On a drunken impulse, as she checked for messages from Leo or Michael before plugging her phone in to charge, she pressed on Finch’s number. Lying back, mobile to her ear, she listened woozily to the ring-tone, never expecting him to pick up. It was enough just to hear his voice on his answer message. So when he spoke in person, she shot up in bed as if the phone had delivered a powerful volt.

‘Romy?’ Finch’s voice sounded wary, but she didn’t care, it was such a joy to hear his voice.

‘Hi.’

Silence, then, ‘How are you?’

‘I’m pissed.’

Finch didn’t laugh, as, in her inebriated state, she had thought he might – as he would previously have done. He didn’t respond at all.

‘Finch?’

‘I’m here.’

‘How are you?’

‘Umm, listen, Romy. Perhaps this isn’t a good idea …’

Romy was puzzled. In her present mood she thought it was a splendid idea. ‘Why not? I like talking to you.’

This provoked a sad laugh. ‘I like talking to you too. But not when you’re drunk and won’t remember you called me when you wake up tomorrow.’

‘Don’t be stuffy, Finch.’

Another silence. ‘So why did you ring?’

This seemed blindingly obvious. ‘Because I miss you,’ she said.

Finch did not reply. What’s wrong with him? she wondered disconsolately. Why’s he being so unfriendly?

‘Romy …’

She was aware of her head spinning and she flopped back down on the cool pillow, her eyes closing as she listened to the strained silence. But closing her eyes made the spinning considerably worse.

‘Finch, please, can’t we meet? There must be a way to sort out … this stupid mess. It’s crazy, us being apart when we … like each other so much.’

She waited for him to reply, then heard three short beeps. Checking her screen she realized with a shock that Finch had hung up. In her daze she wasn’t sure if he’d said goodbye or not.

39

Finch was not asleep, or even in bed when Romy rang. He’d been packing. Cami had been in touch.

‘Cousin Luis is delighted,’ she’d said. ‘I told him all about you and he’s such a snob ‒ he’s dying to have a real live British colonel in residence to entertain his rich American clients.’

Finch had been alarmed. ‘Entertain? My cabaret skills aren’t exactly legendary, Cami.’

She’d laughed. ‘He just wants to show you off. You’re worth a few intelligent observations at the dinner table, no? And you can ride out with some of the more nervous guests. You always inspire confidence, Robert.’

‘I do?’