Part 23 (1/2)
The lighting provided by two ma.s.sive antique chandeliers was pleasantly dim. Dinner-suited waiters circulated silently, bringing full plates or retrieving empty dishes.
On an immaculately white tablecloth, secure in its cut-gla.s.s candle-holder, a single red candle burned in the centre of O'Reilly and Kitty's table. O'Reilly saw its flame reflected in Kitty's eyes. He smiled at her and raised his gla.s.s.
He wasn't much of a wine drinker, but the Montrachet she had chosen was crisp and dry. ”Nice,” he said, ”very nice.”
”I thought you'd enjoy it,” she said with a chuckle. ”At least you will until you see the bill.”
”I've already told you, and thank you for asking. Tonight,” said O'Reilly, sliding a little closer to her, ”the sky's the limit. Here's to your bright eyes.” He drank.
As she nodded in response, their waiter came to the table. ”For madam,” he said, placing a plate of escargots in front of Kitty. The garlicky smell tickled O'Reilly's palate. ”And for you, Doctor, the scampi. Bon appet.i.t,” he said, with a thick Belfast overlay, as he withdrew.
O'Reilly watched Kitty pop the first snail into her mouth and the corners of her eyes crinkle. She swallowed. ”That,” she said, ”is very good.”
”Good.” O'Reilly speared three scampi at once, shoved them in his mouth, and chewed with gusto. The batter was crisp and done to perfection, the flesh of the little crustaceans firm and delicate of flavour. As he speared three more, Kitty asked, ”Do you like garlic, Fingal?”
He nodded, his loaded fork halfway to his mouth.
”Try this,” she said, holding an escargot on a fork. Before he could speak, she popped it into his mouth as a mother bird would feed a hungry chick.
He chewed.
Leaning closer to him, she said, ”It's the only trouble with garlic. If you haven't eaten some yourself, it's not very pleasant being kissed by someone who has.”
O'Reilly stopped in mid-chew. His mouth opened a trifle. By G.o.d, if that was an invitation to kiss her, he'd take her up on it at the earliest opportunity. That thought pleased him, and yet just as the wine had a slight aftertaste of apricots, so did her confident statement have an undertone. Kitty's remark was one of a woman not unused to being kissed, and that, quite irrationally, made him jealous.
He swallowed, grinned at her, and said, ”You'll not have to worry about that tonight, Kitty.” Let her decide if he meant he wasn't going to kiss her or if he was now well prepared to do just that.
Her smile was inviting and he moved a little closer, aware again of the musky perfume she wore. b.u.g.g.e.r the other diners, he thought, and he inclined his head and kissed her cheek. As he straightened up, he saw John, the desk clerk, standing at the table. ”Yes, John?”
”I'm sorry to intrude, Doctor O'Reilly, but your Mrs. Kincaid's on the phone and says it's urgent.”
”Right.” O'Reilly stood and shoved the table aside. He was oblivious to everything because he knew Kinky, who was a dab hand at fending off trivial calls, wouldn't phone him unless it really was an emergency. He left the dining room and charged along the hall, not bothering to apologise to a guest he jostled on the way past.
The receiver lay on the desk. He grabbed it. ”h.e.l.lo? Kinky?”
”Doctor O'Reilly. I've just had Miss Hagerty, the midwife, on the phone. She's with a patient, Gertie Gorman, at Twenty-seven Sh.o.r.e Road.”
Gorman? O'Reilly didn't recognize the name.
”The woman's in labour, Miss Hagerty doesn't think it's going smoothly, and she can't reach the woman's doctor. Doctor Laverty's in Belfast, so she wants to know would you go and help, sir?”
”Of course. Kinky, call Miss Hagerty, tell her I'm on my way, and then bring the maternity bags through to the kitchen. I'll be there in half an hour.” He handed the receiver to John. ”Hang that up for me.”
O'Reilly trotted back to the dining room and explained the situation to Kitty and to the headwaiter, who agreed to sort out the bill the next time O'Reilly came in.
”Come on, Kitty,” he said. ”Drive me home.”
As he hustled her along the hall, he said, ”I'm sorry about this. When we get home I'll take the Rover, and you head home yourself-”
”The h.e.l.l I will, Fingal,” she said, grabbing her coat from the cloakroom. ”I'm a nurse, remember? I'm coming with you.”
On with the Dance! Let Joy Be Unconfined.
