Matters of the Heart - Danielle Steel

[Dalyia]

“Enjoy whatever time you get,” she said wisely, and he kissed her cheek.
“Take care of yourself, Hope. I had a wonderful day.”
“Thank you, Finn. So did I. I’ll send you the proofs of the pictures as soon as I can.” He thanked her and waved, as she walked into the lobby alone, with her head down, thinking. She had had such a nice time, far more than she’d expected. And as she got in the elevator and rode up to her floor, she was genuinely sorry to be leaving the next day. After London, it was going to seem very dull now to go up to the Cape for Christmas.

[Dalyia]

Chapter 4
It was snowing again when Hope got back to New York. The next morning she looked out her window at six inches of snow blanketing Prince Street, and decided not to drive to Cape Cod. Being in London had reminded her of how much fun it could be in the city, and when everyone else went shopping that afternoon, the day before Christmas Eve, Hope went to the Metropolitan Museum, to see a new medieval exhibit there, and then walked back down to SoHo through the still-falling snow, which by then had been called a blizzard.
The city was almost shut down. There was no traffic on the streets, cabs were impossible to find, and only a few hardy souls like her were walking home, trudging through the snow. Offices had closed early, and schools were already on vacation. Her cheeks were red and her eyes tearing, and her hands were tingling from the cold when she got back to her loft, and put the kettle on for tea. It had been an invigorating walk, and a delightful afternoon. And she had just sat down with a steaming cup of tea when Mark Webber called her from home. His office was closed till New Year’s. There were no assignments likely to come up between Christmas and New Year.
“So how was it?” he asked, curious about O’Neill.
“He was great. Interesting, smart, easy to shoot, terrific looking. He was everything you’d expect him to be, and nothing like his books, which are always so complicated and dark. I haven’t started editing the shots yet, but we got some great ones.”
“Did he try to rape you?” Mark asked, only half-joking.
“No. He took me for a very civilized dinner at Harry’s Bar, and to Annabel’s afterward for a drink. He treated me like a visiting dignitary and great-aunt.”
“Hardly. Going to the most fashionable restaurant and nightclub in London is not exactly what you do with a great-aunt.”
“He was very proper,” Hope reassured him, “and wonderful to talk to. He’s a man of many interests. I almost wish I’d shot him in Dublin, it sounds like he’s more in his element there, but I’m fairly certain we got the shots his publisher wanted. Maybe more than they need. He’s cooperative and very pleasant to work with.” She didn’t add that he looked like a movie star, which he did. “His London house is the size of a postage stamp, which was a bitch with the equipment, but we managed. The one outside Dublin sounds like Buckingham Palace. I’d have liked to see it.”
“Well, thanks for doing it on such short notice. His publisher is damn lucky. What are you doing over the holiday, Hope? Are you still going to the Cape?” It seemed unlikely in the blizzard, and unwise. He hoped not.
She smiled as she looked out the window, at the continuing swirls of snow. There were nearly two feet of it on the ground now, and it was still coming, while the wind blew it into towering drifts. They had promised three feet by morning. “Not in this weather,” she said, smiling. “Even I’m not that crazy, although it would be pretty once I got there.” Most of the roads had been closed by that afternoon, and getting there would have been a nightmare. “I’ll stay here.” Finn had given her his latest book to read, she had some photographs she wanted to sort through for a gallery in San Francisco that wanted to give her a show, and she had Finn’s shoot to edit.
“Call if you get lonely,” he said kindly, but knew she wouldn’t. Hope was very independent, and had led a solitary, quiet life for several years. But he at least wanted her to know that someone cared about her. He worried about her at times, although he knew she was good at keeping busy. She was just as likely to be taking photographs on the streets of Harlem on Christmas Eve, as shooting in a coffee shop for truckers on Tenth Avenue at four in the morning. It was what she did, and how she loved spending her time. Mark admired her for it, and the work that resulted from it had made her famous.
“I’ll be fine,” she reassured him, and sounded as though she meant it.
After they hung up, she lit candles, turned off the lights, and sat looking at the snow falling outside, through her big windows without curtains. She loved the light, and had never bothered to put up shades. The streetlamps lit up the room along with the candles, and she was lying on the couch, observing the winter scene, when the phone rang again. She couldn’t imagine who it would be, on the night before Christmas Eve. Her phone only rang during business hours, and it was always about work. When she picked it up, the voice was unfamiliar to her.
“Hope?”
“Yes.” She waited to hear who it was.
“It’s Finn. I called to make sure you got back okay. I hear there’s a blizzard in New York.” His voice sounded warm and friendly, and the call was a pleasant surprise.
“There is,” she confirmed about the blizzard. “I walked from the Metropolitan Museum all the way downtown to SoHo. I loved it.”
“You’re a hardy soul,” he said, laughing. His voice was deep and smooth in her ears. “You’d do well on the hills where my house is, outside Dublin. You can walk for miles, from village to village. I often do, but not in a blizzard in New York. I tried to call my publisher today, and they were closed.”
“Everyone is, for the holidays by now anyway, even without the snow.”
“And what are you doing for Christmas, Hope?” It was obvious she wasn’t going to the Cape now, with a blizzard in New York.
“I’ll probably float around, and take some pictures. I have a few ideas. And I want to look at your shoot, and start working on it.”
“Isn’t there someone you want to spend the holiday with?” He sounded sad for her.
“No. I enjoy spending it on my own.” It wasn’t entirely true, but it was the way things were. She had learned to accept that, from the monks in Tibet and in the ashram. “It’s just another day. How’s your son?” she asked, changing the subject.
“He’s fine. He’s out for dinner with a friend.” She realized as she glanced at her watch that it was eleven o’clock at night in London, and it made her think of the pleasant evening they had spent together.
“He’s leaving for Switzerland in two days. I’m getting short shrift this time. That’s what twenty-year-olds are like. I can’t blame him. I did the same thing at his age. You couldn’t have paid me to spend time with my parents then. He’s a lot nicer than I was. His girlfriend is flying in tomorrow, and at least I’ll have Christmas with them, before they leave that night.”
“What will you do then?” she asked, curious about him. In some ways, he seemed almost as solitary as she was, although he had a far bigger social life, and a son. But the life he had described in Dublin, when he was writing, was much like hers in her SoHo loft, or at the Cape. Despite their differences in style, they had found they had a lot in common.
“I’m thinking I’ll go back to Dublin on Christmas night. I have a book to finish, and I’m working on the outline for the new one. And everyone leaves London like a sinking ship for their country houses. I’d rather be in Russborough then.” It was the small town outside Dublin, closest to his house, where he lived. He had told her all about it over dinner. His palatial home was just north of Russborough, where there was another historical Palladian mansion, much like his, only in better shape, he claimed. She was sure his was beautiful too, in spite of its need for restoration. “And you’ll go to the Cape after the blizzard?”
“Probably in a few days. Although it will be very cold on the ocean, if the storm moves up there, which they say it will. I can wait till the roads are clear at least. But the house will be cozy once I get there.”
“Well, have a nice Christmas, Hope,” he said kindly, and there was something wistful in his voice. He had enjoyed meeting her, and he had no real reason to call her again, until he saw the photographs she took. He was looking forward to seeing them, and talking to her again. He felt an odd connection to her, and wasn’t sure why. She was a nice woman, and he had felt as though he could get lost in her eyes. He had wanted to learn more about her, and she had told him many things, about her life with Paul, and her divorce, but he had a feeling that there were walls she had put up long before, and no one was invited to go behind them. She was very guarded, and yet warm and compassionate at the same time. She was a woman of mystery to him, as parts of him had been to her. And the unanswered questions intrigued them both. They were people who were accustomed to looking into other people’s hearts and souls, and yet had been elusive with each other.
“You too. Have a lovely Christmas with your son,” she said softly, and a moment later, they hung up, and she sat staring at the phone, still somewhat surprised by the call. It had been unnecessary, friendly, and pleasant, and reminded her of the nice evening she had spent with him two days before. It already seemed like aeons ago now that she was back in New York. London felt like it was a million miles away on another planet.
And she was even more surprised when an email from him came in later that night. “I enjoyed speaking to you earlier. I am haunted by your eyes, and the many mysteries I saw in them. I hope we meet again soon. Take care. Happy Christmas. Finn.” She noticed he used “happy” instead of “merry,” like the English, and she didn’t know what to make of his email. It made her slightly uncomfortable, and she remembered her agent’s warnings about his being a womanizer. Was Finn just trying to charm her? Another conquest? And yet, he had been totally circumspect with her in London. And what mysteries did he mean? What was he seeing? Or was he only playing with her? But something about the tone of his email, and their conversation that evening, struck her as sincere. Maybe he did normally chase after women, but she didn’t have the feeling that he was chasing her. And she was struck by the word “haunted.” She didn’t answer him until the next day. She didn’t want to seem anxious, and she wasn’t. She hoped that they would be friends. That happened sometimes with her subjects. There were many who had become friends over the years, even if she didn’t see them often, and only heard from them from time to time.
She answered Finn’s email as she sat down at her desk with a cup of tea on the morning of Christmas Eve. The world was silent and white outside, blanketed by virgin snow, and it was afternoon in London.
“Thank you for your email. I enjoyed talking to you too. It’s beautiful here today, a winter wonderland of perfect snow everywhere. I’m going to go to Central Park to take photographs of children sledding, very mundane, but appealing. There are no mysteries, only unanswered questions that have no answers, and the memory of people who enter and leave our lives, for a short or long time, and stay only as long as they are meant to. We cannot change the patterns of life, but only observe them, and bend to their will with grace. May your Christmas be warm and happy. Hope.”
Much to her surprise, he answered her within the hour, just as she was leaving the house in all her snow gear, with her camera over her arm. She heard her computer say “You’ve got mail,” went back to check, and pulled off her gloves to press the button. The email was from Finn.
“You are the most graceful woman I have ever met. I wish I were there with you today. I want to go to Central Park to go sledding with the children. Take me with you. Finn.” She smiled at his answer, it was his boyish side surfacing again. She didn’t respond, but put her gloves back on, and left the house. She wasn’t sure what to say to him, and was hesitant to get into a serious correspondence with him. She didn’t want to play a game with him and lead him on.
She found a cab outside the Mercer Hotel less than a block away, and it took them half an hour to get to Central Park. Some of the streets were clear, although many weren’t and it was slow going. The driver dropped her off at the south end of the park, and she walked in past the zoo. And eventually she found the hills where children were sledding, some on old-fashioned sleds, others on plastic disks, many with plastic garbage bags tied around them by their parents. Their mothers were standing by, watching, trying to stay warm, and the fathers were chasing them down the hill, picking them up when they had spills. The children were squealing and laughing and having fun, as she discreetly took photographs, zooming in on their faces full of excitement and wonder, and suddenly in a way she hadn’t expected it to, the scene shot her backward in time, and a spear lodged in her heart that she couldn’t remove, even by turning away. She felt tears sting her eyes, not from the cold this time, and she took photographs of the icy limbs of the trees in abstract patterns to distract herself, but it was useless. She felt breathless with the pain of what she was experiencing, and finally, with tears burning her eyes, she put the camera over her shoulder, turned away, and walked back down the hill. She left the park at a dead run, trying to flee the ghosts she had seen there, and she didn’t stop running until she reached Fifth Avenue, and headed back downtown. It hadn’t happened to her in years. She was still shaken when she got home.
She took off her coat and stood staring out the window for a long time, and when she turned away, she noticed Finn’s email on her computer from that morning, and read it again. She didn’t have the heart or the energy to answer him. She was drained from the emotions she had felt in the park that afternoon. And as she turned away from the computer, she realized with a sinking heart that it was Christmas Eve, which made it worse. She always did everything she could to avoid sentimental situations at Christmas, even more so since the divorce. And now, after watching children sledding in the park, everything she normally hid from had hit her broadside, and knocked her flat. She flipped on the TV to distract herself, and was instantly assaulted with Christmas carols sung by a children’s chorus. She laughed ruefully to herself as she turned off the TV again, and sat down at the computer, hoping that answering Finn’s email would distract her. She didn’t know what else to do. The night ahead of her looked long and sad, like a mountain range to climb.

