But miraculously, for the next several days, just as she had begun to lose hope, everything seemed to be all right again. Finn was in a good mood. He was writing. She was starting a new book of photographs of Ireland, and enjoying some projects in the house. It was beginning to feel like the early days when she had first bought the house. And she tried to put out of her mind the outrageous things he’d said to her, and the money he had asked for. Just for now. She needed the respite. And then a letter came by FedEx from New York. She took it up to Finn and left it with him, and when he came out of his office again, he looked like a black cloud.
“Bad news?” she asked, looking worried. Given the expression on his face, it would have been hard to believe it was good.
“They’re telling me that even if I deliver the book now, they won’t publish it. They’re going ahead with the suit. Fuck. And this is one of my best books.”
“Then someone else will publish it, and you may get a better deal.” She tried to sound encouraging, but he looked incredibly angry.
“Thank you, Little Miss Cheerful. They want their money back, and I’ve already spent the advance.”
Hope put a gentle hand on his shoulder, as he poured himself a stiff drink and took a long sip. He felt better when he did.
“Why don’t you let me ask Mark Webber to handle this, and see if he can negotiate something for you.”
Finn looked at her then with fury. “Why don’t you just fucking write them a check?” She didn’t like the way he had spoken to her, but she didn’t say anything to him about it, and refused to react in kind. She didn’t want another fight.
“Because a good lawyer can make a deal, and then we’ll see what we have to do.” She was trying to reassure him, without committing herself. It was hard to know these days where things were going to go with them. She was still hopeful, but realistically, less and less. Things weren’t going well. It was all about greed now, getting his hands on her money, and covering up old lies. As it said in the Bible, their house was built on sand.
“Is that a royal ‘we’?” he asked her in a nasty tone. “Or are you going to pay up, and stop making me hang by the neck about it? I need money. And I want my own account.” She was already clear about that. He had been saying it for weeks.
“But we don’t know how much you need,” she said quietly. Hope always got quiet when she was upset, either angry or scared.
“That’s beside the point. If you want me to stick around, I don’t want to be accountable to you. What I spend, how much, and what I spend it on is my business, not yours.” And yet he wanted her money to do it, but figured it was none of her business. It sounded pretty ballsy, even to her. “Let’s be honest about this, Hope. You’re forty-five years old, not twenty-two. You’re a pretty woman, but forty-five isn’t twenty-five or thirty. You don’t have a living relative in the world, no siblings, no parents, no cousins even, your only child is dead, and the last person you considered yourself related to, your ex-husband, just died last week. So who do you think is going to be around, if something happens to you, you know, say if you got sick? And what do you think would happen if I walk out on you, maybe because I found a twenty-two-year-old? Then what happens to you? You wind up fucking alone, probably forever, and one day you die alone. So maybe what you need to think about, if you don’t want to put that money in an account for me, is what your life is going to look like ten years from now, or twenty, when no one else is around, and you’re all alone. Looking at it from that perspective, you just may want to give some serious thought to making it attractive to me to stick around.” As Hope listened to him, she looked like she’d been slapped.
“Is that supposed to be a declaration of love?”
“Maybe it is.”
“And how do I know, if I set up these accounts for you in the right amounts, that you actually will stick around? Let’s say I do that, for five or ten million, and whatever you want when we get married, and then you meet the perfect twenty-two-year-old.”
“Good point,” he said, smiling. He looked as though he was enjoying the moment. Hope clearly wasn’t. “I guess you pays your money, you takes your chances. Because if you don’t put that money in the accounts, when Miss Perfect Twenty-Two-Year-Old shows up, especially if she’s some kind of an heiress or a debutante, then guess who won’t be sticking around to hold your bedpan in your old age.” She couldn’t imagine him doing that in any case, and the conversation they were having was beyond disgusting. She had never been so upset.
“So you’re basically suggesting that I buy you, as an insurance policy for my old age.”
“I guess you could say that. But look at the perks you’d be getting and already are. Sex anytime you want it, hopefully a baby, maybe even a couple of kids, if you take care of yourself. And I think we have a pretty good time.”
“Funny,” she said, the violet eyes shooting sparks, “you haven’t mentioned love. Or is that not part of the deal?” She had never been so insulted in her life. She was supposed to buy herself a guy. If she wanted Finn, there were no two ways about it, she had to pay the price.
And with that, Finn came and put his arms around her. He had seen the look on her face. “You know I love you, baby. I just have to cover my ass. I’m no kid either. And I don’t have the kind of money you do. There’s no Paul in my life.” But now he wasn’t in hers either. And Paul hadn’t made his fortune so that Finn could spend it screwing around, or maybe buying himself a few blondes, no questions asked. The very fact that Finn had asked her for this kind of money disqualified him, or should have. But she didn’t want to blow her top. If she did, she’d have to see it through, and end it with him, and she just wasn’t up to it. She felt destroyed, and paralyzed by his abuse.
