Page 15 of The Lie
Romy left Finch in the sitting room to go upstairs. She was tingling with the slow, tentative kisses that had begun soon after they were through the cottage door an hour ago, the wine and coffee she had promised entirely forgotten. She turned on the bedside light, surveyed the small bedroom and smoothed the duvet cover. She hadn’t come up to ‘slip into something more comfortable’ – her blue rayon dressing gown, apart from needing a wash and being a bit moth-eaten at the cuffs, would be a serious passion-killer. She wanted a breather, just a moment alone.
They had met, early evening, on the back terrace of the pub looking out over the harbour. The tables were much sought after in the summer when the weather was good, but tonight they’d had the place almost to themselves. It was early in the season and not particularly warm, but there was no wind, the spring sky cloudless, and both wanted to watch the sun sink behind the masts of the boats floating gently on the water.
The plan was to have supper. But in the end they’d just finished a bottle of cold blush rosé and picked at a plate of whitebait. There had been a quiet buzz between them. They hadn’t talked much, as if both were waiting. And finally she had got up and taken his hand. ‘I’ve got wine and coffee at home …’ she’d said.
Now, when she went through to the en suite and rinsed her mouth with cold water – resisting the telltale smell of toothpaste – she stared at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed with wine and arousal, her eyes sparkling, her hair framing her face in as flattering a way as was possible with her awkward curls. Was she really going to make love to the man sitting on the sofa downstairs? Let him see her body in all its nakedness? Let him … She stopped.I haven’t made love to anyone but Michael since I was sixteen. The thought threatened to overwhelm her and she shook it off and hurried downstairs before she lost her nerve.
Finch glanced at her as she came into the room. ‘Everything OK?’ he asked. He was looking at her questioningly, but his smile was gentle and confident.
She went over to the sofa, standing quite still in front of him and holding his gaze, allowing herself to sink into those brown eyes until nothing else seemed to exist. The anxiety had gone, to be replaced by a patent desire. Her heartbeat quickened. Then she leant down and kissed him gently on the mouth. Finch took her hands and pulled her onto the cushions, returning her kisses with increasing intensity as he slid his hand beneath her shirt, making her gasp as she felt his thumb circle the smoothness of her naked breast. A moment later, his own shirt dispensed with, she was lying on his bare chest, delighting in the feel of his warm skin brushing against her nipples …
They never made it up to the freshly laundered sheets on the bed upstairs. Not till much later, that is, when they fell beneath the cool linen in a daze.
Finch turned on his side to face her, his hand across her body, tenderly stroking her thigh. It was early, the light beautiful as it came off the water, needle-bright against the white walls of her bedroom. The duvet felt cosy, his body warm as they relaxed against each other. Romy wanted to sing out with happiness.
‘That wasn’t as scary as I thought,’ he said softly.
‘You were as nervous as me? You didn’t show it.’
‘It’s not like we’re novices … but still …’
Finch didn’t go on and instead she heard a pigeon’s strident cooing from the ridge of her neighbour’s roof where he perched and strutted all day long.
Finch gently tipped her chin up to look into her face. ‘You were amazing, Romy.’
She blushed, bringing his hand to her lips for a kiss. It had been amazing.
‘I could make scrambled eggs,’ Romy said, when they had lain, for a while, in sleepy silence. ‘Or we could go to the café for a bacon sandwich.’
Finch stretched, letting out a luxurious groan, his long body suddenly taut beside her. ‘You don’t want to cook. Let’s do the café.’ He grabbed her up and rained kisses down on her face until she pushed him away under protest.
Downstairs, she opened the doors to the garden and sucked in the spring sunshine. When she had left Michael, she had not been sure she would adjust to country living, after decades in the centre of the capital. But she had dreamt of moments such as these, on those days when, instead of breathing in the fresh salty tang of the estuary,she had opened the windows of the London flat to the metallic whiff of exhaust fumes.
They strolled the short distance to the café and chose one of the tables on the tiny balcony overlooking the sea. No one else was there yet; the coach parties who stopped by for tea and cake in this destination café would not arrive for another hour or so.
Two bacon sandwiches and coffee – cappuccino for him, a latte for her – were slapped on their table by the sullen middle-aged manager, who always succeeded in making Romy feel she was inconveniencing her by being in the café at all.
‘What are your plans for the rest of the day?’ Finch enquired, grabbing his sandwich, squashing it between his fingers and stuffing it into his mouth.
‘Well … I’ve got to follow up on a job I saw advertised on the Sussex Wildlife Trust website, in the environmental education programme. I’m probably not qualified, but it might be a toe in the door. I volunteer on a nature reserve at the moment, but I’d like to find something I can really get my teeth into.’
‘So this is part of the new life you talked about?’
Romy nodded. ‘My parents were dyed-in-the-wool greens before greens were invented. It’s in the blood.’
‘I suppose Ma was green, too, in her own way, given that she never went anywhere or washed anything and the house was always freezing cold.’
Romy laughed. ‘So was ours.’
They ate in silence for a minute or two.
‘Maybe I could come with you to the nature reserve one day?’ Finch asked tentatively. ‘I’m interested … and I love a physical challenge, particularly outdoors.’
Persuaded for so long by Michael to consider her passion a sideline, almost a joke, she was surprised by Finch’s interest and willingness to take her seriously.
She gave him a smile. ‘OK, why not?’ Glancing up at the sky, she noticed the clouds were white and unthreatening. ‘Listen, I could do the job thing later … If you’re free, maybe we could have a walk on the beach.’
But Finch didn’t answer. He was cocking his head, listening to something. ‘Is that your phone?’
