flamethrower.
“Are you there, Fingal?” he heard. “I’m tying up the ward telephone. I should ring off.”
“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Doctors who treat themselves are
amadáns
.”
“Kinky, I’m nearly done.” Poor Kinky, O’Reilly thought. I shouldn’t have snapped at her. It’s been a confusing morning for the woman, with her not altogether successful campaign to protect me.
“Look, Kinky, I’m having a chat with Miss O’Hallorhan, and I’ll only be a minute, I promise.” Kinky did not look mollified, O’Reilly thought. She won the battle with Fitzpatrick, capitulated to the marquis, and was outflanked by Councillor Bishop, and now I’m being an unyielding bastion—or perhaps that should be “bastard.” He softened his voice and smiled at her.
“Fingal, I’m warning you,” he heard Kitty say. “I’m going in a minute.”
“Kinky, Kitty’s on duty at the hospital and can’t talk for long.” He saw Kinky’s stance soften. “I’d like to ask her down for supper tonight after her work. Would you be able to manage for one more?” He cocked an interrogative head at Kinky. She harrumphed, then said, “I don’t think yourself is well enough for guests, sir.”
“Well, I say I am. Would you like a second opinion?” O’Reilly roared. He thrust the receiver into Kinky’s hand so forcibly she almost dropped the phone. She tutted, then spoke into the mouthpiece. “Did you hear all that, Miss O’Hallorhan?”
O’Reilly couldn’t hear what Kitty was saying, but he saw Kinky’s grin widen as she made affirmative noises. Then he was gratified to see her smile and nod.
“She says, Doctor O’Reilly, sir, she could have heard the roars of you all the way to Belfast . . . without the telephone, but she’ll come ifyou promise to behave. And if you don’t, she’ll pack you off to bed and leave.”
“Tell her I’m sorry and I’ll be good . . . but I’d really like to see her.”
Kinky relayed the message, then said, “Grand, so. I’ll just throw an extra spud in the pot.”
Some women would be disconcerted at having to feed an extra mouth at short notice, O’Reilly thought, but he knew it was Kinky Kincaid’s delight to meet the challenge.
“And here now,” she continued, “I’ll give you back to himself.”
O’Reilly took the receiver. “I hear the giggles and laughs of you, Kitty. Heaven help a poor man when the likes of you two gang up on him, but I’ll forgive you if you come for about six.” He looked at Kinky and raised a questioning set of eyebrows. He was pleased to see her smile and nod. “Wonderful. That means we’ll eat at about six thirty.” He saw Kinky shake her head. “Sorry, Kitty.
Exactly
six thirty.” Kinky nodded briskly.
“Good,” he said. “So we can expect you at six? Splendid,” he said. “Ah, duty calls. I quite understand. Off you go. Bye.” He replaced the receiver.
Funny, he was fifty-six, had only ever loved one woman, and yet he was sure his pulse was going a bit faster than it should at the thought of seeing Kitty O’Hallorhan in only a few hours.
“Now, Kinky,” he said, turning for the stairs. “I’ll do as I’m bid and go back up.” He hesitated with one hand on the newel post; he ran the other hand over his chin. “But I’m going up to the bathroom first. I could really use a shave. You won’t mind that, will you?”
“I’ll not,” she said, “but I still will mind you, sir, standing in this draughty hall. Will you please, for the love of the wee man, get yourself along?”
O’Reilly started to climb. By the time he reached the landing he was only a bit wheezy. He was definitely improving. As his breathing rapidly eased, he was aware that Kinky was hovering around in the hall like a mother duck around her ducklings.
“Now,” she said, “go you on up the next flight to the bathroom, and I’ll go back to my kitchen to see to my mince pies.”
“I will, Kinky. I’ll be all
“Are you there, Fingal?” he heard. “I’m tying up the ward telephone. I should ring off.”
“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Doctors who treat themselves are
amadáns
.”
“Kinky, I’m nearly done.” Poor Kinky, O’Reilly thought. I shouldn’t have snapped at her. It’s been a confusing morning for the woman, with her not altogether successful campaign to protect me.
“Look, Kinky, I’m having a chat with Miss O’Hallorhan, and I’ll only be a minute, I promise.” Kinky did not look mollified, O’Reilly thought. She won the battle with Fitzpatrick, capitulated to the marquis, and was outflanked by Councillor Bishop, and now I’m being an unyielding bastion—or perhaps that should be “bastard.” He softened his voice and smiled at her.
“Fingal, I’m warning you,” he heard Kitty say. “I’m going in a minute.”
“Kinky, Kitty’s on duty at the hospital and can’t talk for long.” He saw Kinky’s stance soften. “I’d like to ask her down for supper tonight after her work. Would you be able to manage for one more?” He cocked an interrogative head at Kinky. She harrumphed, then said, “I don’t think yourself is well enough for guests, sir.”
“Well, I say I am. Would you like a second opinion?” O’Reilly roared. He thrust the receiver into Kinky’s hand so forcibly she almost dropped the phone. She tutted, then spoke into the mouthpiece. “Did you hear all that, Miss O’Hallorhan?”
O’Reilly couldn’t hear what Kitty was saying, but he saw Kinky’s grin widen as she made affirmative noises. Then he was gratified to see her smile and nod.
“She says, Doctor O’Reilly, sir, she could have heard the roars of you all the way to Belfast . . . without the telephone, but she’ll come ifyou promise to behave. And if you don’t, she’ll pack you off to bed and leave.”
“Tell her I’m sorry and I’ll be good . . . but I’d really like to see her.”
Kinky relayed the message, then said, “Grand, so. I’ll just throw an extra spud in the pot.”
Some women would be disconcerted at having to feed an extra mouth at short notice, O’Reilly thought, but he knew it was Kinky Kincaid’s delight to meet the challenge.
“And here now,” she continued, “I’ll give you back to himself.”
O’Reilly took the receiver. “I hear the giggles and laughs of you, Kitty. Heaven help a poor man when the likes of you two gang up on him, but I’ll forgive you if you come for about six.” He looked at Kinky and raised a questioning set of eyebrows. He was pleased to see her smile and nod. “Wonderful. That means we’ll eat at about six thirty.” He saw Kinky shake her head. “Sorry, Kitty.
Exactly
six thirty.” Kinky nodded briskly.
“Good,” he said. “So we can expect you at six? Splendid,” he said. “Ah, duty calls. I quite understand. Off you go. Bye.” He replaced the receiver.
Funny, he was fifty-six, had only ever loved one woman, and yet he was sure his pulse was going a bit faster than it should at the thought of seeing Kitty O’Hallorhan in only a few hours.
“Now, Kinky,” he said, turning for the stairs. “I’ll do as I’m bid and go back up.” He hesitated with one hand on the newel post; he ran the other hand over his chin. “But I’m going up to the bathroom first. I could really use a shave. You won’t mind that, will you?”
“I’ll not,” she said, “but I still will mind you, sir, standing in this draughty hall. Will you please, for the love of the wee man, get yourself along?”
O’Reilly started to climb. By the time he reached the landing he was only a bit wheezy. He was definitely improving. As his breathing rapidly eased, he was aware that Kinky was hovering around in the hall like a mother duck around her ducklings.
“Now,” she said, “go you on up the next flight to the bathroom, and I’ll go back to my kitchen to see to my mince pies.”
“I will, Kinky. I’ll be all
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