Page 60 of The Lie
It sounded, as Marty said it, like the most craven thing Finch had ever done. He felt himself becoming hot with indignation. ‘I needed a break.’
Marty held his hand up. ‘Hey, I’m not judging. I did far worse when I lost Beth. Drugs, whiskey, self-pity, the lot.’ He chuckled. ‘Riding around the Gutierrez spread with a bunch of gauchos is tame by comparison.’ He took another gulp of wine. ‘But this stepdaughter of yours, doesn’t she need your help right now?’
Finch thought of Grace, listened back, in his head, to the conversation they’d had about him going to Argentina. Heard, as loud as if she were talking right now, that she didn’t want him to go. He was ashamed. He had known at the time but chosen not to focus, consumed with his broken heart.
When Marty eventually said goodnight and staggered off to his room in the main house, Finch found he couldn’t sleep. He felt stupid and redundant in this estancia in the hills and knew he must go home. He had assured Jocelyn he would be there for her current guests from Chicago – both husbands had been in the Marines and loved to bond with Finch about their service days – but they would be leaving soon and, although she and Luis had made it quite clear he could stay as long as he liked, Finch knew he couldn’t evade his responsibilities any longer.
But something else was keeping him awake: Romy. Talking about her to Marty had broken the log-jam he’d set in place before he’d left England, and his feelings for her had been let loose. Now, in his inebriated state, he sat down at his laptop and began to type:
Dearest Romy,
I hoped I could forget you, because the alternative will definitely send me mad. But I’m thousands of miles away right now, in a brilliantly distracting landscape of supreme beauty, among horses and cattle and new acquaintances who take up all my time, and still you haunt my thoughts.
I didn’t say it, because we weren’t quite there, and you might have been frightened off, but the truth is, I love you. I have done for some time. Maybe it’s impossible for things to be right between us, there’s too much in the way, but I wanted you to know how I feel – selfishly, I suppose. It’s night here, and very quiet, the place is comfortable enough. But I just want to cry like a stupid baby.
Finch x
He stopped typing and hovered the cursor over send.What have I got to lose?But still he hesitated.
Marooned in this strange environment, where nothing related to his normal life, he could see how a person might slowly shed the past. Not from conscious choice, more from a lack of desire to deal with it. Easier by far to slip gradually into another familiarity, where new bonds would slowly begin to form – like his with Marty, or José and, to an extent, with the charming Luis. Perhaps it was merely a case of letting it happen. And maybe he would have, if he hadn’t talked to Marty tonight.
Tired as he was, Finch felt the pull of home, of Grace and of Romy. Without another thought, he pressed the touchpad and the email was on its way. Slammingthe computer shut, Finch ripped off his clothes. He fell onto the bed and into another dreamless sleep.
When he came to again, the sky was just beginning to lighten – he’d forgotten to close the shutters. Sunrise was around seven forty-five at this time of year and he thought it was probably an hour off, at least. So he lay on his back, eyes shut, and began to drift off again. Then he sat bolt upright in bed.The email.
Yanking the lid of the laptop open, he clicked on his account.Will she have seen it yet?He couldn’t work out the time difference in his dozy state. But the email was still sitting in the outbox, undelivered – the connection to the ranch’s erratic Wi-Fi obviously lost.
Finch stared at the screen, then opened the email and read it through. He could remember writing it, but he was unclear, this morning, as to what he’d actually said.No, he thought, cringing at the melodramatic prose. He deleted it quickly, then closed his eyes and groaned, muttering a silent thank-you to the universe for sparing him a terrible embarrassment.
43
‘Happy birthday.’ Romy pulled back the curtains in Michael’s room with a strained smile. As usual, she’d heard the low murmur of the television and knew he’d been awake for some time. But she’d held off going in, the thought of the day ahead making her feel tired before she’d even started. Leo had arranged interviews at the flat with three more potential live-in Daniel replacements – the first crop totally unsuitable ? and she knew she was now in the mood to hire the first person who walked through the door, even if he or she had two heads.
They had been sitting, subdued, opposite each other at the kitchen table again, with their porridge and coffee the previous morning ? days after Michael had made his confession ? when he’d apparently come to a decision.
‘I know I behaved badly with Grace,’ he began, his good hand roughly rubbing the weaker one on the tabletop, his eyes fixed on her own. ‘She was so young, and I was married to you … I was ashamed of myself. But I really need you to understand, Romy. Her version of events is just plain wrong.’
Romy, returning his stare, thought she could, indeed, detect the shame in his eyes. It spoke to her in a way his words – still hedged about with equivocation – could not. But she found her anger rising.
‘You lied to me, Michael. For years.’
He nodded slowly. ‘I know and I’m really sorry. I was terrified, Romy. Admitting to something so shameful? I thought everything would erupt. I’d lose my career, lose you, lose the boys’ respect …’
Romy almost laughed at the order in which Michael categorized his potential losses, his career always number one. ‘You did lose me, because you lied.’
She caught the flash of scepticism on her husband’s face.
‘So if I’d come clean when the letter arrived, you’d just have said, “ Well, hey, never mind, these things happen ”?’
‘Don’t be facetious, Michael.’
‘I’m not. But are you seriously telling me you’d just have forgiven me and let it go – are you?’ His tone was challenging.
‘It’s not up to me to forgive you.’
‘Yes,it is. You’re my wife. I cheated on you with a young girl.’
Oddly, Romy had never seen it as ‘cheating’. That he’d violated Grace in a moment of madness was the issue. It was both more and less than cheating. She didn’t reply.
