Matters of the Heart Read Online Free PDF Page A

that a lot of the furniture from those places comes up for auction at Sotheby’s and Christie’s. They look like French antiques and in many cases are. In any event, he lives in an enormous house, and he’s an Irish aristocrat, which I’d never realized before. He went to some ordinary American university, but he has a doctorate from Oxford, and he was decorated by the British, after he won the National Book Award in the States, for fiction. He’s actually Sir Finn O’Neill,” he reminded her, which jogged a memory for her.
    “I’d forgotten that,” she admitted. Paul was always a source of endless knowledge for her. And then she looked sheepish. “I forgot to call him Sir Finn when he called me. He didn’t seem to care though.”
    “He sounds like a wild character,” Paul said, giving up on eating. Some days were harder than others, and there was only so much embarrassment he could tolerate in public. “He’s been involved with a number of very well known women, heiresses, princesses, actresses, models. He’s a bit of a playboy, but he certainly has talent. It should be an interesting shoot. He sounds like a loose cannon with some fairly outrageous behavior, but at least he won’t be boring. He’ll probably try to seduce you,” Paul said with a sad smile. He had relinquished all claim to her, except in friendship, long since, and never asked about her love life. He didn’t want to know. And she spared him the agony of telling him that she was still in love with him. There were a number of subjects they never touched on, both past and present. In the circumstances, what they shared, over the occasional lunch or dinner, or on the phone, was the best they could do. And this last bond between them was what they clung to.
    “He’s not going to seduce me,” Hope reassured him. “I’m probably twice the age of what he goes out with, if he’s as wild as you say.” She didn’t look interested or worried. He was a subject, not a date, in her mind anyway.
    “Don’t be so sure,” Paul said wisely.
    “I’ll hit him with a tripod if he tries anything,” she said firmly, and they both laughed. “Besides, I have an assistant working with me tomorrow. Maybe he’ll like her. And he’s sick, that should help.”
    They chatted amiably after lunch, and dawdled over dessert. Paul made two attempts to drink the tea he’d ordered and couldn’t, and Hope didn’t dare offer to hold the cup for him, although she wished she could. And after lunch, she walked him out of the hotel and waited while the doorman got him a taxi to take him back to his apartment.
    “Are you coming back to New York one of these days?” she asked him hopefully. He had an apartment at the Hotel Carlyle, which he rarely used. And he avoided Boston entirely now, except for medical treatments. Going back to visit his old colleagues was too depressing for him. They were all still at the height of their careers, and his had been over for ten years, far too soon.
    “I’m going to stay in the Caribbean for the winter. And then probably come back here.” He liked the anonymity of London, the fact that no one knew him. There was no one to feel sorry for him here, and it was painful for him to see the sympathy in Hope’s eyes. It was one of the reasons why he hadn’t stayed married to her. He didn’t want to be an object of pity. He preferred being alone to being a burden to someone he loved. And in making that decision, he had deprived them both. But there had been no swaying him once he made up his mind. Hope had tried to no avail, and finally accepted that he had a right to choose how he wanted to live out his final years, and whatever the reasons, it wasn’t with her.
    “Let me know how the interview with O’Neill goes,” Paul said, as the doorman hailed him a cab. He looked down at her with a smile then, and he pulled the small familiar figure into his arms, and as she hugged him, he closed his eyes. “Take care of yourself,