Free An Irish Country Love Story by Patrick Taylor

predinner drink. “Come in.”
    Nonie Stevenson, who was taking the Monday afternoon clinic, stuck her head round the door. Tasty cooking smells wafted in from the adjacent kitchen. “My,” she said, pointing at the miniature square-rigger, “that’s pretty finicky work. I’m impressed. Are you sure you haven’t missed your calling—say, neurosurgery?”
    Barry smiled. “Modelling’s been a hobby of mine for years. Can’t say the same for neurosurgery.”
    She struck a pose with one foot at right angles to the other, knee bent so her heel was off the floor. With her left hand on her hip, and her right hand behind her thrown-back, half-turned head, she curved her full lips into a slight pout.
    Good God, she could have been posing for Vogue, Barry thought. Even in the white lab coat and knee-length skirt, she exuded a kind of elegant eroticism. He smiled and felt a flicker of temptation. He smiled again. Well, he was only human. He swallowed. Down boy. Think of Sue.
    â€œModelling, that kind of modelling, wasn’t a hobby with me,” she said. “I did it professionally when I was a student. Helped pay my fees. I worked for the Stella Goddard Agency.” She dropped the pose.
    â€œI’ll be damned. I had no idea. I don’t think I ever saw your picture anywhere—”
    Nonie laughed. “And you wouldn’t have. It was mostly just damned hard work, not the least bit glamorous. But it was easier than waiting on tables.” She ran a finger lightly over the tiny ship’s foredeck railing and looked at him thoughtfully.
    Somehow the modelling didn’t fit with her professional image, and yet, she was a damn attractive woman. He wondered if she was still posing when she looked down, pursed her lips, and said, “I need a favour.”
    He frowned. “Sure.”
    â€œCan I sit down?”
    Barry pointed to a chair.
    She sat and crossed her, he had to admit, shapely legs. But as his dad used to say, “A cat can look at a king as long as it doesn’t think the king’s a mouse.” She said, “I had a blazing row with my boyfriend last night.”
    It was a comfort to know she had a man in her life. And yet there was something provocative about her, sitting neatly in the faded plaid armchair, her hands restless in her lap. Something flirtatious. Perhaps she was one of the new women who were simply less reserved than their more traditional sisters and enjoyed a bit of flirting. “Nothing too serious, I hope.”
    She pursed her lips again.
    â€œWant to talk about it?”
    She shook her head. “Thanks, but not in gory detail. He was mad because I kept him waiting for half an hour. I’d had a nap in the afternoon and slept in.”
    Barry stifled a grin. As a student she’d been a great one for snatching forty winks at the slightest provocation.
    â€œHe yelled at me.” She sighed. “God, I’m dying for a cigarette. Anyway, one thing led to another … I really don’t want it to break up.”
    Barry relaxed and waited.
    â€œI’m meant to meet him tonight at six in Belfast at the Ritz cinema, and the clinic’s running late. I’d best not be late.” She looked Barry straight in the eye. “I didn’t want to ask Fingal to help out. I’ve only been here a couple of weeks, you took over for me last Monday because I was bushed, and I don’t want him to think I’m a shirker always asking for cover, but…”
    â€œHang on,” Barry said. “First of all, Fingal’s out, and second, you didn’t ask me last week. I offered.”
    Her smile was full of gratitude.
    â€œWould I see your last patients?” he said. “Is that it?”
    â€œWould you?”
    â€œSure.” Barry rose and so did she. He’d been on call all weekend and it had been a busy one, but seeing a couple of cases wouldn’t be much trouble.