[Dalyia]

“Hi. It’s Christmas Eve, and I’m a mess,” she typed out quickly. “I hate Christmas. I had a visit today from the ghost of Christmas past. It nearly killed me. I hope you’re having a nice time with Michael. Merry Christmas! Hope.” She hit the send button and then regretted it instantly when she reread her message. It sounded pathetic even to her. But there was nothing she could do to get it back.
It was midnight in London, and she didn’t expect to hear from him till the next day, if at all. So she was startled to hear her computer tell her she had an email. It was an immediate response from Finn.
“Tell the ghost of Christmas past to get lost, and lock your door behind him. Life is about the future, not the past. I don’t love Christmas a lot either. I want to see you again. Soon. Finn.” It was short and to the point and a little scary. Why did he want to see her? Why were they emailing each other? And more importantly, why was she writing to him? She had no idea what the answer was to that question, or what she hoped to get from him.
She lived in New York, he lived in Dublin. They had separate lives and interests, and he was a subject at a photo shoot and nothing more than that to her. But she kept thinking of things he had said to her at dinner, and his eyes when he looked at her. She was beginning to feel haunted by him, which was the same thing he had said about her in his email. It left her feeling a little bit unnerved, but she answered him anyway, reminding herself to keep it businesslike and upbeat. She didn’t want to start some sort of sophomoric email romance with him, just because she was lonely and it was Christmas. She was well aware that it would be a big mistake. And he was way out of her league, leading a somewhat jet-set international life, with women at his feet. She didn’t want to be one of them, and she had no desire to compete.
“Thank you. Sorry for the maudlin email. I’m fine. Just a touch of holiday blues. Nothing a hot bath and a good night’s sleep won’t cure. All the best, Hope.” It seemed a little better to her as she sent it off, and his answer was quick and sounded annoyed.
“Holiday blues are to be expected, over the age of 12. And what’s with ‘All the best’? Don’t be so cowardly. I’m not going to eat you, and I’m not the ghost of Christmas past. Bah humbug. Have a glass of champagne. It always helps. Love, Finn.”
“Shit!” she said as she read it to herself a minute later. “‘Love,’ my ass. Now look what you’ve done!” she said aloud to herself, feeling even more nervous. She decided not to answer it, but took one piece of his advice, and poured herself a glass of wine. His email sat on her screen all night and she ignored it, but she read it again before she went to bed, and told herself it didn’t mean a thing. But in spite of that, she thought it was best if she didn’t respond, and when she climbed the ladder to her sleeping loft, she told herself she’d feel better in the morning. As she moved to turn off the light, she saw the wall of photographs of the young ballerina. She stood staring at them for a long moment, and then got into bed, turned off the light, and buried her head in the pillows.




Chapter 5
As she hoped she would, Hope felt better when she woke up in the morning. It was Christmas Day, but there was no reason to treat it differently from any other day. She called Paul on his boat, which was her only concession to the holiday. He sounded all right, although he’d caught a cold on the plane leaving London, which was dangerous for him. They wished each other a Merry Christmas, stayed off sensitive subjects, and hung up after a few minutes. After that she took out a box of photographs to edit for her next show, and pored over the images for several hours. It was two o’clock in the afternoon before she looked up, and decided to go for a walk. She glanced at the email from Finn again, and turned off the computer. She didn’t want to encourage him, or start something she didn’t want to finish or pursue.
And when she dressed and went out, the air felt brisk. She passed people going to visit each other, and others coming out of the Mercer Hotel after lunch. She walked around SoHo and all through the Village. It was a sunny afternoon, and the snowfall of the day before was starting to turn to slush. She felt better when she got back to the loft, and worked some more. And at eight o’clock, she realized that she had nothing to eat in the apartment. She thought of skipping dinner, but was hungry, and finally decided to go to the nearest deli, to get a sandwich and some soup. The day had turned out to be a lot easier than the one before, and the following day she was planning to go to her gallery on the Upper East Side to talk to them about her show. She was relieved, as she put her coat on, to think that she had made it through another year. She dreaded Christmas, but with the exception of the bad moment the day before in Central Park, this one hadn’t been too rough. And she was amused to see a row of cooked, stuffed turkeys lined up at the deli, ready for anyone who needed an instant Christmas dinner.
She ordered a turkey sandwich with a slice of cranberry jelly on it, and a container of chicken soup. The man at the deli knew her, and asked how Christmas Day had been for her.
“It was fine,” she said, smiling at him, as he looked into the violet eyes. He could tell from the things she bought from him that she lived alone. And from what he could see, she didn’t eat much. She was tiny, and at times looked very frail.
“How about a piece of pie?” She looked to him like she needed a little fattening up. “Apple? Mince? Pumpkin?” She shook her head, but helped herself to a container of eggnog ice cream, which she had always loved. She paid, thanked him, wished him a Merry Christmas, and left with her provisions in a brown bag. She was hoping not to spill the soup, and that the ice cream, with its proximity to the lukewarm container, wouldn’t melt. She was concentrating on not spilling it, as she walked up the steps to her building, and saw a man with his back to her in the doorway, carefully looking for a name on the bell. He was hunched over to see the names better in the dim light, and she was standing behind him, waiting to open the door with her key, when he turned and she stared, with a sharp intake of breath. It was Finn, wearing a black knit cap, jeans, with a heavy black wool coat, and he smiled as he looked at her. His whole face lit up when he smiled.
“Well, that makes things easier. I was going blind trying to read the names. I lost my glasses on the plane.”
“What are you doing here?” she asked in surprise. She was stunned.
“You didn’t answer my last email, so I figured I’d come over and find out why.” He looked relaxed and totally at ease as they stood talking on the front step, and Hope was shaking as he took the brown paper bag from her hands. She didn’t know why he had come, but it frightened her. It seemed so bold and unnerved her.
“Be careful you don’t spill it. It’s soup,” she said, not sure what to say next. “Do you want to come up?” There was nothing else she could say. She couldn’t brush past him and go home and leave him on the doorstep.
“That would be nice,” he said, smiling, but Hope hadn’t smiled yet. She felt panicked to be talking to him on her front step. He had entered her world without invitation or permission or warning. And then he looked at her gently. He could see she was upset. “Are you mad at me for coming?” He looked worried, as the wind whipped her hair.
“No. I just don’t know why you did.” She looked afraid.
“I have to see my agent anyway, and talk to my publisher. And to be honest, I wanted to see you. You’ve been on my mind since you left. I’m not sure why, but I can’t get you out of my head.” She smiled then, and unlocked the front door, wondering if she should go back to the deli for more food. She wasn’t sure if she should be flattered, or angry at him for the intrusion, without checking with her first. He was impulsive, and as full of charm as he had been when they met. It was hard to stay angry at him, and her initial reaction of fear began to dispel as they walked up the stairs.
Without further conversation, she led him up to her apartment and unlocked the door. She went to put the food in the kitchen, and rescue the ice cream before it melted, and then she turned to look at him. He was staring at the photographs on her walls.
“That’s the most beautiful ballerina I’ve ever seen,” he said, studying each print closely, and then looking at her with a puzzled frown. “She looks like you. Was that you as a young girl?” She shook her head, and invited him to sit down. She offered him a glass of wine, which he declined. He glanced around the peaceful, spare decor as she lit the candles and then sat down on a couch across from him with a serious expression.
“I hope nothing I said made you feel that you should come,” she said quietly, still feeling uncomfortable seeing him in her apartment. She blamed herself if she had led him on or encouraged him, but she didn’t think she had.
“You sounded sad. And I missed you, though I’m not sure why,” he said honestly. “I had to come to New York at some point anyway, so I decided it might as well be now, before I finish my book and start the next one. I won’t want to come for months after that. And I was sad myself when Michael left this morning, earlier than planned. Don’t be mad. I’m not here to push you into anything.” She knew there had to be plenty of other women available to him, if he wanted them. She just didn’t understand what he wanted from her. She offered to share her sandwich with him and he smiled and shook his head. It had been an incredibly impulsive move for him to come, and she couldn’t decide if it was flattering or scary. Most likely both.
“I’m fine. I had a huge meal on the plane, but I’ll keep you company while you eat.” She felt silly eating a sandwich in front of him while he ate nothing, so she put it aside, and then he shared the soup and ice cream with her. By the time they got to the eggnog ice cream, he had her laughing at the stories he told, and she had started to relax, in spite of the startling visit from a man she scarcely knew. It was awkward seeing him sitting there, stretched out on the couch and totally at ease in her loft.
They were just finishing the ice cream when he asked her about the ballerina again. “Why do I feel as though that’s you?” It was particularly odd because the ballerina in the photographs was blond, and Hope’s hair was so dark. But there was a similarity between her and the young dancer, a kind of familiar look. She took a deep breath then, and told him what she hadn’t planned to share with him.
“That’s my daughter, Camille.” In answer to what she said, he looked stunned.
“You lied to me,” he said, looking hurt. “You said you didn’t have kids.”
“I don’t,” Hope said quietly. “She died three years ago, at nineteen.” He was silent for a long moment, and so was Hope.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, looking shaken as he reached out to touch her hand, and she looked deep into his eyes.
“It’s all right.” She told herself silently again, ‘That was then. This is now,’ as the monks had taught her in Tibet. “You learn to live with it after a while.”
“She was a beautiful girl,” he said, glancing at the photographs again and then back at Hope. “What happened?”

