When Marty eventually said goodnight and staggered off to his room in the main house, Finch found he couldn’t sleep. He felt stupid and redundant in this estancia in the hills and knew he must go home. He had assured Jocelyn he would be there for her current guests from Chicago – both husbands had been in the Marines and loved to bond with Finch about their service days – but they would be leaving soon and, although she and Luis had made it quite clear he could stay as long as he liked, Finch knew he couldn’t evade his responsibilities any longer.

But something else was keeping him awake: Romy. Talking about her to Marty had broken the log-jam he’d set in place before he’d left England, and his feelings for her had been let loose. Now, in his inebriated state, he sat down at his laptop and began to type:

Dearest Romy,

I hoped I could forget you, because the alternative will definitely send me mad. But I’m thousands of miles away right now, in a brilliantly distracting landscape of supreme beauty, among horses and cattle and new acquaintances who take up all my time, and still you haunt my thoughts.

I didn’t say it, because we weren’t quite there, and you might have been frightened off, but the truth is, I love you. I have done for some time. Maybe it’s impossible for things to be right between us, there’s too much in the way, but I wanted you to know how I feel – selfishly, I suppose. It’s night here, and very quiet, the place is comfortable enough. But I just want to cry like a stupid baby.

Finch x

He stopped typing and hovered the cursor over send. What have I got to lose? But still he hesitated.

Marooned in this strange environment, where nothing related to his normal life, he could see how a person might slowly shed the past. Not from conscious choice, more from a lack of desire to deal with it. Easier by far to slip gradually into another familiarity, where new bonds would slowly begin to form – like his with Marty, or José and, to an extent, with the charming Luis. Perhaps it was merely a case of letting it happen. And maybe he would have, if he hadn’t talked to Marty tonight.

Tired as he was, Finch felt the pull of home, of Grace and of Romy. Without another thought, he pressed the touchpad and the email was on its way. Slamming the computer shut, Finch ripped off his clothes. He fell onto the bed and into another dreamless sleep.