, there’ll be an annual audit of the company’s books too.”

  “Very wise,” Lars said.

  “So, the pair of youse agree with what I want til do?”

  O’Reilly admired how Bertie, who had no one else to whom he could leave his estate, had not only selected Donal Donnelly, but was setting things up so Donal could benefit while Bertie Bishop was still alive. “Absolutely,” O’Reilly said.

  Lars nodded his concurrence.

  “I want til thank youse both very much.” He handed over the last of the papers. “The details of the company, how it’s capitalized, what it’s worth, how much I’m going til pay Donal, it’s all in these, and I’ll rely on you, Lars, to do all the contracts and such like.”

  Lars accepted the sheaf. “You certainly can.”

  Bertie sighed. “I’m glad that’s all done, so I am.” He turned to Lars. “You said you’ve business in Belfast, Lars. I don’t want til keep you, and I’ll not mind if you have til run away on.”

  Lars looked at his watch. “I’ve some time yet. How about coffee, Bertie?”

  Bertie signalled to the waiter.

  As O’Reilly watched the man approach, he noticed Ronald Fitzpatrick, who must have come in earlier, sitting with Alice Moloney.

  Ronald Fitzpatrick looked over and smiled. He inclined his head in invitation. It would be rude not to accept.

  O’Reilly set his napkin on the table and rose. “Excuse me,” he said, “back in a minute.”

  Ronald Fitzpatrick rose. They had not yet been served. “Fingal, how nice to see you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed.

  “And you, Ronald, and Alice. Both well?”

  “Very,” Alice said, and smiled at Ronald.

  Ronald said, “We thought that as Alice has a new helper, she could leave the shop for a little while. We’ve come here from my new house. Dapper Frew helped me find a lovely little bungalow with a water view in Helen’s Bay.”

  “I’m delighted,” O’Reilly said, wondering again where the money had come from.

  As if reading O’Reilly’s mind, Ronald said, “I did very well in stocks and shares when I added the money I got from the sale of my old house to the nest egg I had set up before I went to Nepal, and,” he sighed, “and the British Museum were very happy to acquire some of my netsuke. They had appreciated considerably. I’m reasonably well off now.”

  “Good for you,” O’Reilly said. “It must have been a wrench losing those beautiful figurines, though.”

  “It was, but I’ve quite a few left.” He smiled at Miss Moloney. “Alice is becoming an expert on netsuke.”

  “Not as expert as you, Ronald, dear—”

  The “dear” wasn’t lost on O’Reilly.

  Alice said, “But we mustn’t linger too long over lunch. I have to finish that job for Donal Donnelly.”

  “Oh?” said O’Reilly.

  “Another of the redoubtable Donal Donnelly schemes,” Ronald said. “The man’s incorrigible. But great fun.”

  “He is that,” O’Reilly said. “So, you folks have a good lunch. I just came over to say hello. I hope Kitty and I’ll see you both soon.”

  “That would be lovely, wouldn’t it, Ronald?”

  “I’ll be in touch,” O’Reilly said. “Bye.” He recrossed the floor, back toward his table, on the w
ay exchanging a few words with a couple from Cultra he’d met at a Ballybucklebo Bonnaughts’ Christmas party and a man from Holywood who had a rough shoot in Tyrone and who occasionally invited O’Reilly down for a day’s sport.

  By the time he’d returned, Lars was standing up to leave. Bertie smiled. “And thanks a million.”

  “Thank you for the lunch, Bertie. Thank you for your generosity to Donal Donnelly. I’ll have the papers drawn up as quickly as I can. I’ll leave it up to you, Bertie, to tell Donal.” As he passed O’Reilly, Lars said, “Got to run. Belfast business calls to make.”

  “Drive carefully,” O’Reilly said.

  “Bring Kitty and Kenny down to see me soon, Finn.” On his way out, Lars also stopped to greet Ronald Fitzpatrick and Alice.

  “Looks like my coffee’s gone cold. Never mind. I should be running along.”

  Bertie rose. “Me too, and the bill’s paid.”

  “Thanks, Bertie.”

  Together the two men left the Parlour Bar.

