Matters of the Heart Read Online Free PDF

Hope,” he said with a lump in his throat, and she nodded. Sometimes he felt guilty for letting her go, but he had firmly believed it was the right thing for her, and he still did. He had no right to ruin her life, in order to serve his.
    “I will, you too,” she said, as she kissed his cheek and helped him into the cab. It pulled away from the curb in front of Claridge’s a moment later, and she stood and waved in the cold, as they drove off. It always made her sad to see him, but he was the only family she had left. She realized as she walked back into the hotel that she had forgotten to wish him a Merry Christmas, but she was glad she had. It would only have brought back memories for both of them, which would have been much, much too hard.
    She went up to her room and changed into flat shoes, and a heavier coat. And a few minutes later, she left the hotel quietly and went for a long, solitary walk.

Chapter 3
    F iona Casey, the assistant her agent had hired for her, showed up at Hope’s hotel room at nine o’clock the next morning. She was a bright, funny, redheaded girl, who was totally in awe of Hope. She was a graduate photography student at the Royal Academy of Arts, and supported herself by doing freelance work. She was equally impressed that they would be shooting Finn O’Neill, and stumbled all over herself, carrying Hope’s equipment out to a rental van. They were due at Finn O’Neill’s house at ten o’clock. Hope hadn’t heard from him again, so she assumed he was healthy enough to do the shoot.
    The driver the hotel had provided for her with the van drove them the short distance to an elegant mews house at a fashionable address. The house was tiny, as they all were on the narrow backstreet, and as soon as she struck the brass knocker on the door, a maid in a uniform appeared and let them in. She led them into a doll-sized living room near the front door, which was crammed with weathered antique English furniture. The bookcase was overflowing, and there were stacks of books on the floor, and glancing at them, Hope could see that many of the books were old, either leatherbound, or on closer inspection, first editions. This was clearly a man who loved books. The couches were comfortable, covered in leather, and very old, and there was a fire burning brightly in the grate, which seemed to be the only heat source in the room. It was cold, except when one stood close to the fire. And in close proximity to the sitting room was a dining room painted dark green, and a small kitchen beyond. Each of the rooms was very small, but had lots of charm.
    They sat there for nearly half an hour, waiting for Finn, as both Fiona and Hope got up to stand near the fire, chatting quietly in whispers. The house was so minute that it seemed awkward to speak too loudly, for fear that someone would overhear them. And then, just as Hope began wondering where he was, a tall man with a mane of dark hair and electric blue eyes burst into the room. The house seemed ridiculously small for a man his size, as though if he stretched his arms he could touch the walls and span the room. It seemed an absurd place for him, particularly after she had looked up his ancestral home in Ireland on the Internet after Paul mentioned it to her.
    “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting,” Finn said in an ordinary American accent. She didn’t know why, but after all she’d read about O’Neill and his ties to Ireland, she almost expected him to have a brogue, except that they had spoken on the phone the night before, and he had sounded like any other educated New Yorker, although he looked more European. Whatever his ancestry, he was in fact as American as Hope. And his cold sounded a lot better. He coughed a few times, but no longer sounded as though he were dying. In fact, he looked surprisingly healthy and full of life. And he had a smile that melted Fiona on the spot, as he had the maid offer her a cup of coffee while he invited Hope to join him