Matters of the Heart (33 page)

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 very 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 found 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.

“So what do you think about my story?” Finn asked her when she put down her book and stopped pretending to read it. She looked at Finn then, with a dead look in her eyes.

“To be honest, I’m not sure I like it. And I get the message. I’d like it a lot better if they all kill the poor boy from Marseilles. Then I wouldn’t feel so threatened.” She looked right at him as she said it.

“It doesn’t work that way,” he said cleverly. “He’s much smarter than they are.” And more willing to take risks, and cross lines.

“I’ll give you the money, if that’s what you want to know,” she said bluntly. She had no illusions anymore. This was about survival. He had defeated her. She felt dead inside.

“I thought you would,” he said, smiling at her. “I think it’s a good decision.” And then he moved toward her and kissed her ever so gently on the lips. She didn’t respond. For the first time since she’d known him, she hated his touch. “I’ll make you happy, Hope. I promise.” She no longer believed it, or even cared. She was selling her soul, and she knew it. But being alone in the world seemed worse. “I love you,” he said gently, looking pleased. She no longer believed that either. She knew exactly what he had done. He had terrorized her. And it had worked. “Don’t you love me?” He had on his little-boy voice, and for a moment, she hated him, and she wished he would kill her. It would be so much simpler in the end.

“Yes, I love you,” she said in a dead voice. He didn’t know the meaning of the word. There was no coming back from what she knew now, or what he had implied that night at dinner. “We can get married next week if you want, if the embassy can get the papers ready. I’ll call the lawyer in Dublin about the prenup.” She sounded like a robot and felt like a corpse.

“Don’t put too many teeth in it,” he warned. She nodded. He had the upper hand now. And she was alone with him at the house. There was a stiff wind outside, and there was a snowstorm expected that night. She didn’t care. About anything right now. He had killed something inside of her that night. Any hope she had of being loved. All she was buying was his presence, not his heart. The only heart involved was her own. And it was broken beyond repair. “We’ll have beautiful babies, I promise. We can spend our honeymoon in London and see the doctor.”

“We don’t need the doctor,” she objected.

“If you let her give you the shots, you could have twins or triplets.” His electric-blue eyes lit up at the thought. It sounded frightening to Hope. It had been hard enough for her to have one baby when she had Mimi. She was a tiny woman. The thought of twins or triplets was terrifying, and then she looked at Finn. He owned her now. She had sold her soul to the devil, and he was it.

“Does he kill her if she has twins?” she asked him with wide, frightened eyes. And Finn grinned.

“Never. Not if she gives him the money.” Hope nodded in response and said nothing, and a little while later, Finn wanted to make love to her, and she let him. The wind was howling outside, and this time, she just lay there, letting him do whatever he wanted, even the things she had never let him do before, and some of them she enjoyed. He was excited by everything that had happened between them that night, his bloodlust had been satisfied, and his need to own her. She had finally surrendered, and it heightened his sexual desire for her. He took her again and again. He owned her in every way now. And just the way he wanted, Hope was his.