  As they walked, O’Reilly said, “Bertie, I know you’re a bit like me and find it hard to accept a compliment, so I’ll not pay you one. But I will say I admire what you’re going to do for Donal and his.”

  They stepped outside onto the Crawfordsburn Road.

  “Doctor, I’m not one to blow my own trumpet, but actually I’ve done a wee bit more.” He pointed to the roof of the oldest part of the inn’s buildings. “That there’s reed thatching. And reed’s expensive. Good thing Donal’s insured, because when Lars got permission from the National Trust they insisted the rebuilding of the cottage would stick to the original plans.”

  O’Reilly looked at the roof, the reeds now faded to a pale beige, the overhanging eaves dressed with chicken wire to protect the fibres from nesting crows in search of building materials. “Soon be time for a bit of rethatching,” he said. “I wonder how many times it’s been done since the original roof was put on in 1614.”

  “When there were plenty of skilled thatchers. They’re rare as hen’s teeth nowadays. You can wait months to get one, but I’ve got a fellah, a Kerryman, who owes me a favour. He’ll start on the roof at Dun Bwee as soon as Donal’s ready for him. And I reckon the roof could start going on about the first week in March.”

  “Decent of you, Bertie.”

  “Och, Donal’s a decent lad. That cottage of his lordship’s alright for a while, but those wee ones need to be back in their own home.”

  O’Reilly grinned. “I just told you I’d not pay you a compliment, Councillor Albert Bishop, but I lied.” He slapped Bertie on the shoulder. “After what you’ve done for and are doing for Donal Donnelly, you are a sound man in my book. A very sound man.”

  And if that was a blush on Bertie Bishop’s cheeks it bothered Fingal Flahertie O’Reilly not at all.

  33

  … And Worn the Ancient Thatch

  The front doorbell of Number One rang just as O’Reilly and Kitty were on their way downstairs, heading for the back garden and the Rover. It was Kitty’s half day off from the Royal and the mid-March day was bright and warm.

  Kinky, both hands and the front of her calico apron dusted with flour, came trundling along the hall from her kitchen and headed for the door. “I’ll see who it is, so.”

  “Eileen Lindsay,” Kinky said, opening the door wide. “Aren’t you looking smart on this sunny afternoon. And Mister McNab. Come in.”

  O’Reilly and Kitty reached the hall as Kinky ushered in the couple, both looking happy and expectant.

  “And what can we do for you both? You don’t look sick, so. That’s plain as the nose on your face.” Kinky chuckled.

  Gordy bowed his head, then said to her, “No, it’s not real doctoring we’ve come about. We’ve come for to ask you for a favour from your Doctor O’Reilly, if it’s not a bad time.” He turned to O’Reilly. “You know, sir, how we need to have our passport photos signed by someone who can vouch for us, like?”

  “I do,” said O’Reilly. “For you, Gordy?”

  “For both of us,” Eileen said. “We just had the photos took up in Holywood there now. Dead quick, so it was. Only one hour til wait to get them developed.”

  Eileen Lindsay was neatly made up and her thick brown hair was well groomed. She grinned. “Gordy and me both took a half day off work to get them done, and…” Her words poured out. “And we’re sorry to disturb youse and all, but we’re in a bit of a rush and we was passing so we took a chance you’d be home.” She held up her left hand and pointed to a narrow gold band bearing a small solitaire diamond.

  “Oh, Eileen, isn’t it lovely,” Kitty said, then bent and inspected the diamond more closely. “That marquise cut is said to have been based on the smile of a French noblewoman.”

  Eileen looked at the stone. “Fancy you knowing that, Mrs. O’Reilly. The smile of a French noblewoman. There’s a thing.” She looked over at Gordy and smiled herself.

  “Mrs. O’Reilly studied art and jewellery in Dublin,” O’Reilly said.

  “It is pretty,” Eileen said. “Gordy took me til the Culloden last night. We had a wee private corner, candle on the table. As soon as we sat down and the waiter had gone away, Gordy gives me this single red rose, pulls out a wee box, and I’ll not embarrass him by telling you all he said, but it was very sweet, and at the heels of the hunt, he asked me til marry him.” She took a very deep breath. Brushed away a single tear and smiled.

  “And amn’t I the quare lucky man?” Gordy said. “For, quick as a flash, Eileen said yes, so she did.”

