66
There was no one tending the bar. In Ireland, you find the strangest items in pubs, but an unmanned counter isn’t one of them. I looked at Mrs Bailey and she said, “I’ll do it.”
I had to ask,
“Doesn’t anyone actually work it?”
She gave a deep sigh, said,
“We have a fellah, but he tends to be his own best customer. We don’t have much business, so I usually do it myself.”
I marched her to a table, sat her down, bowed, asked, “What would Madam care to imbibe?”
She was delighted, went,
“Something sweet.”
I glanced back at the dusty but well-stocked shelves. I said,
“Might I suggest a schooner of sherry?”
She shook her head, said,
“That’s an old woman’s drink. I don’t want to be old for a minute.”
And who could blame her? I said,
“Crème de menthe?”
She clapped her hands, said,
