miserable.”
“How did she die?” Hope asked gently. What he was describing sounded more like a divorce in the making than a tragic loss for him, and she wasn’t far off the mark.
“She was hit by a drunk driver, coming back from a party in the Hamptons late one night. We’d been separated off and on before, and thank God, she always left Michael with me when she went somewhere like that. She was twenty-eight years old, and I was thirty-three. We probably would have gotten divorced eventually. But I still felt awful about it when she died. And suddenly I was alone with my son. They weren’t easy years. But fortunately, he’s a great kid, and he seems to have forgiven me most of the mistakes I made, and there were quite a few along the way. I’d lost my own parents by then, so there was no one to help us, but we managed. I took care of him myself. It made us both grow up.” He smiled the smile that was half-boy, half-handsome prince that had been melting women’s hearts for years. It was easy to see why. There was something so honest and open and ingenuous about him. He didn’t try to hide his flaws or his fears.
“You never remarried?” Hope was fascinated by his life story.
“I was too busy with my son. And now I feel like it’s too late. I’m too selfish and too set in my ways. And since Michael has been gone, it’s the first time I’ve been on my own. I wanted to savor it for a bit. And being married to a writer isn’t much fun. I’m chained to my desk most of the time. Sometimes I don’t leave the house for months. I couldn’t ask anyone to take that on, and it’s what I love to do.”
“I feel that way about my work too,” she agreed. “It’s all-consuming at times. My husband was very good about it, and very supportive. And he was busy too.
“What did he do after he had to retire?”
“He taught, at Harvard. The academic world was familiar to me, because of my father, although Harvard was more competitive than Dartmouth, loftier maybe, and a little more cutthroat. Teaching wasn’t enough for Paul, so he helped to start two companies that made surgical equipment. He got very involved in that, and he did very well with it. I think it’s what saved him for the first few years, when he couldn’t practice anymore. It took some of the sting out of being sick, for a while anyway, to succeed at something else. And then he got worse. And a lot of things changed. It’s hard to see him so sick at his age. He’s still a relatively young man.” She looked sad as she said it, remembering how he had looked at lunch the day before, having trouble walking and feeding himself, and he was still so dignified and strong, even if he was frail.
“What does he do now? Do you miss him?”
“Yes. But he didn’t want me taking care of him. He’s very proud. And everything changed for us, after he was sick… and other things that happened. Life sweeps you away at times, and even if you love someone, you can’t find your way back again. He bought a sailboat three years ago, and lives on it a lot of the time now. The rest of the time, he’s in London, and he goes to Boston for treatment, and then to New York for a few days. It’s getting harder for him to get around on his own. Being on the boat is easier for him. His crew takes good care of him. He left for the Caribbean today.”
“How sad,” Finn said pensively. It was hard for him to understand why Paul had let Hope get away. And from the way she talked about him, Finn could tell that she still loved her ex-husband and cared about what happened to him. “I guess it wouldn’t be a bad life for a healthy man. I suppose if you’re sick, nothing is much fun anymore.”
“No, it’s not,” Hope said softly. “He’s part of an experimental program treating Parkinson’s at Harvard. He’s been doing fairly well until recently.”
“And now?”
“Not so well.” She didn’t offer the details, and Finn nodded.
“So what about you, when you’re not running off to Tibet and India and living in monasteries?” He smiled as he asked the question. They had both finished their drinks by then.
“I’m based in New York. I travel a lot for my work. And I go to Cape Cod when I have time, which isn’t often. Most of the time, I’m flying around taking photographs, or working on museum shows of my work.”
“Why Cape Cod?”
“My parents left me a house there. It’s where we spent summers when I was a child, and I love it. It’s in Wellfleet, which is a charming, sleepy little town. There’s nothing fancy or fashionable about it. The house is very simple, but it suits me, and I’m comfortable there. It has a beautiful view of the ocean. We used to go there for summers, when I was married. We lived in Boston then. I moved to New York two years ago. I have a very nice loft there, in SoHo.”
“And no one to share it with?”
She smiled as she shook her head. “I’m comfortable the way things are. Like you, it’s difficult being married to a photographer who’s never home. I can do things now that I never did when I was married. I float all over the world, and live out of a suitcase. It’s the opposite of what you do, locked in a room, writing, but it’s not very entertaining for someone else when I travel or even work. I never thought about it as selfish,” as he had said about his own work, “but maybe it is. I don’t answer to anyone now, and I don’t have to be anywhere.” He nodded as he listened, and they ordered dinner then. They were both having pasta, and decided to skip the first course. It was interesting to learn about each other’s lives, and he told her more about his house in Ireland then. It was easy to see how much he loved it and what it meant to him. It was part of his history and the tapestry of his life, woven into his being and dear to his heart.
“You have to come and see it sometime,” he offered, and she was curious about it.
“What sort of doctor was your father?” she asked him over their pasta, which was as delicious as he had promised, and as she remembered. The food there was better than ever.
“General medicine. My grandfather had been a landowner in Ireland, and never did much more than that. But my father was more industrious, and had studied in the States. He went back to marry my mother, and brought her over with him, but she never adjusted well to life away from Ireland. She died fairly young, and he not long after. I was in college then, and I always had a fascination with Ireland because of them. Their being Irish made it easy for me to get the nationality when I wanted it.
“And tax-wise, it made sense for me to give up my U.S. citizenship eventually. You can’t beat no income tax for writers. That was a pretty appealing setup for me, once the books were doing well. And now that I have my great- great-grandparents’ house back, I guess I’m there forever, although I don’t think I’ll ever be able to convince Michael to move there. He wants a career in the high-tech world when he graduates from MIT, and there are plenty of opportunities in Dublin, but he’s determined to live in the States and work in Silicon Valley or Boston. He’s an all-American kid. It’s his turn to find his way now. I don’t want to interfere with him, although I miss him like crazy.” He smiled ruefully at Hope as he said it, and she nodded and looked pensive. “Maybe he’ll change his mind and move to Ireland later, as I did. It’s in his blood. And I would love it, but he’s not interested in living in Ireland now.”
He wondered why she had never had children, but didn’t dare ask her. Maybe her husband had been too involved in his medical career at Harvard to want them, and she had been too busy attending to him. She was so gentle and nurturing that she seemed like the sort of woman who would do that, although she was deeply involved in her own career now. She had said they’d been married for twenty-one years.
Exchanging their histories and talking about their artistic passions made the evening go quickly, and they were both sorry when the evening came to an end and they left the restaurant after a predictably delicious dinner. Hope had indulged herself with the candies and chocolates Harry’s Bar was known for, after dinner. And Finn confessed that he was always sorely tempted to steal the brightly colored Venetian ashtrays, when they had had them on the tables, when smoking was still allowed. She laughed at the image of his sneaking one into the pocket of his well- tailored dark blue suit. She couldn’t see him do it, although she had to admit, it might have been tempting. She had always liked their ashtrays too. They were considered collectors’ items now.
He started to drive her back to Claridge’s after dinner, and then hesitated before they got there.
“Can I talk you into one more drink? You can’t leave London without going to Annabel’s, and it’s almost Christmas. It’ll be lively there,” he suggested, looking hopeful, and she was about to decline, but she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. She was tired, but game for one more glass of champagne. Talking to him was delightful, and she hadn’t had an evening like this in years, and doubted she would again anytime soon. Her life in New York was quiet
