An Irish Country Village by Patrick Taylor

Author:Patrick Taylor
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Physicians, Fingal Flahertie (Fictitious character), Christian, Humorous, Medical, Family Life, Fiction, Country Life, General, Barry (Fictitious character), Laverty, O'Reilly
ISBN: 9780765320230
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2009-02-03T04:38:27+00:00

Where the Mountains of Mourne Sweep

Down to the Sea

Brunhilde’s near side tires scraped against the kerb of the Esplanade as Barry parked opposite Number 9. When he’d phoned Patricia the night before, she’d seemed pleased to hear from him. She sounded tired, but agreed that a day away from her studies would be a good idea. She said she’d make a picnic, and perhaps today, Sunday, they could take a trip to the country.

He left the car and looked across the lough. Sunlight ricocheted from the rippled surface. The distant Antrim Hills, purple and shimmering in the heat, were as indistinct as an out-of-focus photograph. A solitary trawler shouldered its way east through the waters of the lough, away from Belfast and the gaunt gantries of the shipyards. Barry supposed it was heading for its home harbour of Ardglass some thirty miles further down the coast. Ardglass, famous for its herring.

He crossed the street and rang the doorbell to flat 4. His right hand slipped unbidden to his crown to smooth the tuft of fair hair he knew would be sticking up.

“Good morning, I . . . ,” he blurted, but his breath caught in his throat. Patricia stood in the doorway, her hair up in a ponytail. A dimple appeared in her left cheek when she smiled at him. Her blouse was unbuttoned at her throat. He found it difficult not to keep staring at the hint of cleavage between the bottle-green lapels. Her black stirrup pants fitted closely, and their straps went under tiny, black low-heeled shoes. She carried a picnic basket in one hand.

She kissed him lightly. “Good morning, yourself.”

He tingled to her kiss.

“Now,” she said, “before we go any further, I want to apologize for how I carried on last Wednesday night. Sometimes I get a bit carried away.”

Barry smiled. “No apology needed.”

“It’s the work. I get so—”

“There’ll be no more talk of work today. I’m off. You’re off. So let’s enjoy it.”

She kissed him again.

“Come on.” He took her hand and led her across the street, slowing his stride to accommodate her limp. “Give me the basket,” he said. Then he took it, walked around to the driver’s side, and put the picnic on the backseat. By the time he’d climbed in, she was sitting in the passenger’s seat. Barry smiled. Patricia Spence wasn’t a young woman to wait for any man to hold a door open for her.

He was so eager to drive off that he missed first gear. The old Volkswagen didn’t have synchromesh in first. Brunhilde lurched on her springs.

“Did you fill the car with kangaroo petrol this morning?” Patricia asked, as the car shuddered to a stop and stalled.

“Sorry about that,” he said, restarting the engine and pulling away from the kerb.

“Where are we going, Barry?”

“I thought we’d take a run-race down to Strangford.”

“Lovely.” She settled back in her seat. “You drive. I’m going to enjoy the ride. It’ll be my last break before the big day.”

“The exam?”

“Tuesday . . . then I’ll have to wait for the results.

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