[Dalyia]

“She was in college, at Dartmouth, where my father taught when I was a child, although he was gone by then. She called me one morning, with the flu, and she sounded really sick. Her roommate took her to the infirmary, and they called me an hour later. She had meningitis. I talked to her and she sounded awful. I got in the car to go up to her from Boston, Paul came with me. She died half an hour before we arrived. There was nothing they could do to save her. It just happened that way.” There were tears rolling slowly down her cheeks as she said it, and she had a peaceful look on her face, as Finn watched her. He looked devastated by what she’d said. “She danced in the summers with the New York City Ballet. She had thought about not going to college and dancing instead, but she managed to do both. They were going to take her in as soon as she graduated, or before if she wanted. She was a wonderful dancer.” And then as an afterthought, she added, “We called her Mimi.” Hope’s voice was barely more than a whisper as she said it. “I miss her terribly. And her death destroyed her father. It was the last straw for him. He had already been sick for years, and drinking heavily in secret. He stayed drunk for three months when she died. One of his old colleagues at Harvard did an intervention on him, and he put himself in a hospital and dried up after that. But when he did, he decided that he couldn’t be married to me anymore. Maybe I reminded him too much of Mimi, and the loss. He sold his business, bought a boat, and left me. He said he didn’t want me sitting around waiting for him to die, that I deserved better than that. But the truth was too that losing Mimi was so devastating for both of us, that our marriage fell apart. We’re still good friends, but every time we see each other we think of her. He filed for divorce, and I left for India. We still love each other, but I guess we loved her more. After that, there wasn’t much left of our marriage. When Mimi died, we all did in a way. He’s not the person he was, and maybe I’m not either. It’s hard to come through something like that in one piece. So there it is,” she said sadly. “I didn’t want to tell you in London. I don’t usually tell people about her. It’s just too sad. My life is very different without her, to say the least. It’s all about my work now. There’s nothing else. I love what I do, that helps.”
“Oh my God,” Finn said, with tears in his own eyes. Hope could sense that he had been thinking about his own son while she told him the story of her daughter. “I can’t even imagine what that must be like. It would kill me.”
“It almost did,” she said, as he came to sit next to her on the couch and put an arm around her shoulders. Hope didn’t object. Feeling him close to her helped. She hated talking about it, and rarely did, although she looked at the photographs on the wall every night and thought about her all the time, still. “The time I spent in India helped. And in Tibet. I found a wonderful monastery in Ganden, and I had an extraordinary teacher. I think he helped me to accept it. One really has no other choice.”
“And your ex-husband? How is he about it now? Did he go back to drinking?”
“No, he’s still sober. He’s aged a lot in the last three years, and he’s a lot sicker, so it’s hard to tell if it’s Mimi or the disease. He’s as happy as he can be on his boat. I bought this loft when I came back from India, but I travel a lot, so I’m away much of the time. I don’t need a lot in my life. Nothing makes sense without Mimi. She was the center of our life, and once she was gone, we were both pretty lost.” The pain she had experienced showed in her work. She had a deep connection with human suffering that came out in the photographs she took.
“You’re not too old to marry again and have another child,” Finn said gently, unsure of what to say to comfort her. How did you comfort a woman who had lost her only child? What she had told him was so enormous that he had no idea how to help her. He was shocked by the story she had told him. Hope wiped her eyes, and smiled.
“Technically, I’m not too old, but it’s not very likely, and it doesn’t make much sense. I can’t see myself marrying again, and I haven’t dated since Paul and I divorced. I just haven’t met anyone that I wanted to go out with, and I wasn’t ready. We’ve only been divorced for two years, and she’s been gone for three. It was a lot to lose at the same time. And by the time I do find someone again, if I ever do, I will be too old. I’m forty-four now, I think my baby-making days are pretty much over, or will be soon. And it wouldn’t be the same.”
“No, of course not, but you have a lot of years ahead of you. You can’t spend them alone, or you shouldn’t. You’re a beautiful woman, Hope, you have a lot of life in you. You can’t close the door on all that now.”
“I don’t really think about it, to be honest. I try not to. I just wake up every morning and face the day. That’s a lot. And I put everything into my work.” It showed. And then, without a word, he put his arms around her and held her. He wanted to shield her from all the sorrows in her life. She was surprisingly comfortable in his peaceful embrace. No one had done that for years. She couldn’t even remember the last time. She was suddenly glad he had come. She hardly knew him, but his being there seemed like a gift.
Finn sat there holding her for a long time, and then she smiled up at him. It was nice just sitting with him and not talking. And then slowly he let go of her, and she went to make herself a cup of tea and pour him a glass of wine. He followed her into the kitchen, and helped himself to more of the eggnog ice cream. He offered her some, and she shook her head, and then wondered if he was hungry. It was really late for him, in fact it was the middle of the night in London.
“Do you want some eggs or something? It’s all I have.”
“I know this sounds crazy,” he said, looking sheepish. “But I’d love some Chinese food. I’m starving. Is there any place like that around here?” It was Christmas night and not much was open, but there was a Chinese restaurant nearby that stayed open very late. She offered to call them and they were open, but they didn’t deliver.
“Do you want to go?” she asked, and he nodded.
“Is that all right? If you’re tired, I can go alone, although I’d love it if you’d come.” She smiled at him, and he put an arm around her shoulders again. He felt as though something important had happened between them that night, and so did she.
They put their coats on a few minutes later and went out. It was nearly eleven o’clock by then, and it was freezing cold. They hurried along the street to where the Chinese restaurant was. It was still open, and there were a surprising number of people inside. It was bright and noisy and smelled of Chinese food, people were shouting in the kitchen, and Finn grinned as they sat down.
“This was exactly what I wanted.” He looked happy and relaxed and so did she.
Hope ordered for them since she knew their food, and it arrived a little while later, and they both dug in. She was surprised that she was as hungry as he was. They were like starving people as they ate almost everything, and talked of lighter subjects than they had all evening. Neither of them mentioned Mimi again, although she was on their minds. They both chatted as they ate their dinner, and everyone around them seemed to be in good spirits. For some, it was the perfect ending to a Christmas Day.
“This is more fun than eating turkey,” Hope giggled, as she finished the last of the pork, while Finn polished off the shrimp and grinned.
“Yes, it is. Thanks for coming with me.” He looked at her gently. He was deeply touched by her now that he knew all that she’d gone through. It made her seem vulnerable and so alone to him.
“Where are you staying, by the way?” she asked casually.
“I usually stay at the Pierre,” he said, leaning back in his chair. He was full and happy as he smiled at her. “But I took a room at the Mercer this time, because it’s close to you.” He had really come to New York to see her. It was more pressure than she wanted, but right now she didn’t mind. She was having a lovely time with him. And somehow being there with him made sense. They hardly knew each other, but she felt a powerful bond with him now that she had told him about Mimi.
“It’s actually a nice hotel,” she said, trying to look relaxed about his being so nearby. She was still a little stunned that he was there.
“I don’t really care about the room.” He grinned ruefully. “I just wanted to see you. Thanks for not being mad that I showed up.”
“It’s a pretty major gesture, I’ll admit.” She remembered how stunned she was when she saw him on her front stoop. “But a nice one too. I don’t think anyone’s ever flown from anywhere to see me.” She smiled back at him as the waiter brought them fortune cookies and the check, and she laughed when she read hers, and handed it to him.
“‘You can expect a visit from a friend.’” He laughed out loud, and then read his to her too. “‘Good news is coming soon.’ I like these. I usually get the ones that say ‘A teacher is a wise man.’ Or ‘Pick up your laundry tomorrow or else.’”
“Yeah, me too.” She laughed again. They walked slowly back to her apartment, and he left her at the front door. He had dropped his bag off at the hotel before he came to see her. And it was nearly one in the morning by then, six o’clock in London, and he was starting to run out of steam. “Thank you for coming, Finn,” she said softly, and he smiled at her and then kissed her on the cheek.
“I’m glad I did. And I liked our Christmas dinner. We’ll have to make it a tradition to eat Chinese food instead of turkey. I’ll call you in the morning,” he promised, and she let herself into the building with her key, waved, and watched him walk down the street toward the hotel. She was still thinking about him as she walked upstairs. It had been a lovely evening, and a totally unexpected treat. It was certainly out of the ordinary for her.
She was getting undressed when she heard her computer tell her that she had mail. She went to look, and it was Finn.
“Thank you for a wonderful evening. My best Christmas ever, and our first. Sweet dreams.”
This time she answered, as she sat down to her desk. It was all a little overwhelming, and she didn’t know what to think. “It was wonderful for me too. Thank you for coming. See you tomorrow.”
She glanced at Mimi’s photographs as she got up from her desk. She was glad that she had shared her with Finn. In an odd way, for a few minutes at least, it brought her back into their midst. She would have been twenty-two by then, and it was still hard to believe she was gone. It was odd how people came into one’s life, and left, and then others came when you least expected them to appear. For the moment, Finn was an unexpected blessing. And whatever happened, she was grateful to have spent Christmas night with him. She was still stunned that he was there. She had decided not to let herself worry about it and just enjoy the time they shared.

