[Dalyia]

“How sad,” Finn said pensively. It was hard for him to understand why Paul had let Hope get away. And from the way she talked about him, Finn could tell that she still loved her ex-husband and cared about what happened to him. “I guess it wouldn’t be a bad life for a healthy man. I suppose if you’re sick, nothing is much fun anymore.”
“No, it’s not,” Hope said softly. “He’s part of an experimental program treating Parkinson’s at Harvard. He’s been doing fairly well until recently.”
“And now?”
“Not so well.” She didn’t offer the details, and Finn nodded.
“So what about you, when you’re not running off to Tibet and India and living in monasteries?” He smiled as he asked the question. They had both finished their drinks by then.
“I’m based in New York. I travel a lot for my work. And I go to Cape Cod when I have time, which isn’t often. Most of the time, I’m flying around taking photographs, or working on museum shows of my work.”
“Why Cape Cod?”
“My parents left me a house there. It’s where we spent summers when I was a child, and I love it. It’s in Wellfleet, which is a charming, sleepy little town. There’s nothing fancy or fashionable about it. The house is very simple, but it suits me, and I’m comfortable there. It has a beautiful view of the ocean. We used to go there for summers, when I was married. We lived in Boston then. I moved to New York two years ago. I have a very nice loft there, in SoHo.”
“And no one to share it with?”
She smiled as she shook her head. “I’m comfortable the way things are. Like you, it’s difficult being married to a photographer who’s never home. I can do things now that I never did when I was married. I float all over the world, and live out of a suitcase. It’s the opposite of what you do, locked in a room, writing, but it’s not very entertaining for someone else when I travel or even work. I never thought about it as selfish,” as he had said about his own work, “but maybe it is. I don’t answer to anyone now, and I don’t have to be anywhere.” He nodded as he listened, and they ordered dinner then. They were both having pasta, and decided to skip the first course. It was interesting to learn about each other’s lives, and he told her more about his house in Ireland then. It was easy to see how much he loved it and what it meant to him. It was part of his history and the tapestry of his life, woven into his being and dear to his heart.
“You have to come and see it sometime,” he offered, and she was curious about it.
“What sort of doctor was your father?” she asked him over their pasta, which was as delicious as he had promised, and as she remembered. The food there was better than ever.
“General medicine. My grandfather had been a landowner in Ireland, and never did much more than that. But my father was more industrious, and had studied in the States. He went back to marry my mother, and brought her over with him, but she never adjusted well to life away from Ireland. She died fairly young, and he not long after. I was in college then, and I always had a fascination with Ireland because of them. Their being Irish made it easy for me to get the nationality when I wanted it.
“And tax-wise, it made sense for me to give up my U.S. citizenship eventually. You can’t beat no income tax for writers. That was a pretty appealing setup for me, once the books were doing well. And now that I have my great-great-grandparents’ house back, I guess I’m there forever, although I don’t think I’ll ever be able to convince Michael to move there. He wants a career in the high-tech world when he graduates from MIT, and there are plenty of opportunities in Dublin, but he’s determined to live in the States and work in Silicon Valley or Boston. He’s an all-American kid. It’s his turn to find his way now. I don’t want to interfere with him, although I miss him like crazy.” He smiled ruefully at Hope as he said it, and she nodded and looked pensive. “Maybe he’ll change his mind and move to Ireland later, as I did. It’s in his blood. And I would love it, but he’s not interested in living in Ireland now.”
He wondered why she had never had children, but didn’t dare ask her. Maybe her husband had been too involved in his medical career at Harvard to want them, and she had been too busy attending to him. She was so gentle and nurturing that she seemed like the sort of woman who would do that, although she was deeply involved in her own career now. She had said they’d been married for twenty-one years.
Exchanging their histories and talking about their artistic passions made the evening go quickly, and they were both sorry when the evening came to an end and they left the restaurant after a predictably delicious dinner. Hope had indulged herself with the candies and chocolates Harry’s Bar was known for, after dinner. And Finn confessed that he was always sorely tempted to steal the brightly colored Venetian ashtrays, when they had had them on the tables, when smoking was still allowed. She laughed at the image of his sneaking one into the pocket of his well-tailored dark blue suit. She couldn’t see him do it, although she had to admit, it might have been tempting. She had always liked their ashtrays too. They were considered collectors’ items now.
He started to drive her back to Claridge’s after dinner, and then hesitated before they got there.
“Can I talk you into one more drink? You can’t leave London without going to Annabel’s, and it’s almost Christmas. It’ll be lively there,” he suggested, looking hopeful, and she was about to decline, but she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. She was tired, but game for one more glass of champagne. Talking to him was delightful, and she hadn’t had an evening like this in years, and doubted she would again anytime soon. Her life in New York was quiet and solitary and didn’t include nightclubs and fancy dinners, or invitations from handsome men like Finn.
“All right, just one drink,” she agreed. And Annabel’s was packed when they walked in. It was as busy and festive as he promised. They sat in the bar, had two glasses of champagne each, and he danced with her before they left and then drove her back to Claridge’s. It had been a terrific evening, for both of them. He loved talking to her, and she enjoyed his company too.
“After a night like this, I wonder what I’m doing, living in solitude outside Dublin. You make me want to move back here,” Finn said as they got back to her hotel. He turned off the engine, and turned to look at her. “I think I realized tonight that I miss London. I don’t spend enough time here. But if I did, you wouldn’t be here, so it wouldn’t be any fun anyway.” She laughed at what he said. There was a boyish side to him that appealed to her, and a sophisticated side that dazzled her a little. It was a heady combination. And he felt the same way about her. He liked her gentleness, intelligence, and subtle but nonetheless lively sense of humor. He’d had a terrific time, better than he had in years, or so he said. He was also charming, so she didn’t know if he was telling the truth, but it didn’t really matter. They had obviously both enjoyed it.
“I had a wonderful time, Finn. Thank you. You didn’t have to do all that,” she said graciously.
“It was great for me too. I wish you weren’t leaving tomorrow,” he said sadly.
“So do I,” she confessed. “I always forget how much I like London.” The night life there had always been great, and she loved the museums, which she hadn’t had enough time to visit at all on this trip.
“Could I talk you into staying for another day?” he asked her, looking hopeful, and she hesitated, but shook her head.
“I shouldn’t. I really ought to get back, and I have to edit your pictures. They’re working on a pretty tight deadline.”
“Duty calls. I hate that,” he said, looking disappointed. “I’ll call you the next time I come to New York,” he promised. “I don’t know when, but I will, sooner or later.”
“I won’t be able to give you a night as nice as this.”
“There are some good places in New York too. I have my favorite haunts.” She was sure he did. And in Dublin too. And probably everywhere he went. Finn didn’t seem to be the sort of man to sit around at home at night, except when he was writing. “Thank you for having dinner with me tonight, Hope,” he thanked her politely as they got out of the car. It was freezing cold, and he walked her into the lobby as she held her coat tightly around her in the icy wind. “I’ll be in touch,” he promised, as she thanked him again. “Have a safe trip back.”
“Enjoy your holidays with Michael,” she said warmly, smiling up at him.
“He’ll only be here for a few days, and then he’ll be off skiing with his friends. I only get about five minutes with him these days. It’s of the age. I’m damn near obsolete.”