An Irish Country Wedding by Patrick Taylor

Author:Patrick Taylor [Taylor, Patrick]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Romance, Historical, C429, Extratorrents, Kat
ISBN: 9781410454102
Publisher: Forge Books
Published: 2012-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

27

Where There’s a Will …

“One hundred and forty over ninety, John. Bit better than after Christmas,” O’Reilly said to Lord John MacNeill, twenty-seventh marquis of Ballybucklebo. “Not bad for a man of sixty-three.” O’Reilly removed the blood pressure cuff, put his stethoscope back into his jacket pocket, and rummaged in his bag to produce an opthalmoscope. “Quick look at your retinas.” He half-turned and pointed. “Stare at the cock pheasant in the Milliken painting over there beside the bookshelf and try not to blink.”

The marquis, sitting in a leather button-backed chair in his study in Ballybucklebo House, fixed the picture with a hawklike glare.

O’Reilly bent and shone the light through the lens of the left eye, peered through the eyepiece, and spun the focusing wheel until he had a good view of the inner lining of the organ. The scarlet retina contained the cells, called rods and cones, that were responsible for picking up images that were transmitted through the lens and feeding them to the optic nerve. He could see the nerve end as a regular white disc, the macula, in the centre at the back of the eyeball. Over the surface of the retina snaked small arteries and veins. He paid particular attention to the arteries, looking for any evidence of narrowing or nipping of the veins where an artery crossed. If such distortions were visible, it was because the arteries’ walls had become thickened in response to the patient’s raised blood pressure and were pressing on the vein beneath. “Vessels and that disc are okay,” he said, moving to examine the right eye. “Now, as a disc jockey would say, ‘Let’s have a look at the flip side.’” He hmmmed to himself. “Looks grand,” he said. O’Reilly straightened and switched off the opthalmoscope. “You’ll do for another six months, John. Carry on with the chlorothiazide five hundred milligrams daily and go easy on the salt.” He busied himself writing a prescription, which he left on a table.

“I will. Thank you, Fingal.” The marquis rose, rolled down his shirtsleeve, pushed one end of a gold cuff link back in place, and took a tweed hacking jacket with scuffed leather elbow patches from the back of his chair. “I didn’t think I was due for your ministrations for another couple of months.” He slipped the jacket on and stroked his neatly trimmed grey moustache with his index finger.

“You weren’t,” O’Reilly said, “but I was passing and wanted to call and ask you if you could help me.”

“Naturally. If I can.” He glanced at an ormolu clock on the mantel of a marble Adam fireplace. “I’ve to go out in half an hour.”

“Won’t take that long.”

The marquis ambled across to the sideboard. “Would a whiskey ease our discussion along?”

“Indeed it would.” O’Reilly put his instruments back in his bag. Needing no invitation from a friend of long standing, O’Reilly sat in an armchair. “I do have a couple of questions,” he said.

“Here.” The marquis handed him a Waterford cut-crystal glass and, with his own drink, a small whiskey and water, in his other hand, retook his seat.

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