56

Finch woke to find Romy beside him. He had to shake himself to remember how this had come about. He’d been furious with himself the previous morning. Walking away from her on the harbour road seemed, at the time, the only thing he was capable of doing. But as soon as he was out of sight, he realized he must be completely insane. What the hell was I thinking? he asked himself. She’d looked so beautiful in the dawn light, almost fragile in her confusion. Yet someone courageous enough to face up to Grace and admit she’d been wrong, say she was sorry – it was not an easy thing to do. He’d been appallingly, bafflingly rude. He’d run off as if she were toxic.

For the remainder of the day, as Finch cleared out the cupboard in his bedroom and packed his clothes into boxes to take up to Hawk Cottage – the pretty house with russet ivy clinging to the grey stone he’d eventually chosen, on the edge of the Peak District National Park – he thought of nothing else, cursing his stupidity, his boorishness.

Romy implied she wasn’t caring for Michael any more, he thought. But what did it matter now? He had committed to tenants – a young couple and their small daughter – and Grace was expecting him. Nothing had changed for his poor stepdaughter.

But by the evening, his body was telling him otherwise, sweeping all obstacles aside and propelling him, unthinkingly, through the front door to walk – almost run – across the village to her house. If she threw him out, it was only what he deserved. He knew he would never forgive himself if he didn’t at least try to see her and thank her for what she had said to Grace. But, in the end, neither had needed words.

Now he looked over at her sleeping face and his heart contracted. What had he done, coming here like this and making love to her as if they could instantly resurrect what they’d once had?

He slid out from under the duvet and began stealthily gathering his clothes from where they had fallen last night. The memory of their lovemaking almost stopped him in his tracks, but he knew he should leave before it became impossible.

It was already too late: Romy had opened her lovely gold-brown eyes and he was lost. Half dressed, he sat on the bed and picked up her hand, bringing it to his lips, where he kissed it softly and held it for a moment against his cheek.

She smiled. But he sighed and turned away. ‘You know why I’m leaving the village?’ he said quietly.

‘To be with Grace, so I’m told.’

Now he twisted to face her. He didn’t bother to ask who had told her. It was never one person, but a gossip-vine running effortlessly through a society desperate for anything new.

‘She’s been in a bad way. I worry about her, but there’s precious little I can do when I’m so far away.’ He searched Romy’s sleepy face, but her expression was unreadable. ‘Coming back from Argentina, knowing I didn’t have you, I felt I needed to get away … I don’t know … start again.’ He realized he was gabbling and forced himself to stop.

She nodded, giving nothing away. ‘So when do you go?’

‘Couple of days.’ He stood up. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here.’

Romy got out of bed in silence and picked up her blue dressing gown from the chair in the corner, sliding it over her naked body. She walked around the bed and stood close to him, arms akimbo, looking up into his face. He detected a new confidence in her eyes as he waited for her to speak.

‘Are you really telling me, Robert Fincham, after what happened last night, that you’re going to walk out of here and never see me again?’ Her expression was not bewildered or questioning, but fierce in a way he’d never seen before.

When he didn’t immediately answer, she said, less certainly this time, a tremor in her voice, ‘Are you?’

He didn’t have to think. ‘No. No, I’m not.’ He pulled her close, smoothing his hand down the contours of her body through the silky rayon of her dressing gown.

Later they were back on the sofa, his arm around her shoulders, two mugs of tea cooling on the table in front of them. Romy had told him what James had said about Michael, the night he’d assaulted Grace, about Michael’s reaction, about her own feelings for her husband now.

‘Nell knew,’ Finch began, when she ground to a halt.

Romy looked uncomfortable. ‘James said.’

‘She didn’t believe Grace.’

‘Oh. Poor girl.’

‘Nell wasn’t in full possession of the facts, so I’m not really judging her. But it’s one of the reasons Grace didn’t tell Sam till the other day … I never knew about Nell and James.’

They fell silent.

‘There’s always stuff we don’t tell.’

‘I suppose.’ He shook his head in bewilderment. ‘I’d always thought Nell was the most honest woman alive.’

‘It was before you met. Maybe she thought you didn’t need to know.’

Silence fell, as they were both dragged reluctantly back into the past.

Finch turned to look down at her. ‘What about us, Romy? Where do we go from here?’ She didn’t answer immediately and he went on, ‘The situation with Grace. When she’s had the right help and feels better, I hope the two of you …’

Romy pulled away from him and sat hunched forward, her elbows on her knees. He put his hand tentatively on her back, but she gave an almost imperceptible twitch and he removed it.

When she turned, her face was resigned. ‘You just have to do what you have to do, Finch.’

She got up, but he grabbed her hand, wouldn’t let go as he also rose from the cushions and took her other hand, forcing her to meet his eye.

‘I won’t lose you again, Romy. I couldn’t bear to. But Grace is in such a fragile state at the moment. I can’t let her down.’

Romy eyed him. Then her face broke into a grin. ‘This is exactly like listening to myself, persuading you how much Michael needed me.’

Finch laughed. ‘And, like you, I don’t feel I have a choice.’

‘Will you tell Grace about us? If we keep in touch?’

He shrugged. ‘Probably not right now.’

They regarded each other in silence.

‘Well, we both have stuff to do,’ Romy said, her voice firm. ‘I need to sort my life out – Michael nearly finished me. You need to sort out Grace.’

They gazed at each other in silence, Finch feeling his heart contract at the thought of leaving her. ‘I know we have to do this,’ he said, ‘but it feels really hard.’ He stepped closer, his arms going round her and drawing her to him. ‘I’m going to miss you so much.’

She reached up and kissed him, her mouth warm on his, and so familiar – like a beautiful memory. ‘À bientôt,’ she whispered.