[Dalyia]

Chapter 6
Finn called her the next morning and invited her to breakfast at the Mercer. She had nothing important to do and was delighted to join him. He was waiting for her in the lobby and looked as handsome as he had in London. He was wearing a black turtleneck sweater with jeans, with his dark hair freshly brushed. He looked wide awake when she saw him, and he admitted he had been up for hours, and had walked around the neighborhood at the crack of dawn. He was still on London time.
Hope ordered eggs Benedict, and Finn ordered waffles. He said he missed them when he was in Europe, where they were never quite the same. He said the batter was different and in France they put sugar on them. He poured maple syrup all over them as Hope laughed at him. He had drowned them, but he looked ecstatic when he took a bite.
“What are your plans today?” he asked her over coffee.
“I was going up to the gallery where they’re showing some of my photographs of India. Would you like to come?”
“I’d love it. I want to see the show.”
They took a cab uptown after breakfast, and he was enormously impressed when he saw the work. It was beautifully hung in a large, prestigious gallery, and afterward they walked up Madison Avenue, and then over to Central Park to walk through the still white snow. In the rest of the city, it was melting and turning to slush, but it was still pristine in the park.
He asked her about India, and then they talked about her travels in Tibet and Nepal. They stopped at a bookseller’s cart on their way into the park, and found one of his early books. Hope wanted to buy it and he wouldn’t let her, and said it wasn’t one he loved. They talked about his work then, their agents and careers. He was impressed by all of her museum shows, and she was in awe of his National Book Award. They admired a great deal about each other, and seemed to share a lot of common ground, and as they came out of the park again, he took her for a ride in a horse-drawn carriage, which seemed silly and fun to both of them as they tucked the blanket around them, and giggled like two children.
It was lunchtime by the time the ride was finished, and he took her to lunch at La Grenouille, which was very chic, and they had a delicious meal. Finn liked to eat well, although Hope often skipped meals. And afterward they strolled back downtown on Fifth Avenue, and as she often did, they walked all the way back to SoHo. They were both tired, but had enjoyed spending the day together. He took her back to her apartment, and she invited him to come up, but he said he was going back to the hotel to take a nap.
“Would you like to go to dinner later, or do you have something else to do? I don’t want to take up all your time,” he said thoughtfully, although he had come to New York to do just that.
“I’d love it, if you’re not tired of me,” she said with a small smile. “Do you like Thai food?” He nodded enthusiastically, and she suggested a place she liked in the East Village.
“I’ll pick you up at eight,” he promised, and kissed the top of her head. She went back to her loft then, and he walked back to his hotel. And although she tried not to, she thought about him for the next several hours. He was thoroughly enjoyable company, interesting to talk to, and suddenly an enormous presence. She had no idea what to make of it, or if she should even try to figure it out.
She was wearing gray slacks and a pink sweater when he came to pick her up. And they had a glass of wine before they went out. He didn’t comment on Mimi’s photographs this time, but he admired some of Hope’s other work. He said he wanted to go to the Museum of Modern Art the next day, to see some of her older work.
“You’re the only photographer I know who’s in museums,” he said with open admiration.
“And you’re the only author I know who’s won the National Book Award, and been knighted,” she said with equal pride. “That reminds me, I never call you ‘Sir Finn.’ Should I?”
“Not unless you want me to laugh at you. I still feel odd myself when I use it. Although it was pretty exciting to meet the queen.”
“I’ll bet it was.” She smiled broadly, and then she took out a box of photographs she had promised to show him, of Tibet. The photographs were amazing, and she pointed out several of her beloved monks.
“I don’t know how you managed not to talk for a month. I couldn’t do it,” he admitted readily. “Probably not even for a day.”
“It was fantastic. It was actually hard to start speaking again when I left. Everything I started to say seemed unimportant and too much. It really makes you think about what you’re saying. They were wonderful to me there. I’d love to go back one day. I promised them I would.”
“I’d love to see it, but not if I have to stop talking. I suppose I could write.”
“I kept a journal while I was there. Not talking gives you time for some fairly deep thoughts.”
“I suppose it would,” he said easily. She asked him then where he had lived when he grew up in New York. “The Upper East Side,” he replied. “The building isn’t there anymore. They tore it down years ago. And the apartment where I lived with Michael was on East Seventy-ninth. It was pretty small. That was before the books really took off. We had some lean years for a while,” he said without embarrassment. “When my parents died, they had pretty much eaten through the family money. They were fairly spoiled. Particularly my mother. The house in Ireland belonged to her family, and since there were no male heirs, they sold it. I’m glad I got it back. It’ll be nice for Michael to have one day, although I doubt he’ll want to live in Ireland, unless he’s a writer.” Finn grinned at the thought and Hope smiled. Ireland was famous for its no-tax policy for writers. She knew a number of them who had moved there. It was irresistible.
They left for the Thai restaurant then, and had an excellent meal. And while they ate dinner, Finn asked her what she was doing on New Year’s Eve.
“Same thing I do every year.” She grinned. “Go to bed at ten o’clock. I hate going out on New Year’s Eve. Everyone is crazy and drunk. It’s a great night to stay home.”
“We have to do better than that this year,” Finn insisted. “I’m not crazy about it either, but you have to try at least. Why don’t we do something ridiculous like go to Times Square and watch the crystal and mirrored ball fall down, or whatever it does. I’ve only seen it on TV, although I imagine the crowd is pretty awful.”
“It might be fun to photograph,” she said thoughtfully.
“Why don’t we try it? If we hate it, we’ll go home.”
She laughed, thinking about it, and agreed.
“Then it’s a date,” he confirmed, looking pleased.
“How long are you here?” she asked, as they finished dinner.
“I haven’t figured that out yet. I might do some work with my editor before I go back.” And then he looked at her carefully. “The rest depends on you.” She felt a tingle of nervousness run down her spine then. She didn’t know what to answer when he said things like that, and he had a few times. Knowing that he had come to New York to see her was an awesome responsibility as well as a gift. She was just finishing dessert when he looked across the table at her, and took her breath away with what he said. “I think I’m falling in love with you, Hope.”
She didn’t want him to have said what he just did, and she had no idea how to respond. Let me know when you figure it out? Don’t be silly? So am I? She didn’t know what she felt for him yet, but she liked him a lot. Of that, she was sure. But as a friend or a man? It was too soon for her to tell. “You don’t have to say anything,” he said, reading her mind. “I just wanted you to know how I feel.”
“How can you know that so soon?” she asked, looking worried. Everything seemed to be moving so quickly. She wondered if love happened that way at their age.
“I just do,” he said simply. “I’ve never felt like this before. And I know it’s fast. But maybe it happens that way sometimes, when it’s for real. I think at our age, you know what you want, who you are, and what you feel. You know when you’ve found the right person for you. It doesn’t have to take a long time. We’re grown-ups, we’ve made mistakes before. We’re not innocents anymore.” She didn’t want to tell him that he had a lot more experience than she, but he knew that about her anyway. He could tell. And she had been married for nearly half her life, and single for only the past two years. “You don’t need to feel pressured because I feel that way, Hope,” he went on. “We have a lifetime to figure it out, or as long as you want.” She had to admit, he was sweeping her off her feet. And this was completely different from the time she’d shared with Paul. Finn was wilder, more creative, his whole existence was more free form. Paul had been extremely disciplined in every way, and deeply involved in his work. Finn seemed more engaged in life, and the world. And his was a broader world, which appealed to her a lot. Hers had broadened a great deal too in the past few years. She was open to new people, new places, new ideas, like her monastery in Tibet and the ashram in India, which she would never have thought of going to before she lost Mimi and Paul.
They walked back to her apartment after dinner, and this time he came up for a drink. She was nervous that he would try to kiss her—and she didn’t feel ready to yet—but he didn’t. He was relaxed, but gentlemanly, and respected her boundaries. He could sense too that she wasn’t prepared to deal with more than what they were doing. Walking, talking, going out for meals, getting to know each other. This was why he had come to see her, and exactly what he wanted. And she felt as though no one had been as devoted to her so soon after they met. Paul wasn’t in their early days, he was too busy, and he was sixteen years older, which was very different. She and Finn were almost the same age, of the same generation, and had many of the same interests. If she had made a list of everything she wanted in a man, Finn had it all. But she hadn’t wanted anyone since Paul. And now Finn was here, big as life. And she had only known him for a week. But so far, it had been a very intense week, and they were spending a lot of time together.
They went to the MOMA the next day, and the Whitney Museum the day after. They went to all her favorite restaurants, and his. He met with his agent to talk about a new book deal. And much to her amazement, she missed him for the few hours he was gone. Other than that, he was with her every minute, except when he left her at her loft at night. He still hadn’t kissed her, but he had mentioned again that he was falling in love with her. She had just looked at him with worried eyes. What if he was playing with her? But even more frightening was the thought that maybe he wasn’t. What if this was for real? What would happen? He lived in Ireland, and she in New York. But she wouldn’t let herself think about it yet. It was too soon. It just didn’t make sense. Except even Hope knew that it did. It made a lot of sense, for both of them. She could base herself anywhere in the world, and they knew it. And so could he. It was an ideal situation. They seemed perfectly matched.
Hope didn’t tell Mark Webber, her agent, what was happening when he called. And there was no one else for her to tell. Mark was her closest friend, and she liked his wife as well. They invited her over to have dinner, but she declined. She didn’t want to tell him Finn was in town to see her. She knew Mark would be shocked, or surprised at least, and probably fiercely protective and suspicious. She wanted to spend the evening with Finn. So she said she was too busy with some new work, and Mark promised to call again the following week, and told her not to work too hard.