“I’ll think about it,” she said, looking somber, trying to buy time and put him off, “and I’ll let you know tomorrow.” But she also knew that if she didn’t give Finn the money, their relationship would blow sky-high and it would be over. She hated everything he had said, the barely veiled threats to leave her for a younger woman, trying to scare her about being alone in her old age, reminding her that there would be no one to take care of her if she got sick. But was she truly ready to be alone forever? She felt like she was between a rock and a hard place and both were awful. Ending it or staying. And instead of telling her that he loved her and wanted to be with her forever, he was making it very clear that if several million dollars weren’t forthcoming, sooner or later he’d be out the door when a better deal came along, so she’d better ante up, if she knew what was good for her and didn’t want to wind up alone. He had certainly spelled it out. And she had no desire to buy a husband or lose him entirely yet. She was wandering around the house like a zombie, in a permanent state of silent distress.
Finn was in great spirits for the rest of the afternoon. He had delivered his message, and thought it had been fairly well received. He didn’t know Hope as well as he thought. She was depressed and angry all day, and stayed busy scrubbing and polishing several bathrooms on the second floor to keep distracted from the agonizing situation she was in. And Finn was affectionate with her. She wondered if that was what life would be like if she paid his price, which she was not inclined to do. But if so, would he always be sweet to her? Warm and loving as he had been in the beginning? Or would he still be jealous, threaten her if he felt like it, and ask for more when he blew the five or ten million dollars and needed the account filled again, no questions asked? It was hard to know what she’d be getting, if she decided to pay him what he wanted. If anyone had told her she’d be thinking about giving him the money, she would have told them they were insane. All she wanted was the old Finn back, the first one, but even she knew you couldn’t buy that.
The whole conversation saddened her, and she went for a walk alone that afternoon to clear her head. Finn saw her go out, and decided that it was better to let her come to her own conclusions, on her own. She really didn’t have much choice, as far as he was concerned. He was v
ery sure of himself, and believed that she was firmly hooked. He had all the grandiosity and sense of entitlement of sociopaths, as Robert had said to her. Finn was certain that if Hope loved him, she’d pay up. She didn’t want to be alone. He knew she loved him, and didn’t want to lose him. To him the answer was clear. And he was sure it would be to her too. He was feeling increasingly secure and had made himself clear. He thought she might need to be pushed a little, and be reminded of the alternative again. But ultimately, unless she was willing to risk being a lonely old lady in a nursing home, Finn knew he was the better deal and she had no choice. And with him, she could have more kids. He had almost called it “stud service” when he talked to her, but decided that might put her off. The rest seemed okay to him. And as far as he was concerned he was worth every penny he was asking. Hope knew he believed that too. It all made sense to him, and he was sure she’d be sensible about it, and too scared not to. He looked jubilant as he sat at his desk and watched her back from the window, as she walked toward the hills. He didn’t see the rivers of tears rolling down her face.
As Hope sat in a warm bath before dinner, she was seriously depressed. He had planted the seeds of some really melancholy observations, about what her future would look like without him. He was right. She didn’t have a soul in the world, except him. If she left him, there might be someone else. But that was beside the point. She loved him, and had for a year, enough to want to marry him at one point and have a child. She wanted neither of these now. She just wanted to feel sane again and for things to calm down.
She had no one in her life except Finn. And saddest of all was that she had truly loved him, even if it was turning out that she was only a piggy bank to him. It was a lot to pay for a guy who was demonstrating that he only wanted her for her money, and was fabulous in bed. All she really wanted from him was his heart. And Hope no longer believed that Finn had that particular piece of equipment. It just wasn’t there. Her eyes filled with tears as she thought about it. She had loved him so much. Why did it have to be so damn complicated and turn out like this? She knew she’d have to deal with it soon. She couldn’t stall him forever.
She decided to put a good face on it, and dressed in a nice dress for dinner. She put on high heels, brushed her hair back, added earrings and makeup, and when she got downstairs to the pantry where Katherine had left a tea tray for them, Finn looked at her and whistled. And when he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, he looked as though he loved her, but who knew now? She no longer believed anything. It was a sad place to be in.
They decided to make do with Katherine’s sandwiches and a pot of tea, instead of dinner. And Finn looked animated as he started telling her about a new book he’d been thinking about that afternoon. It was for the second book due in his contract. He said he had almost finished the first one, but she wasn’t sure she believed him, since his relationship to the truth had proved flimsy at best.
As they ate Katherine’s sandwiches, Hope listened to him tell the story. It was about two newly married people who had bought a château in France. The woman was American, and the hero of the story was French, a very handsome older man. Finn said he was a dark character who had already had two wives who had mysteriously died. And what the hero wanted more than anything was a child. It was beginning to have a familiar ring to it, as Hope listened, but she figured he would spin it off eventually into one of his typically scary tales with ghosts, murderers, people imprisoned in basements, and bodies hidden in the woods. It always intrigued her how he came up with the stories, which, for years, critics had said were the product of a troubled, brilliant mind. Initially he had seemed surprisingly normal, considering the twisted tales that he told. Now she was no longer so sure.
“Okay, so then what happens?” she said, listening with interest, trying to concentrate on this book. It was something to talk about, other than money, and as a result, it was a relief.