  O’Reilly shook the man’s hand. “Mrs. O’Reilly and I wish you every happiness, Gordon and Eileen.”

  Kinky was chuckling, which started her chins wobbling. “Beannacht De agat, God bless you, and may your home always be too small to hold all your friends.”

  “Thank you all very much,” Gordy said. “Eileen and me’s getting wed on April the sixteenth, and want til go to Minorca for our honeymoon. and that’s why we want to get our passports as quick as possible.” He rummaged in his inside coat pocket and produced a brown envelope. “If you wouldn’t mind, sir? The snaps and instructions are in this.”

  “Just be a tick.” O’Reilly took it and headed for the surgery. As he sat at his desk signing he could hear Eileen.

  “That’s right, Kinky, it was Willie who was poorly, but he’s fit as a flea now, and him, and Sammy, and Mary’s all dead excited about getting a new daddy.”

  “Where will you live?” Kitty asked. “Will you stay in Ballybucklebo?”

  “No. Eileen’ll give up thon dingy wee council house and bring herself and the family to me in Cultra. It was my mammy’s after my da passed away, and she left it til me—”

  “And it’s dead lovely, so it is,” Eileen said. “Three bedrooms, lounge, dining room, brand-new kitchen. And two toilets, one up, one down.” She smiled at Gordy. “And a lovely garden with roses, and all.”

  “Aye,” Gordy said. He grinned. “My mammy was quare nor proud of her garden. It’ll be great for Eileen’s wee-er ones til play in.” O’Reilly heard the love and pride in the man’s voice when he said, “And I can provide for all of us, so I can. Eileen, when she’s my wife, can get shot of that God-awful job bobbin-shifting at the mill.”

  O’Reilly returned, gave Gordy the envelope, and thumped him on the shoulder. “You’re indeed a lucky man, Gordy. Now you take good care of the Lindsays, d’y’hear?”

  “I am, so I am. And I will, sir.” He took Eileen’s hand.

  “Thank you all very much,” she said. “We didn’t want to be no trouble so we’ll be running along.” They headed out the door, still holding hands.

  “Isn’t that grand altogether?” Kinky said as she closed the door behind them. “Poor Eileen’s had a rough go rearing three chisslers by herself, so. She deserves happiness.”

  “She does, Kinky,” O’Reilly said. “And I think I’m a good enough judge of character to say that Gordy McNab looks like just the fella to do it.”

  “And
I thought that was a lovely blessing about their home being too small to hold all their friends,” said Kitty.

  Kinky chuckled. “Och, sure down South we have blessings and toasts by the bushel for every occasion, so.” Her eyes crinkled at their corners and her lips curved up in a smile.

  O’Reilly suspected he was going to be teased. Kinky was growing more and more comfortable in her role of friend of the family rather than housekeeper.

  “Be grateful, sir, I didn’t wish them ‘May the doctors never earn a pound out of you.’”

  O’Reilly laughed. “I don’t anyway. The ministry pays me, but I hear you.” He made a mock frown. “Don’t forget, Kinky, I grew up down South too. Here’s another one well fit for what Kitty and I are up to next. ‘May the roof over your heads be as well thatched as those inside are well matched.’ Bertie Bishop told me a while back that the thatching of Dun Bwee would be starting this week. Kitty and I are going to nip out and see how it’s coming on.”

  “Please give Donal my best wishes, sir, and try to be home in time for your tea. I have veal liver pâté and wheaten bread to start and that corned beef curry you like so much ready for Kitty to heat up. And there’ll be no dessert if I don’t get back to the orange sponge I was making.” Kinky turned and left.

  “Right,” said O’Reilly. He began to follow Kitty to the kitchen so they could go out the back door and on to the garage. “That sounds delicious, Kinky. We’ll see Donal and then give Kenny his run in the forest park.” He nodded to himself. “We might even have time to pop into the Crawfordsburn for a preprandial.”

  * * *

  “Begod,” said O’Reilly as he held the Rover door for Kitty. “They must have been going like lilties. It’s four weeks since I was here last. Look at that.” He inclined his head. “All the outside walls repaired and given a few coats of fresh lime. And I’ll bet the ones inside are finished too.”