[Dalyia]

And on New Year’s Eve, as they had agreed earlier in the week, she and Finn went to Times Square. She took an old camera with her, to take shots in black and white. They got there around eleven, and artfully wended their way through the crowd that had been waiting there for hours. The characters around them were extraordinary, and Finn enjoyed watching it through her eyes. They were having a great time.
At midnight, the ball fell from the top of a flagpole with lights flashing inside it, and everyone screamed and cheered. There were prostitutes and drug dealers, tourists, and college kids from out of town, every form of humanity around them, and she was so busy taking pictures of them at midnight that she was startled when Finn put her camera aside and stood before her, and pulled her into his arms. And before she knew what had happened, he was kissing her, and everything around them was forgotten. All she was aware of and remembered later was Finn kissing her, and feeling totally safe and protected in his arms, wanting the kiss never to end, and as she looked into his eyes afterward in amazement, she knew that she was falling in love with him too. It was the perfect beginning for a new year. And maybe a new life.

[Dalyia]

Chapter 7
Finn stayed at the Hotel Mercer for the next two weeks. He met with his agent and publisher, taped two interviews, and saw Hope every chance he got. He was ever present, ever willing to adjust his schedule for her, and wanted to spend every moment with her that he could. Hope was startled by how fast the relationship was moving, although they hadn’t slept together, but she enjoyed his company. She was torn between reminding herself that this was more than likely just a passing thing for him, and wanting to believe it was real, and allowing herself to be vulnerable to him. He was so open, kind, loving, attentive, and they had such a good time together, it was impossible to resist. He couldn’t do enough for her, and did everything imaginable to please her, with a myriad of thoughtful gestures. He brought her flowers, chocolates, books. More and more, she was letting herself be swept away on the tidal wave of emotions he engulfed her with. And after three weeks of constantly being in each other’s company, he said something that brought her up short, as they walked through Washington Square Park one afternoon on their way back downtown from a long walk.
“You know what this is, don’t you?” he said earnestly, as she had a hand tucked into his arm. They had been talking about Renaissance art, and the beauty of the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, which they had discovered that they both loved, and Finn was very knowledgeable about. He had many interests and numerous talents, not unlike Hope. They seemed a perfect match in so many ways. And he was by far one of the most interesting men she had ever met, and the most attentive. He was truly the handsome prince of whom every woman dreamed, and loving at the same time. He asked her about all the things she cared about and wanted, and they were constantly surprised to discover they loved many of the same things. He was like the mirror image of her soul.
“What is it?” she asked, smiling up at him with a tender look in her eyes. There was no question, she was falling in love with him, after knowing him for only weeks. It had never happened to her before. Not even with Paul. Her romance with Finn was moving with the speed of sound. “Whatever it is, it’s wonderful. I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth.” She had a feeling that if she talked to someone about their budding relationship, they wouldn’t understand it, and would tell her to take her time before jumping in. She was, but she also had a powerful sense that this was a man and a situation she could trust. She didn’t doubt it. There was no reason to. She knew who he was, and there was a soft hidden side of him that touched her to the core.
“This is fusion,” he said softly. “Where two people become one.”
She looked at him with an inquisitive expression, startled by the word and asked him what he meant.
“Sometimes when people fall in love,” he explained, “they are so close and so well suited to each other, that they blend together, and you can’t tell where one person starts and the other ends. They merge, and can’t live without each other after that.” It sounded a little frightening to her, and not what she had in mind. She and Paul had had a good marriage until he got sick, and Mimi died, but they had never “fused” or become one person. They were two very distinct people, with different personalities and needs and thoughts. It had always worked well for them.
“I don’t think I agree with you,” she said quietly. “I think you can be just as much in love as separate people, standing beside each other, each one whole and adding to the other, or complementing each other, without ‘fusing’ and becoming one. That sounds unhealthy to me,” she said honestly. “That’s not really what I want,” she said firmly. “I want to be a whole, individual person, and I love the whole person you are, Finn. We don’t need to be one. Then each of us would lose an important part of ourselves that makes us who we are as people.” Finn looked disappointed by what she said. It was the first time they had disagreed.
“I want to be part of you,” he said sadly. “I need you, Hope. It’s only been a short time, but I already feel like you’re a part of me.” It still didn’t sound right to her, even if it was flattering or meant he loved her. It sounded claustrophobic and extreme, especially so soon. They hardly knew each other. How could they fuse into one person? And why would they want to? They had both worked hard to become who they were. She didn’t want to lose that now. She was falling in love with who and what he was, she didn’t want to fall in love with herself. It felt all wrong.
“Maybe you don’t love me as much as I love you,” he said, looking worried and hurt.
“I’m falling in love with you,” she said, looking up at him with her deep violet eyes. “There’s a lot we need to learn about each other. I want to savor that. You’re a very special person,” she said gently.
“So are you. So are we,” he insisted. “Our two parts make one bigger, better whole.”
“That’s possible,” she conceded, “but I don’t want either of us to lose who we are in the process. We’ve both worked too hard to achieve what we have, to lose that now. I want to stand next to you, Finn, not be you. And why would you want to be me?”
“Because I love you,” he said, pulling her close to him, and stopping to kiss her hard. “I love you more than you know.” The way he said it was touching, not scary, but it was too much in such a short time. “Maybe I’ll always love you more,” he said, looking pensive, as they walked on again. “I think there’s always one person in a couple who loves more than the other. I’m willing to be that one,” he said generously, and it made her feel slightly guilty. She thought she loved him, but she had loved Paul for so many years, it was going to take her time to get used to Finn, and settle him in her heart. She had to get to know him better first, and there was plenty of opportunity. They were with each other constantly, except when she went back to her loft to sleep at night. He changed the subject then, and she was relieved. Not only did she have to get used to loving him, his notion of fusion made her uncomfortable, and it wasn’t what she wanted in a relationship or had in mind. “What are we doing this weekend?”
She looked thoughtful for a moment before she answered. “I was thinking it might be nice to go to the Cape. I’d like you to see the house. It’s very simple, but it’s a relic of my childhood. That house means a lot to me.” He smiled as soon as she said it.
“I was hoping you’d ask me up there,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Why don’t we spend more than a weekend there, if you can spare the time? It might do us both good.” He was in no hurry to go back to Ireland. They were both masters of their own fate and time, and he was enjoying the time he was spending with her, getting to know her. And he was in no hurry to get back to his writing, he said. She was more important to him.
“I guess we could spend four or five days, or even a week. It can get very bleak in winter, and cold. Let’s see how the weather is when we get there.” He nodded and agreed.
“When do you want to go?” he asked, looking excited. She had no pressing assignments at the moment. Her schedule was clear, and so was his, other than the editing he had to finish. They were going to a party at the MOMA that night, and he had a publishing event to attend the following week. They were both enjoying discovering each other’s worlds, and in each case, they left the limelight to the other and were happy to take a backseat. It seemed like a perfect balance between two well-known, successful, creative people, whose worlds complemented each other. It was just what she had said earlier, they stood beside each other, without having to fuse into one person. Everything about that idea seemed wrong to her.
“Why don’t we go to the Cape tomorrow?” Hope suggested. “Bring lots of warm stuff with you.” And then she looked faintly embarrassed to broach a delicate subject, but she wanted to speak up clearly. “I’m not ready for us to sleep together, Finn. Are you okay with sleeping in the guest room?” It had been a long time since Paul, and she wanted to be sure of what she was doing. There had been no one of importance in her life since her husband, which made this a much bigger deal. Whatever it was, if it was going to be lasting or not, she had to figure it out, and what she felt about it, before she took that leap.
“That’s fine,” he said with an understanding look. He seemed to have an unlimited ability to make her feel comfortable and happy. He let her set the pace, be as close or as distant from him as she felt at any given moment. He was the kindest, most loving man she had ever met. He was truly a dream come true. And if she had been praying for a man to come into her life, which she wasn’t when he turned up, he would have been the answer to those prayers. There was nothing about him she didn’t like so far, or that made her uneasy, except perhaps his silly ideas about fusion, but she was sure it was just his way of expressing insecurities and wanting to be loved. And she was coming to love him, for who he was, not for being a part of her. Hope was a very independent person, and she hadn’t come through all she had by being part of someone else, nor did she want to start now. And she knew that her monks in Tibet wouldn’t have approved of that idea at all.
The party they went to at the museum that night was lively and crowded. It was an important event—the opening of a major show. The main curator of the museum came to talk to her and she introduced him to Finn. They chatted for a few minutes, and several photographers snapped their picture for the press. They made a striking pair. It was definitely a milieu where Hope was the star, and Finn was less well known, until they heard his name. But being somewhat in the background didn’t seem to bother him in the least. He was warm, friendly, charming, and unassuming, even though he was the famous Sir Finn O’Neill. No one who would have seen him would have thought he was a show-off, or arrogant in any way. He was more than happy to let Hope be the star she was at the museum event, and he seemed to enjoy talking to lots of people and admiring the art. He was in good spirits when they took a cab back to the hotel. They were leaving for Cape Cod in the morning.
“I miss you when we’re in a crowd like that,” he confessed as she snuggled next to him in the taxi. She had had a good time, and had been proud to be with him. It felt so good being part of a couple again. She didn’t need it to complete her, but it was nice having him there, and talking to him about the party afterward. She had missed that since her divorce. Parties were always more fun if you could gossip about them later with a mate. “You looked beautiful,” he complimented her readily, as he had several times that evening. “And I was so proud to be with you. I really enjoyed the evening, but I have to admit, I love having you to myself. It’s going to be great to have some time alone in Cape Cod.”
“Having both in one’s life is nice,” Hope commented peacefully with her head on his shoulder. “It’s exciting to go out and meet people sometimes, and then it’s nice to have quiet time alone.”
“I hate sharing you with your adoring public,” he teased her. “I like it best when we’re alone. Everything is so fresh and new right now, it feels like an intrusion when anyone else is around.” The way he said it flattered her, that he was so anxious for time with her, but there were definitely times when she enjoyed the company of her peers and colleagues, and once in a while, even their admiration. For her, it had been part of life ever since she’d gone back to work, although she always benefited from solitary moments too. But it touched her that Finn was so anxious to be with her, and to not waste a single moment they could spend alone. They would have plenty of time together at the Cape.
“You have your adoring public too,” she reminded him, and he hung his head in embarrassment in a burst of humility rarely seen and that no one would have expected of him. It surprised her at times that for a man so well known in his field, and so strikingly good looking, he didn’t seem narcissistic to her at all. He wasn’t selfish or self-centered, he took pride in her accomplishments, was discreet about his own, and had no need to be the center of attention. And whatever flaws he had that she had not discovered yet, a big ego was not among them. He was a gem.

[Dalyia]