It was a short way from O'Kane's pub, the Oak Inn, to Bostock House, the nurses' home. Barry, Jack, and Mandy walked companionably side by side, Mandy's stiletto heels clicking on the pavement.
Barry felt the chill December air on his cheeks and nose, heard the descant of the siren of a rapidly approaching ambulance as the nee-naw, nee-naw rose above the constant ba.s.so rumble of the traffic.
He inhaled the bra.s.sy city smells of exhaust fumes and chimney smoke. The noise and stink were so different from the quiet and the clean air of Ballybucklebo. He remembered with affection his recent years of training here in Belfast but knew now he could never live here.
As they approached the nurses' home he heard, faintly at first but louder as they neared the redbrick building, the sounds of a traditional jazz band.
The three friends climbed the stone steps to the entrance of the home. Joe, the doorman and general factotum, a retired boxer, and jealous guardian of his young charges, sat at a table taking tickets. Jack handed over three. It had been decent of him to buy them and refuse Barry's offer to repay him.
”Doctor Mills?” Joe took the tickets. He was bald as a billiard ball. His battered face with its squashed nose broke into a wide, gap-toothed grin that spread from one cauliflower ear to the other. ”How's the world abusing you?”
”Can't complain, Joe,” Jack said. ”Nice to be back at Bostock.”
”It's great to see you, so it is, and you too, Doctor Laverty, sir.”
”And you, Joe.” Funny, Barry thought, a couple of years ago he and Jack had been chased across the lawns by an enraged Joe. They had brought two student nurses back after their curfew. It had been Jack's idea to taunt Joe so that he lost his temper, chased his tormentors, and left the door unguarded long enough for the two young women to nip inside undetected, thus avoiding being reported to the matron.
By the way Joe was greeting them, perhaps he had forgotten that particular episode. Then again, it had been widely believed among the medical students that Joe had taken one too many punches to the head, leaving him at least one stook short of a stack.
Barry went into the noisy, crowded foyer. Cut-out Santas and snowmen were stuck to the hospital-green walls. A fir tree stood in the far corner. Coloured gla.s.s baubles dangled from every tinsel-draped branch. A gold star at the tree's very top drooped sideways, acting as a pointer to a sign reading Merry Christmas.
The place was very warm. Barry waited in the queue behind Jack and Mandy, took off his overcoat, and then left it in the cloakroom. He reflexively smoothed down his blonde tuft and straightened his Old Campbellian tie.
Couples and single men and women came and went through a set of open double doors leading to the home's main hall. It was used for a.s.semblies, amateur theatricals, and tonight it was doing duty as a dance hall.
Barry recognized the strains of ”Muskrat Ramble” being played inside the hall. He tried to hum along, cursed his tone deafness, and smiled at himself. If Patricia were here, she could have sung along in her deep contralto. His smile faded. If she were here? He ached for her to be here, wondered about making an excuse and heading back for home. d.a.m.n her intransigence.
”See you inside, Barry.” Jack, holding tightly to Mandy's hand, led her to the dance floor. Barry watched them go, Mandy's b.u.t.tocks mincing saucily under her tight red knee-length skirt, the curve of her calves accented by her sheer black stockings and her heels. Barry smiled. She really did have great legs. He felt a little stirring inside his pants. G.o.d, it had been a long time since he'd been near a girl.
”Nyeh, how are you, Barry?” He turned to see an old friend, Harry Sloan, a budding pathologist who prefaced many of his remarks with that peculiar braying noise. He was the one who had speeded up the microscopic examination of slides of heart tissue-from a patient of Barry's who had died in August-when Barry had needed the results urgently. He still was in Harry's debt.
”Fine thanks, Harry.”
”I thought you had a steady bird. In the cloakroom is she?”
Barry took a deep breath, shook his head, and exhaled forcibly. ”No, I'm on my own.” And despite thinking of Patricia only a few moments ago, he didn't want to be reminded of her again. Not just now. Not when merely thinking of her refusal to accept his offer made his anger rise.
”Nyeh. Blew you out, did she?” Harry shook his prematurely white-haired head and tutted gently.
Barry pursed his lips. ”Not exactly, but she won a scholars.h.i.+p to Cambridge and she's not home for the holidays yet.” If she's even going to come at all, he thought.
Harry's grin was wide. ”Aye. So when the cat's away, the mice'll play, is that it?”