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“So, that’s Chilli he’s riding,” Annie explained. “Five years old, found tied up by the side of the autovilla with every rib showing and whip marks on every inch of her, and she’d never been ridden in her life. An absolute dream to handle as a result.”
“Oh, I can well imagine,” I said.
“Just a fortnight ago I couldn’t even get a headcollar without her trying to bite my face off,” Annie continued. “Then your man there started spending a few hours a day with her. Just taking it nice and slow, gaining her trust – he never raised his voice or used a crop on her once – and now look at her: she’s doing her best impression of a kid’s first pony! He’s just incredible, Lilith.”
“Yup,” I agreed. “He really is.”
*****
Once Annie had left to do the evening feeding rounds I leaned on the fence and watched Finn at work. He gave Chilli a gentle nudge and she gave a huge buck before transitioning into a flawless canter. In response he gave a joyous laugh and simply sat a little deeper into the saddle, completely at ease in his own domain, and did three circuits of the paddock before pulling the mare back into a calm walk.
His face lit up when he saw me, and he dismounted so he could greet me with a hug. Once he’d done so he raised his arm and sniffed his armpit. “Euch. Hadn’t realised I’d got quite so rank. Sorry ‘bout that. Can’t wait to get home and grab a shower,” he said as he loosened Chilli’s girth and ran up the stirrup leathers. “Just give me a minute to get these chaps off and I’ll be right with you.”
I looked him up and down. “Uh, I think you should keep them on, to be honest.”
He gave me an incredulous snort. “Yeah, sure.”
“Finn, I’m deadly serious.”
He frowned. “Lili, I stink to high heaven and I’m covered in dust. Why the hell would you want me to keep this stuff on?”
I gave him my very best incredulous stare. “Really, Strachan?”
“Oh.” To my delight, Finn blushed. “Oh.”
“Yeah, ‘Oh’. So keep them on ‘til we get home, please? I promise to drive fast.”
*****
The chaps had eventually been removed after a very energetic hour and only a minor protest by me, then we’d spent an exhaustingly blissful evening in bed. Finn was now fast asleep, naked and face-down on the duvet, and although I still had a thousand and one things to sort and pack I was more than content just to lie next to him for a while.
Even with the factor fifty sun cream that I insisted he permanently coated himself with, his skin had a new, healthy colour to it that hid his vicious roadmap of scars, and swimming and his work at the kennels had only served to tone his lithe frame.
He hadn’t even needed to get out of bed to smoke; last time I’d counted he was down to ten a day plus an ever-present vape from the forty he was getting through back in the spring, his current drink of choice was soda water, and even the poison pen letters that still sporadically landed in our mailbox didn’t appear to affect him.
He was clean, sober and beautiful and all I wanted to do was stay with him in that room, safe and happy and wearing nothing but sunlight, for the rest of my life.
But in the hallway our suitcases stood waiting, crammed with sweaters and scarves and boots and all the other layers that were meant to protect us from the Dublin chill. I could only hope that we had packed sufficient armour to do an effective job of protecting me and the man I loved.
Chapter Thirteen
Finn
As soon as we were through passport control at Dublin Airport Lilith disappeared into the toilets to put in her brown contact lenses. In her jeans and threadbare ‘University of Barcelona’ sweatshirt with her hair caught into a short ponytail she already looked nothing like the polished and vintage-clad artist of the tabloid gossip columns, but once her ice-blue eyes were hidden too she was virtually unrecognisable.
My own disguise was a soft grey knitted slouch hat and a pair of tortoiseshell-framed glasses with clear lenses; I looked a little too close to some breed of hipster wanker for my liking, but it seemed to work well eoungh and we arrived at our hotel without any unwanted attention or fuss.
*****
The Rossmont Hotel was just off Grafton Street. It was in the very heart of my home city, but in its splendour it could have been a million miles away from the shit-pit where I’d been dragged up.
At first I’d been wary of being somewhere so central and public, but Lili had called it ‘Hiding in plain sight’, and according to her the staff were more than used to dealing with celebrities – or anyone who was loaded and in need of anonymity – and quite happy to eject any wandering reporters who happened to stray over the threshold.
In a city that prided itself on its history, the place was as modern as all hell. Thanks to Blaine and Albermarle Hall, neither Lili nor I had any kind of appreciation for architecture that predated the final decades of the Twentieth Century. We were positively allergic to mahogany panelling and shadowed corners and here even the lobby was a haven of open spaces and sleek lines. To my delight the hotel also had a swimming pool in its basement, which meant I could continue to get a daily fix of my latest addiction.
“Welcome back to The Rossmont, Ms Bresson!” A stunning woman in a scarlet satin hijab greeted us in the cavernous reception.
“Khadija! Congratulations on the promotion; I can’t tell you how delighted I was to see you were still here, never mind as the big boss.” Lili gave our greeter a warm hug, which came as something of a surprise seeing as I’d known her to judge an over-enthusiastic handshake as inappropriate contact. “This is Finn Strachan, my partner. Finn, this is Khadija N’diaye, the Rossmont’s manager and one of the main reasons I’ve chosen this as our base.”