They left for Cape Cod at nine o’clock the next morning, in a Suburban he had rented for the week, since Hope no longer kept a car in New York. Whenever she needed one, she rented one herself. Living in the city, it made more sense, and she didn’t go up to Cape Cod very often anymore. She hadn’t been there since September, four months before. She was thrilled to be going with Finn now, and have the opportunity to share it with him. For a man who loved nature, solitude, and time alone with her, it was the perfect place for them to go.
She was determined not to sleep with him that weekend, and already knew what guest room she would put him in. It was actually the room she had spent summers in as a child, and it was next door to her parents’ old room, which she lived in now and had for years.
She and Paul had spent summers there during most of their marriage. And at the time, the simplicity of it had suited them both, although with the windfall he had made from the sale of his company, Paul’s life was grander now. And if anything, Hope’s had gotten less cluttered over the years. She had no need for luxuries, unusual comforts, or excess of any kind. She was a very unassuming, straightforward person, and enjoyed a simple life. And Finn said he did too.
They stopped for lunch at the Griswold Inn, in Essex, Connecticut, on the way to the Cape, and as they drove past an exit for Boston, Finn mentioned his son at MIT.
“Why don’t we stop and visit him?” Hope asked with a bright smile. After all she’d heard about him, she wanted to meet him, and Finn laughed.
“He’d probably fall over if I stopped in to see him. Actually, they’re not back yet after the winter break. He said he was going to Paris after skiing in Switzerland with his friends, or he may be back at my place in London. Maybe we could stop in to visit some other time. I’d like you to meet him.”
“So would I,” Hope said warmly.
They drove on to Wellfleet after Providence and they reached the house at four in the afternoon, as the light was starting to get dim. The roads had been clear, but it looked like it might snow, and it was bitter cold, with a stiff wind. She directed Finn to drive into the driveway, which was slightly overgrown. The house stood apart from all the others, and there was tall dune grass all around. It seemed bleak at that time of year, and Finn commented that it looked like a Wyeth painting that they’d seen at the museum, which made Hope smile. She’d never thought of the house that way before, but he was right, it did. It was an old barn-shaped New England structure, painted gray with white shutters. In summer, there were flowers out front, but there were none now. The gardener she hired to come once a month cut everything back in winter, and he wouldn’t even bother to come now until spring. There was nothing for him to do there. And the house looked sad and deserted with the shutters closed. But the view of the ocean from the dune it sat on was spectacular and the beach stretched out for miles. Hope smiled as she stood looking at it with him. It always made her feel peaceful being there. She put an arm around his waist and he leaned down to kiss her, and then she took her keys out of her bag, opened the door, turned off the alarm, and walked in, with Finn right behind her. The shutters were closed against the wind, so she turned on the lights. Dusk was coming fast.
What he saw when she lit the lamps was a beautiful wood-paneled room. The wood was bleached, as were the floors, and the furniture was stark and simple. She had redone the couches a few years before because they were so worn. The fabrics were the pale blue of a summer sky, the curtains were a simple muslin, there were hooked rugs, plain New England furniture, a stone fireplace, and her photographs were all over the walls. It had a stark simplicity and unpretentiousness that made it easy to be there, particularly in the summer, with the breeze coming off the ocean, sand on the floor, and everyone going barefoot. It was the perfect beach house, and Finn immediately responded to it with a warm smile. It was the kind of house every child should spend a summer in, and Hope had, and so had her daughter. There was a big country kitchen, with a round antique table, and blue and white tiles on the walls that had been there since the house was built. The place looked lived in and well worn, and more important, much loved.
“What a wonderful place,” Finn said, as he put his arms around her and kissed her.
“I’m glad you like it,” Hope said, looking happy. “I would have been sad if you didn’t.” They went outside together then to open the shutters, and when they came back in, the view of Cape Cod Bay at sunset was spectacular. He wanted to go for a walk on the beach, but it was too late and too cold.
They had brought groceries with them, which they had bought in Wellfleet, and unpacked them together. It felt like playing house and she looked happy. She hadn’t done that in years, and with Finn, she loved it. Then he went out to get their suitcases and she told him where to put them. He walked upstairs to their bedrooms, set them down, and looked around. Hope’s photos hung in every room, and there were a lot of old photographs of her with her parents, and Mimi with her and Paul. It was a real family summer home that spanned generations and warmed hearts.
“I wish I had had a house like this when I was growing up,” Finn said as he strode back into the kitchen, his hair still disheveled by the wind, which only made him look more handsome. “My parents had a very stuffy, boring place in Southampton, which I never liked. It was full of antiques and things I wasn’t allowed to touch. It wasn’t like being at the beach. This is the real deal.”
“Yes, it is.” She smiled at him. “I love that about it too. That’s why I keep it. I don’t get here often enough anymore, but I love it when I do.” There were too many memories and friendly ghosts here for her to ever give it up. “It’s not fancy, but that’s what I love about it. It’s fantastic in the summer. As a kid, I spent all my time on the beach, and so did Mimi. I still do.”
She was making a salad as she said it to him, and they were going to make steaks on the grill. The kitchen appliances were modern and functional, and often in summer they barbecued, but it was too cold to do that now. Finn set the table, and lit a fire. And a little while later, he made the steaks, and she warmed some soup and French bread they’d bought at the store. They set some French cheeses on a platter, and when they sat down at the kitchen table, it was a hearty meal. Finn opened a bottle of red wine he’d bought, and they each had a glass. It was a perfect dinner in the cozy house, and then they sat in front of the fire, telling stories of their respective childhoods.
Hers had been simple and wholesome in New Hampshire, near the Dartmouth campus, since her father was an English literature professor there. Her mother had been a talented artist, and her childhood had been happy, despite the fact that she was an only child. She said it had never bothered her not to have siblings. She had had a great time with her parents and their friends, and was included at everything they did. She spent a lot of her time visiting her father at his office on the campus. He had been devastated when she decided to go to Brown instead, as a seventeen-year-old freshman, but they had a better photography department. It was where she ultimately met Paul. She met him at nineteen, and married him at twenty-one, when he was thirty-seven. She said that both her parents had died within the first few years she was married. It was a huge loss to her. Her father died of a heart attack, and within a year, her mother of cancer. She couldn’t live without him.
“See what I mean?” Finn commented. “That’s what I meant by fusion. It’s what real relationships should be, but it can be a dangerous thing sometimes, if things don’t work out in a relationship, or one of the partners dies. Like Siamese twins, one can’t survive without the other.” It still didn’t seem like a good thing to Hope, particularly citing her mother’s untimely death as an example. Hope had no desire to be anyone’s Siamese twin, but she didn’t comment. She knew he loved the theory, but she didn’t. And for her, it had been a hard blow to lose both parents so close together. She had inherited the Cape Cod house from them, and sold their old Victorian near Dartmouth. She said that she still had all her mother’s paintings in storage. They were good, but not quite her style, although she clearly had talent, and occasionally taught a class at Dartmouth, but she had no interest in teaching, unlike Hope’s father, who was gifted, much loved, and deeply respected at the school for all the years he taught there.
