[Dalyia]

She and Finn kissed for a last time, and she waved as he went through security and disappeared, and then she went back to the city in the limo he’d rented. It was the first time she’d been alone in a month and it felt strange. It was small comfort that they wouldn’t be wrestling with her narrow bed. It was an impossible fit for her and Finn, but he insisted on sleeping with her in it, every night. She had promised to try and fit a larger bed onto her sleeping platform before he came to stay again, but it would be a tight fit.
After he left, the apartment seemed empty without him, and she wandered around aimlessly for a while, then she answered some emails, checked her mail, made some editing notes about photographs for her retoucher, and finally took a bath and went to bed with a book. She missed him, but she had to admit that, for a short time, having time to herself was nice. Finn liked a lot of attention, engaged in interesting conversations with her at all hours, and wanted to be together all the time. And just for a change, it was almost fun to be on her own again, although she wouldn’t have said it to him. He would have been crushed.
Her cell phone woke her at three in the morning. It was Finn. He had just arrived. He called to tell her he loved her, and missed her awfully. She thanked him, told him she loved him too, blew him a kiss, and went back to sleep. And he called her again at nine. He told her everything he was doing at the house in preparation for her arrival, and she smiled, listening to him. He sounded like a little kid, and she loved that about him. There was an innocence and sweetness about him that was irresistible. When they were together, it was easy to forget how famous and successful he was, just as he did about her. It wasn’t important to them.
He called her three times a day, and she called him as often, between projects and meetings, gallery visits, and discussions with curators. He sounded fine until the day she was leaving for L.A., and then he mentioned Rod Beames again and reminded her not to fall in love with him, or even go out to dinner with him, remembering what had happened between them. She assured him that she wouldn’t and reminded him that Beames had a twenty-five-year-old wife who was pregnant, and he would surely not be chasing her.
“You never know,” Finn said, still sounding anxious. “I’d rather have you than any twenty-five-year-old.”
“That’s why I’m in love with you,” Hope said, smiling. She was rushing to the airport and had to get off the phone.
Once she was in L.A., Finn called her constantly. She finally had to shut off her phone at the sitting, and he complained about it bitterly when she turned it back on again after the shoot.
“What were you doing with him?” Finn asked, sounding angry.
“Taking his picture, silly,” Hope said, trying to calm him. It was the first time she had ever encountered jealousy of this nature. It would never have occurred to Paul, nor to her. “I’m all done. I’m back at the hotel. I have a meeting tomorrow morning at the L.A. County Museum about a show next year, and then I’m through. I’m flying out tomorrow. So stop worrying. And I’m not seeing Beames again.” In fact, he and his wife had invited her to dinner, and she hadn’t accepted because Finn had made such an issue about it. It seemed like a shame to her. She liked having dinner with her subjects before or after a shoot. It was the first time she had ever hesitated to do so, because she didn’t want to upset Finn. She hoped he’d get over his jealousy soon. It was a little trying, but flattering at the same time, as though she were some hot young thing that every man on the planet would want to seduce, which she had pointed out to Finn was hardly the case. But he was jealous anyway.
Instead of going out, she had dinner in her room at the Beverly Hills hotel. When Finn called her before he went to bed, he was happy to find her having room service. He was warm and loving with her and could hardly wait for her to arrive.
Hope flew to Dublin after her meeting at the L.A. County Museum, which went well. The flight was long, and by the time she landed in Dublin, she felt as though she had been on a plane for days. In the future, it was going to be a lot easier getting to Ireland from New York.
She went through customs quickly, and Finn was waiting for her as she came through and swept her into his arms. Anyone who saw them would have thought he hadn’t seen her for years, and he was carrying an enormous bouquet of flowers, reds and yellows and pinks—they were the prettiest flowers she’d ever seen. They chatted animatedly as they went to pick up her bags, and then she followed him to his car. She liked listening to the Irish brogues around her, and Finn imitated them perfectly. He swept a low bow as he held open the door to his Jaguar, and she got in holding her bouquet. She didn’t say it, but she felt like a bride.
It took them a little over an hour, driving southwest from Dublin, until they reached the town of Blessington, and drove through it. Finn followed the signs to Russborough, on narrow country roads, driving expertly on the left side, and then turned off finally onto a gravel road. The hills he had talked about were all around them, the Wicklow Mountains. There were forests and fields of wildflowers that had sprung up in the February rains. It was cold, but not as much so as Cape Cod. It was mostly damp and gray, and it rained on and off as they drove from the airport. And as soon as they reached the gravel road that was his driveway, he stopped the car, took her in his arms, and kissed her hard. He took her breath away.