“She gets pregnant, so her future is assured, at least until she has the child. She’s an heiress, and her father gets kidnapped later in the book.” Hope smiled. It already sounded complicated to her. “As it turns out, she and her brother have been stealing money from their father for years. Her husband finds out and blackmails her, and asks her for ten million dollars. She talks to her brother, and they decide to call his bluff. They don’t give him the money,” he said, with a small evil smile at Hope, and then he kissed her neck.
“Then what?” she asked, with an odd chill running down her spine from his kiss.
“He kills her,” Finn says with a look of pleasure. “First he kills her. Then the baby.” She shivered as he said it.
“That’s awful. How can you write that?” She gave him a disapproving look, and Finn seemed amused. “How does he kill her, or do I want to know?” Some of his books had been gory and perverted beyond belief. They were strong stories, but some of the details made her sick. They were always thoroughly researched.
“It’s pretty clean. He uses an undetectable poison. And he inherits the entire fortune. Or her half anyway, then he kills the brother. And when their father is kidnapped later, the hero doesn’t pay the ransom, because he’s been a shit to him. So he lets the kidnappers kill him. One by one, he kills the entire family, and winds up with all their money. Pretty cool for a poor boy from Marseilles, don’t you think? He even buys himself a title that comes with the château.” It sounded like Finn’s fantasy to her, and some of his earlier lies about the house.
“And he winds up alone?” Hope asked innocently. The plot sounded pretty sick to her, but very Finn.
“Of course not. He marries a young girl from the village, who he was in love with in the first place. She’s twenty-one, and he’s fifty at the end of the story. So what do you think?” He looked pleased with himself.
“Pretty scary.” She smiled, thinking of the twists and turns he described. “I think killing the pregnant wife is a little much and may upset your readers. Most people have sensibilities about those things.”
“She didn’t pay him the money,” Finn said, looking straight at her, deep into her eyes. “The brother would have, but she convinced him not to. And in the end, he got the money anyway, all of it, not just her share, and far more than he originally asked for. The moral of the story is that they should have paid him when they could, before he killed them all.” He was good at complicated, layered stories of psychological terror, and frightening murders of retribution.
Hope asked, looking him in the eye, “And that seems fair to you?”
“Completely. She had all the money, why should she get everything and he has nothing? And in the end, he’s avenged, and the poor boy gets everything.”
“And a lot of dead bodies in the basement.”
“Oh no,” he said, looking offended. “They all had proper burials. Even the police never figure out they were murdered. They suspect it, but they can never prove it. There’s a very clever French inspector, and in the end, François kills him too. François is my hero. The inspector’s name is Robert. He buries him in the woods, and no one ever finds him.” And as he said the inspector’s name, the story clicked for Hope. It was no accident that the rich wife was killed, the poor boy wins, and the inspector had the name of the lawyer Finn had found on the piece of paper in her purse when she first came from Dublin. All the puzzle parts fit together seamlessly, and the threat to her was clear.
She looked straight at Finn then. “Is there a message there for me?” She didn’t flinch as their eyes met, nor did he. He shrugged his shoulders and laughed.
“Why would you say a thing like that?”
“Some of the story seems a little close to home.”
“All writers inspire themselves somewhat from real life, even if they don’t admit it. And there are differences. The wife he kills is pregnant. You’re not. You don’t have a brother. Or a father. You’re all alone. That would be a lot more scary. But very boring for the reader. You need layers, subplots, and more people to make a story work. I just f
ound it interesting what happens to her when she won’t give him the money. It proves that trying to hang on to it doesn’t pay. You can’t take your money to the grave.” What he was saying to her was frightening, given their situation, but he said it with a smile, and he was clearly mocking her. But his message to her was clear. Pay up or die.
He didn’t mention it further, and she put their dishes in the pantry sink, trying to act normal. They started talking about Christmas, which was two weeks away. Hope said she wanted to go to Russborough to get a tree the next day, and Finn said he would rather chop one down himself. He had an ax in the stable, which sounded ominous to her too. His story had unnerved her, and she suspected that was the point. Finn knew exactly what he was doing. The night before he had reminded her of how alone she was. And now he had told her a story he had created about a man who kills his wife when she doesn’t give up her fortune to him. The message was extremely clear. And the hair stood up on her arms when she thought about it. They read side by side in bed that night, clinging to the appearance of normalcy, and Hope said nothing to him. She was thinking of his story and couldn’t concentrate on the book in her hands. For an odd moment, she began to wonder if she should run like hell, as Robert had said, or just pay Finn, and give in. If she didn’t, he was right, she would be alone forever. And if she paid him, then what would happen? Would he be nice again, and calm down? Maybe if she gave him the money, things would go back to the way they were in the beginning and they would stop fighting. And Finn was right. He was all she had in the world. She didn’t like the idea, but maybe she had no other choice. She felt cornered, beaten, and trapped. She was tired of trying to swim against the tides. She felt like she was drowning. Finn was too powerful for her. He was trying to destroy her mind. He almost had. She could feel it. He was winning.
Matters of the Heart Page 26