By comparison, Finn’s youth was far more exotic. He had already told her that his father was a doctor and his mother an extremely beautiful woman.
“I think my mother always felt she married beneath her. She had a broken engagement before that to a duke in Ireland. He was killed in a riding accident, and shortly after that, she married my father and went to New York with him, where he had a very substantial practice, but her family was much fancier than his, and she always lorded it over him. I think she missed having a title, since her father was an earl, and she would have been a duchess if her fiancé hadn’t died.
“She always had frail health when I was little, so I didn’t see a lot of her. I always had some young girl taking care of me, whom they brought over from Ireland, while my mother had the vapors and went to parties, and complained about my father. The home I have in Ireland now originally belonged to her great-grandfather, and I think it would have made her happy that it is back in the family now. It means a lot to me because of it.
“My father was always very disappointed that I didn’t want to be a doctor like him, but it just wasn’t for me. He made an excellent living and always supported my mother handsomely, but it was never quite enough for her. He wasn’t titled, and she hated living in New York. I’m not sure they were ever very happy, although they were discreet about it. I never saw them fighting, but there was a distinct chill in our Park Avenue apartment, which my mother hated, because it wasn’t Ireland, although our home was beautiful and filled with antiques. She just wasn’t a happy woman. And now that I live there, I can see why. The Irish are a special breed, they love their country, their hills, their houses, their history, even their pubs. I’m not sure you can take an Irish person away and have them be happy somewhere else. They pine for their own country, and it must be in the genes, because the minute I walked into my great-great-grandfather’s house, I knew I was home. It was as though it had been waiting for me all my life. I knew it the minute I saw it.

[Dalyia]

“My parents died fairly young too, in a road accident together. I think if she had lived, and my father hadn’t, she’d have gone back to Ireland then. It was all she waited for during all the years of their married life in New York. I suppose she loved my father, in her own way, but she wanted to go home. So I did it for her.” He smiled sadly. “I hope you come and visit me there, Hope. It’s the most beautiful place on earth. You can walk in the hills for hours, amid the wildflowers, without ever seeing a soul. The Irish are an odd combination of soulful, solitary, and then wildly gregarious in the pubs. I think that’s how I am, sometimes I just need to be alone, and at other times I love being around people, and having fun. At home, I’m either locked up, writing, or having a good laugh in the local pub.”
“It sounds like a good life,” Hope said, nestled in beside him on the couch, as the fire died slowly. It had been a lovely evening, and she felt wonderfully comfortable with him, as though they had known each other for years. She liked hearing the stories of his childhood, and his parents, although it sounded lonely in some ways. His mother didn’t sound like a happy person, and his father had been busy all the time with his patients, and neither of them seemed to have had much time for him. He said it was why he had started writing, and was a voracious reader as a child and young man. Reading, and eventually writing, was his escape from an essentially lonely childhood, despite their very comfortable Park Avenue life. Her far simpler life had been much happier with her own parents in New Hampshire and Cape Cod.
Finn and Hope had both married young, so they had that in common. They were both artistic in different fields. They were both only children, and their own children were only two years apart, so they had become parents at roughly the same time. And for very different reasons, their marriages had failed. Hers for complicated reasons, and his officially when his wife died, but he readily admitted that his marriage to Michael’s mother had never really worked, and probably would have ended in divorce if she hadn’t died, which was traumatic for him and their child. Finn said she was totally narcissistic, beautiful, and spoiled, and essentially badly behaved. She had cheated on him several times. He had been enamored with her beauty as a young man, and then overwhelmed by what it entailed. There was a lot of common ground between Finn and Hope, in many ways, although their marriages had been different, and his son was still alive. But there were many common points, and they were nearly the same age, only two years apart.
When the fire finally went out, she turned off the lights, and they walked upstairs. He had already found his bedroom when he brought the bags up and had seen hers. She had a small double bed in the cozy room that had been her parents’, and the bed always felt too big for her now without Paul. The one in the room Finn was staying in was so small that Hope looked embarrassed and said that maybe they should trade, although hers didn’t look big enough for him either.
“I’ll be fine,” he reassured her, and tenderly kissed her goodnight. And then they each disappeared into their rooms. She was in bed five minutes later in a heavy cashmere nightgown with socks, and she laughed when Finn called out a last goodnight in the small house.
“Sweet dreams,” she shouted back, and turned over in the dark, thinking of him. They had known each other for so little time, but she had never felt so close to anyone in her life. For a minute, she wondered if his fusion theory was correct, but she didn’t want it to be. She wanted to believe that they could love each other, but keep their distinct lives, personalities, and talents intact. That still felt right to her. Thinking about him, she was awake for a long time. She was remembering the things he had said about his childhood and how lonely it sounded to her. She wondered if that was why he was so anxious to be part of someone else. His mother didn’t sound like much of one to her. And it was interesting to think that while he said that his mother was beautiful and dissatisfied, he had married a woman who was also beautiful and selfish and hadn’t been a good mother to their son. It was odd how, in some cases, history repeated itself, and people re-created the same miseries that had tormented them as children. She wondered if perhaps he had tried to get a different ending to the same story, and hadn’t succeeded in the end.
As she thought about it, she heard a thump that sounded like Finn had fallen out of bed, punctuated by a loud “Fuck,” which made her laugh, and she went to check on him, padding down the hall in her nightgown and cashmere socks.
“Are you okay?” she whispered in the dark, and heard him laugh.
“The chest of drawers attacked me when I went to the loo.”
“Did you hurt yourself?” She sounded worried about him, and felt guilty about the small room he was in.
“I’m bleeding profusely,” he said in a tone of anguish. “I need a nurse.”
“Should I call 911?” She laughed back.
“No, some hairy paramedic will give me mouth to mouth, and I’ll have to knee him in the groin. How about a kiss?” She moved into the room and sat down on the narrow bed that had once been hers, and he took her in his arms and kissed her. “I miss you,” he whispered.
“I miss you too,” she whispered back. And then hesitantly, “Do you want me to sleep in here?”
He laughed out loud. “In this bed? Now, that would be a contortionist’s act I’d like to see you do. That isn’t what I had in mind.” There was a long silence, and he didn’t push. He had promised that they would sleep in separate rooms and not have sex, and he was determined to keep his word, although he would have preferred otherwise, and she felt foolish now for suggesting it.
“I guess this is kind of stupid, huh? We’re in love with each other, and I guess no one’s keeping track.”
“Something like that,” he said gently, “but it’s up to you, my love. I’m happy to sleep here, if that’s what you want. As long as you take me to a chiropractor tomorrow, so he can fix my back.” She laughed again, and pulled the covers off him unceremoniously, as he sat up.
“Come on. Let’s be grown up.” She held out a hand to him and led him to her room, and he didn’t object. But he had left the choice up to her. Without commenting on it further, they both climbed into her bed, and as they lay side by side in the small double bed, he took her in his arms.
“I love you, Hope,” he whispered.
“I love you too, Finn,” she whispered back. And then without another word of discussion or explanation, or mention of fusion, he made love to her as no one ever had in her life.