“God, woman, I felt like you were never coming. I’m not letting you out of my sight again. Or I’m going with you next time. I’ve never missed anyone so much in my life.” They had only been apart for a week.
“I missed you too,” she said, smiling, happy to be there, and she couldn’t wait to see his house.
He started the car again then. It was a dark green Jaguar with tan leather seats, very elegant and masculine, and perfectly suited to him. He told her she could drive it anytime, but she was afraid to drive on the wrong side of the road, so he promised to be her chauffeur wherever she went, which sounded fine to her. She didn’t need to go anywhere without him anyway. She was here to see him.
They drove along the gravel road for what seemed like forever, with forests in the distance, and a row of trees bordering the road. They sped along a graceful turn then, and suddenly she saw it, and caught her breath. For a moment she was speechless, while he smiled. It always did the same to him, particularly when he’d been away for a while.
“Oh my God!” Hope said, turning to look at him with a broad smile. “Are you kidding? That’s not a house, it’s a palace!” It looked extraordinary. The house was enormous, and looked like the photograph he’d shown her in London, but in real life it was so much bigger, it stunned her.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” he said humbly, as he stopped the car and she got out. The house itself was majestic, the staircase looked like the gateway to heaven, and the columns lent it grace. “Welcome to Blaxton House, my love.” He had already told her it bore his mother’s maiden name and always had. Finn put an arm around her, and led her up the long stone steps. An old man in a black apron came out to greet them, and a moment later an ancient maid appeared wearing a uniform and a black sweater, with her hair in a tight bun. They looked older than the building, but were smiling and friendly, as Finn introduced her to them. Their names were Winfred and Katherine, and he explained to her later that they had come with the estate, and commented himself that they looked nearly as old.
Inside the house, there was a long gallery filled with dusty family portraits in a long dark hall with tapestries and somber furniture. There was no proper lighting, and Hope could hardly see the portraits, as she walked past them. Winfred had gone out to get her bags, and Katherine had disappeared to make them tea. On either side of the gallery were enormous drawing rooms, sparsely furnished in threadbare antiques. Hope noticed several handsome Aubusson carpets in muted colors, badly in need of repair. But the windows were long and wide, and let lots of light in. The curtains were beautiful and old with gigantic tassles but were in shreds, barely hanging by a thread.
The dining room was palatial, and the table could seat forty, Finn told her, with enormous silver candelabra that someone had polished till they gleamed. Next to it was a library that looked like it housed a million books. Finn led her up the grand staircase, to a floor with half a dozen bedrooms, small dressing rooms, sitting rooms. There were ancient furnishings in them, but all the rooms had dustcovers on the furniture, and the curtains were closed. And finally, up another smaller staircase, was the cozier floor where Finn lived. The rooms were smaller, the light brighter, and the furniture and rugs in better condition. Here, there were no curtains at all, and the rooms seemed to be filled with light, even though it was a gray day. He had a fire burning brightly for her, and had filled vases with wildflowers in every room. There was a cozy bedroom with a gigantic four-poster bed, which she knew instantly was his. And as in his mews house in London, there were stacks of books everywhere, particularly in the room he used as an office.
Katherine found them as Hope was taking her coat off, and set down a silver tray in a small sitting room. There was a silver teapot on the tray, a plate of scones, and clotted cream. She curtsied with a shy smile at them both, and left.
“So what do you think?” he asked her, looking anxious. All morning he had asked himself what he would do if she hated it and ran. He loved the place himself, but he was used to its state of comfortable disrepair, and he didn’t even see it anymore. He was afraid she would find it gloomy or depressing, and refuse to stay. And instead she was smiling at him and held out her arms.
“It’s the most beautiful house I’ve ever seen,” she reassured him, “and I love you more than life itself.” As she said it, he felt as though he were sinking into a featherbed of her approval and love, and it brought tears to his eyes.
“It needs a little work,” he said shyly, and Hope laughed.
“Yes, it does, a little, but you don’t need to rush. It’s very comfortable up here. Can we go exploring later? It’s a little overwhelming at first.” She was feeling in awe of all she’d seen, but she wanted to get to know the house and do whatever she could for him.
