Danielle Steel - Matters of the Heart

She took off her coat and stood staring out the window for a long time, and when she turned away, she noticed Finn’s email on her computer from that morning, and read it again. She didn’t have the heart or the energy to answer him. She was drained from the emotions she had felt in the park that afternoon. And as she turned away from the computer, she realized with a sinking heart that it was Christmas Eve, which made it worse. She always did everything she could to avoid sentimental situations at Christmas, even more so since the divorce. And now, after watching children sledding in the park, everything she normally hid from had hit her broadside, and knocked her flat. She flipped on the TV to distract herself, and was instantly assaulted with Christmas carols sung by a children’s chorus. She laughed ruefully to herself as she turned off the TV again, and sat down at the computer, hoping that answering Finn’s email would distract her. She didn’t know what else to do. The night ahead of her looked long and sad, like a mountain range to climb.

“Hi. It’s Christmas Eve, and I’m a mess,” she typed out quickly. “I hate Christmas. I had a visit today from the ghost of Christmas past. It nearly killed me. I hope you’re having a nice time with Michael. Merry Christmas! Hope.” She hit the send button and then regretted it instantly when she reread her message. It sounded pathetic even to her. But there was nothing she could do to get it back.

It was midnight in London, and she didn’t expect to hear from him till the next day, if at all. So she was startled to hear her computer tell her she had an email. It was an immediate response from Finn.

“Tell the ghost of Christmas past to get lost, and lock your door behind him. Life is about the future, not the past. I don’t love Christmas a lot either. I want to see you again. Soon. Finn.” It was short and to the point and a little scary. Why did he want to see her? Why were they emailing each other? And more importantly, why was she writing to him? She had no idea what the answer was to that question, or what she hoped to get from him.

She lived in New York, he lived in Dublin. They had separate lives and interests, and he was a subject at a photo shoot and nothing more than that to her. But she kept thinking of things he had said to her at dinner, and his eyes when he looked at her. She was beginning to feel haunted by him, which was the same thing he had said about her in his email. It left her feeling a little bit unnerved, but she answered him anyway, reminding herself to keep it businesslike and upbeat. She didn’t want to start some sort of sophomoric email romance with him, just because she was lonely and it was Christmas. She was well aware that it would be a big mistake. And he was way out of her league, leading a somewhat jet-set international life, with women at his feet. She didn’t want to be one of them, and she had no desire to compete.

“Thank you. Sorry for the maudlin email. I’m fine. Just a touch of holiday blues. Nothing a hot bath and a good night’s sleep won’t cure. All the best, Hope.” It seemed a little better to her as she sent it off, and his answer was quick and sounded annoyed.

“Holiday blues are to be expected, over the age of 12. And what’s with ‘All the best’? Don’t be so cowardly. I’m not going to eat you, and I’m not the ghost of Christmas past. Bah humbug. Have a glass of champagne. It always helps. Love, Finn.”

“Shit!” she said as she read it to herself a minute later. “‘Love,’ my ass. Now look what you’ve done!” she said aloud to herself, feeling even more nervous. She decided not to answer it, but took one piece of his advice, and poured herself a glass of wine. His email sat on her screen all night and she ignored it, but she read it again before she went to bed, and told herself it didn’t mean a thing. But in spite of that, she thought it was best if she didn’t respond, and when she climbed the ladder to her sleeping loft, she told herself she’d feel better in the morning. As she moved to turn off the light, she saw the wall of photographs of the young ballerina. She stood staring at them for a long moment, and then got into bed, turned off the light, and buried her head in the pillows.

Chapter 5

As she hoped she would, Hope felt better when she woke up in the morning. It was Christmas Day, but there was no reason to treat it differently from any other day. She called Paul on his boat, which was her only concession to the holiday. He sounded all right, although he’d caught a cold on the plane leaving London, which was dangerous for him. They wished each other a Merry Christmas, stayed off sensitive subjects, and hung up after a few minutes. After that she took out a box of photographs to edit for her next show, and pored over the images for several hours. It was two o’clock in the afternoon before she looked up, and decided to go for a walk. She glanced at the email from Finn again, and turned off the computer. She didn’t want to encourage him, or start something she didn’t want to finish or pursue.

And when she dressed and went out, the air felt brisk. She passed people going to visit each other, and others coming out of the Mercer Hotel after lunch. She walked around SoHo and all through the Village. It was a sunny afternoon, and the snowfall of the day before was starting to turn to slush. She felt better when she got back to the loft, and worked some more. And at eight o’clock, she realized that she had nothing to eat in the apartment. She thought of skipping dinner, but was hungry, and finally decided to go to the nearest deli, to get a sandwich and some soup. The day had turned out to be a lot easier than the one before, and the following day she was planning to go to her gallery on the Upper East Side to talk to them about her show. She was relieved, as she put her coat on, to think that she had made it through another year. She dreaded Christmas, but with the exception of the bad moment the day before in Central Park, this one hadn’t been too rough. And she was amused to see a row of cooked, stuffed turkeys lined up at the deli, ready for anyone who needed an instant Christmas dinner.

She ordered a turkey sandwich with a slice of cranberry jelly on it, and a container of chicken soup. The man at the deli knew her, and asked how Christmas Day had been for her.

“It was fine,” she said, smiling at him, as he looked into the violet eyes. He could tell from the things she bought from him that she lived alone. And from what he could see, she didn’t eat much. She was tiny, and at times looked very frail.

“How about a piece of pie?” She looked to him like she needed a little fattening up. “Apple? Mince? Pumpkin?” She shook her head, but helped herself to a container of eggnog ice cream, which she had always loved. She paid, thanked him, wished him a Merry Christmas, and left with her provisions in a brown bag. She was hoping not to spill the soup, and that the ice cream, with its proximity to the lukewarm container, wouldn’t melt. She was concentrating on not spilling it, as she walked up the steps to her building, and saw a man with his back to her in the doorway, carefully looking for a name on the bell. He was hunched over to see the names better in the dim light, and she was standing behind him, waiting to open the door with her key, when he turned and she stared, with a sharp intake of breath. It was Finn, wearing a black knit cap, jeans, with a heavy black wool coat, and he smiled as he looked at her. His whole face lit up when he smiled.

“Well, that makes things easier. I was going blind trying to read the names. I lost my glasses on the plane.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked in surprise. She was stunned.

“You didn’t answer my last email, so I figured I’d come over and find out why.” He looked relaxed and totally at ease as they stood talking on the front step, and Hope was shaking as he took the brown paper bag from her hands. She didn’t know why he had come, but it frightened her. It seemed so bold and unnerved her.