[Dalyia]

Chapter 8
Finn and Hope’s days at Cape Cod were magical. They woke up late in the morning, made love before they got up. He cooked breakfast for her, and they bundled up and went for long walks on the beach. When they got back, Finn lit a fire in the living room. They spent hours reading, and she took photographs of him. They made love again in the afternoon, cooked together, slept together, talked for hours about everything that mattered to them. She had never spent as much time with anyone in her life.
She found boxes of old photographs of Mimi and her parents, and went through all of them with him. They went to local restaurants and ate lobster, with butter dripping down their chins, laughing at each other in ridiculous gigantic paper bibs, and she took pictures of him that way too. She asked a waiter to take a photograph of them together, and Finn got briefly annoyed and jokingly accused her of flirting with the waiter, which she wasn’t.
It was almost like a honeymoon. They stayed for a week, and finally, regretfully, they closed the house. Finn latched the shutters, and they drove back to New York. This time, he didn’t stay at the Mercer, he moved into the loft with her. It felt perfectly natural to her now. She was totally at ease with him.
They went to his publishing event the night they got back, and this time he was the center of attention, and she quietly took photographs of him from a distance, smiling softly, and every now and then their eyes would meet across the room. She was proud of him as she watched him, and he was equally proud to have her with him. The only heartache they were facing was that he was going back to Dublin soon.
They talked about it when they got home that night, and Finn looked unhappy, although they’d had a lovely evening.
“When can you come over to see me?” he said, looking like a child about to be abandoned by his mother, or sent away to camp.
“I don’t know. I have an assignment, shooting an actor in L.A. the first week in February. After that, I’m fairly free.”
“That’s less than two weeks away,” he said miserably, and then frowned as he asked her the next question. “What actor?”
“Rod Beames,” she said casually. She had shot him once before. He was up for an Academy Award for best actor.
“Shit,” Finn said, giving her an angry look. “Have you ever gone out with him?”
“Of course not.” She was startled by his reaction and the question. “He’s a subject, not a boyfriend. I never go out with the people I shoot.” And then she laughed as she said it, given what had happened with him. “You’re the first,” she reassured him. “And the last,” she promised, as she leaned over to kiss him.
“How do I know that’s true?” He looked upset and worried, and it touched her. Paul had never been jealous, but Finn clearly was. He had made a comment about one of the waiters at a restaurant at the Cape, and accused her half-jokingly of flirting with him, which of course she wasn’t. She laughed at Finn, and he apologized. It made her feel very young and desirable that he would even worry about it, but she only had eyes for Finn.
“Because I say so, silly,” she said, and kissed him again. “I suppose I could fly to Dublin from L.A., after that. Can I fly to Dublin, or do I have to change planes in London?” She was already figuring out the dates in her head.
“I’ll check. What about you and Beames?” He went back to it again.
“About the same as you and Queen Elizabeth. I’m not worried about her. You don’t need to worry about him.”
“Are you sure?”
“Totally.” She smiled at him, and he relaxed a little.
“What if he asks you out this time?”
“I’ll tell him that I’m madly in love with a fabulous man in Ireland, and he doesn’t have a chance.” She was still smiling, as Finn continued to look at her nervously. It was true. Once they started sleeping with each other, all of her reserve fell away, her guard went down, she trusted him completely, and her heart was his. They had talked about how quickly it had all happened between them, and how much in love they both were. It was what the French called a “coup de foudre,” a bolt of lightning that had hit them, and he pointed out regularly that there was no turning back now. He said he was irreversibly in love with her, and she was equally in love with him.
Hope had come to the conclusion that at their age, those things happened, they knew who they were and what they wanted, what had gone wrong in past lifetimes, and they both felt certain that this was forever, even though she felt it was soon to tell anyone. They had been in love with each other for just over a month, and Hope had never been as sure of anything in her life as she was of her love for him, and Finn felt the same. They both knew it was for real, and agreed that it was the best thing that had ever happened to them.
Finn promised to check out the flights for her the next day, and as it turned out, there was a flight to Dublin from L.A. He stayed in New York for another week and they had a wonderful time together. She thought of introducing him to Mark Webber, but decided it was premature. No one would understand how certain they were of each other this early. It was easier not to have to defend it, and just enjoy it privately. And Finn wanted to be alone with her anyway before he left. He said he didn’t want anyone taking up their time, which was infinitely precious as the days flew by until he was to leave.
He looked mournful the morning she helped him pack his suitcase. He was miserable about leaving, and still nervous about her photo shoot with Rod Beames. He kept bringing it up, and Hope was beginning to feel silly reassuring him. But since they had met and fallen in love with each other after her assignment to shoot him, he was worried about all her portrait sittings now. She reassured him again and again. And they made love before they left for the airport. She had never made love as often in her life as they had in the past weeks.
They had vaguely discussed marriage, although not in hard and fast terms. It really was too early, but they had both confirmed that the concept was not distasteful to either of them. Finn didn’t care what it took, or how they did it, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. And she was beginning to think the same thing, although she wasn’t sure she needed marriage to do it. She was already more or less living with him, and would be in Ireland as well.
And he had shocked her by bringing up the subject of a baby. He said he wanted to try having one with her. She had gently told him that the project would probably need considerable intervention and assistance, and she didn’t feel ready to take that on, at least not yet. She wanted to discuss it later, after they’d been together for longer, but somewhere deep within her, although it sounded crazy, the idea had some appeal. Particularly when she looked at the photographs of Mimi and remembered how adorable she’d been as a baby. The idea of having a child with Finn was scary, but dazzling. And thinking about it made her feel young again. He insisted that they could do it at their ages, others had, including several of his friends. He was pushing hard for the idea, but had agreed to wait at least a couple of months before they discussed it again.
He was silent on the way to the airport and held her in his arms in the limousine. They kissed and whispered, and he promised to call her the minute he arrived. He was taking the night flight, and would arrive too late for him to call her, but it would be morning for him.
“I’ll get the house ready for you,” he promised. He said he had a lot of cleaning up to do, and he needed to get the furnace man in, so the part of the house they lived in wouldn’t be freezing cold. He told her to bring a lot of sweaters and warm jackets, and good solid shoes to walk in the hills. It would be early February when she got there, so it would be rainy and cold. She had promised to stay with him for a month, and was looking forward to it. He had to write in March anyway, and she had assignments set up in New York, so she couldn’t stay longer than that. But a month would be a great start, and allow her to settle in. They had just spent four weeks together in New York.
Leaving each other at the airport was like ripping a limb off for both of them. She had never been as attached to anyone, and certainly not this quickly, except Mimi, but not even Paul. Her relationship with Paul, when she met him, had been far more measured and started more slowly, particularly since she was a student then, and he was so much older. He had been very cautious about not moving too quickly. Finn had none of those concerns, and had leaped in with both feet. But at their age, it made more sense. Both of them knew people who had fallen in love in their forties, realized they’d met “the right one” quickly, married within months, and had been happy ever since. But they both knew that it would still be hard to explain to others. They had fallen madly in love and decided to spend their lives together, in a month.
And Hope was determined not to say anything to Paul yet. She didn’t want to upset him, and had no idea how he’d react. She had been alone for so long, and so accessible to him whenever he wanted, even if it wasn’t often, she somehow had a sense that he might be unnerved by her being involved with someone. But she thought that once they met, he and Finn could be good friends. Finn had expressed no jealousy about him yet, which seemed a very good thing. Hope would have been bothered by it if he had. Paul was very important to her, and she loved him deeply, in a pure way now, and knew she always would, for however long he lived, which she hoped would be a long time. She had talked to him once in January, and he was still on his boat then, sailing toward St. Bart’s. She never mentioned Finn. And Paul could get her on her cell phone anywhere in the world, so even when she was in Ireland, he could call her, and she didn’t need to tell him where she was, unless she chose to when he called. But she wanted to be discreet for now.