“You’ll get used to it, I promise.” He sat down and poured a cup of tea for her, as she helped herself to a scone. She put cream on one for him too. “Wait till you see the bathrooms, the tubs are big enough for both of us. And I want to go for a walk with you this afternoon. There are beautiful old stables in back, but I haven’t had time to think about them yet. There’s too much else to do. I keep pouring my royalty checks into it, and this place just scarfs them up and it doesn’t even show. I have to start buying some decent furniture one of these days. Nearly every couch and chair in the place is broken. What’s here came with the house.” Most of all, from what Hope could see, everything needed a good cleaning and a coat of paint, or many coats of paint. But it was easy to figure out that restoring a house like this one would cost a fortune. It would take him years to do it all. And suddenly, she was dying to help. It would be an exciting project for them both.
But before she’d even finished the scone or gotten to her tea, he had dragged her off to his enormous four-poster bed, and lovingly attacked her. He had the door locked and her clothes off in less than a minute, and he made love to her until she was breathless and he was sated. They had a sex life worthy of teenagers, and she never failed to be impressed.
“Wow!” She grinned at him afterward, wondering how she had lived without him for a week. He was definitely habit forming, and their passion totally addictive. He gave her pleasures she had never even dreamed of.
“I’m not letting you out of my sight again,” he said, grinning at her, lying naked across what was now officially their bed. “In fact, I may have to chain you to the bed. I’m sure one of my ancestors did something like that at some point. It seems like an excellent idea. Or maybe I’ll just chain you to me.” She laughed.
He showed her the enormous bathroom then and the gigantic tub. He ran a bath for her, and she was very glad she’d gotten some sleep on the plane. She could see she wouldn’t get much here. She slipped into the warm water in the bathtub, and Finn appeared with her cup of tea, in an exquisite gold Limoges cup. She sat there drinking tea in the bathtub, feeling very spoiled. It was a long way from the simple pleasures of Cape Cod, or her loft in New York. Blaxton House was remarkable, and Finn even more so.
Finn got in with her, and moments later, he made love to her again in the bathtub. As she had in New York at times, and Cape Cod, she wondered if they’d ever get out of the house. Finn insisted that no one had ever turned him on as much in his entire life, which she found hard to believe, but it was nice to hear, particularly after the last several years of her monastic life. Finn was an explosion of joy and lust she had never expected.
Eventually, he let her put on jeans, a sweater, and loafers, and she went downstairs with him. This time they toured each room more carefully. She raised shades, many of which fell as she touched them, and pulled back curtains, so she could see the rooms more clearly. There was beautiful wood paneling, and some lovely moldings on the walls. But the furniture was a disgrace, the ancient carpets badly in need of restoration, and all of the curtains were beyond salvation.
“What if you got rid of everything that’s broken or too damaged to save, cleaned it all up, and started painting it room by room? It might give you a fresh start, although it would be empty at first.” She was trying to think what she could do to help while she was there, and it would be challenging and creative to work on it with him, or even for him while he was writing. She had nothing but time on her hands.
“It would be more than empty.” Finn laughed at her. “It would be totally bare. I don’t think there’s much here worth saving.” Most of the furniture looked awful, and the upholstery was pretty grim in brighter light, some chairs only had three legs, tables were propped against walls, fabrics were dirty and torn, and there was the smell of dust everywhere. Winfred and Katherine were too old to keep it clean. They mostly took care of his rooms upstairs and ignored the rest. The place looked as though it hadn’t been cleaned properly in years, and Hope delicately said so. “I didn’t bring you over here to do housework,” he said apologetically, visibly embarrassed, and she didn’t want to criticize his house or make him feel bad. She knew it was his treasure.
“I’d love to do it. It would be a fun project for me. Why don’t we sort through it while I’m here, room by room, and see what you want to save.”
“Probably nothing. It looks like the ‘Fall of the House of Usher,’” he said, looking around, as though seeing it for the first time, now through her eyes. “I can’t really afford to do everything it needs.” He looked apologetic. He wanted her to love it as he did.
“We can figure it out once we get it clean. That would be a start. We might even be able to buy fabric in a local market to cover some of the couches. I’m pretty good with my hands,” she said, and he gave her a lascivious look that made her blush.
“You certainly are!” he agreed, and she laughed.