The lesson has long since finished. Sean has left the sea to get on with stuff in the Surf Shack. Terry has been collected by his friendly carer, Deirdre, and we’ve all clasped his hand, thanking him. Lev has had one too many wipeouts and is now getting dressed in the Surf Shack. It’s Finn and me on an empty beach again.
He leans in to kiss me, his mouth salty from the sea, and I run a hand through his surfy hair. If I could just kiss this man forever, on this beach, I’d be OK. Why can’t life just be kissing on beaches?
“What time do you have to leave for London?” I murmur.
“Not till three. So.” He meets my eyes with a glint. “Plenty of time.”
“Maybe you could help me off with my wetsuit?” I bat my eyelashes at him. “They’re so difficult to manage.”
“I’d be delighted. Turn around.…” Finn reaches for my zip and slowly pulls it down my back. “How’s that?”
“Thanks,” I say, unpeeling the top half of my wetsuit. “That’s better.”
Finn nods, then casually reaches out a hand and tugs down my swimsuit strap. “And this is even better,” he says.
Already I’m aching for him. I’m forensically measuring the time it will take us to get from here to the lodge, rip our wetsuits off, and make use of the sofa. Or the floor. Or whatever.
Except I guess I should say goodbye to Lev first. I turn to see if he’s out of the Surf Shack yet and see Sean watching us in amusement.
“Hi, Sean,” I call out, expecting Finn to take his hand out of my swimsuit. But instead he moves it to my breast.
“Stop it!” I manage, trying not to lose it as he caresses me. “We’re— Stop! People can see.”
“I want to get a room,” Finn says against my neck. “Now. Shall we go?”
“I have to say goodbye to Lev,” I say. “He’s my old boss. He came to find me. I can’t just scoot off.”
“Fine, have a life,” says Finn, in such deadpan, comical tones that I laugh.
“You can talk! How was Mavis Adler, anyway? Was she shocked to meet you?”
“Not at all,” says Finn, finally removing his hand from my swimsuit. “Her exact words were, ‘Well, about bloody time! I always knew it wasn’t Patrick. Wrong-shaped head.’ ”
I can’t help laughing. “So she’s just been going along with the lie too.”
“Guess she didn’t want to break up a marriage.” Finn shrugs.
“And what about Gabrielle?” I speak carefully, aware that I’m not entirely rational about Gabrielle, but Finn looks blank.
“What about her?”
“You didn’t try to re-create your famous kiss or anything?” I attempt a light, casual laugh.
“God, no.” Finn looks appalled, and I feel a whoosh of relief.
I need to stop being paranoid. I need to relax. The universe brought Finn to me. It wouldn’t immediately reallocate him to someone else, would it?
“Anyway, I’ve promised to go along to the art event tomorrow night,” says Finn. “We could go together, maybe.”
“Definitely!” I say, and I’m about to pull him in for another kiss, when Lev’s voice heralds us both.
“Sasha! Finn!”
I clamber to my feet to see that Lev is fully dressed in his jeans and parka, his hair damp, his cheeks still pink, and a brightness in his face which I recognize as post-surfing buzz.
“I’m off,” he says. “See you tomorrow, Sasha. And thank you for everything. The wisdom, the surfing, the introduction to Terry … all of it.”
“See you tomorrow.” I nod. “And thank you. For listening to what I said.”
“Of course,” says Lev gravely, and turns to Finn. “Nice to meet you.”
“Good luck,” says Finn. “With everything.”
We watch Lev head off over the beach, then Finn turns to me.
“I know you have many important meetings to conduct,” he says politely, “and I need to get in line. But now, seriously, can we go and get a room?”
By the time we’ve reached my lodge, Finn has unpeeled his wetsuit to the waist and I’m tugging my swimsuit down too. I’m so desperate for him, I’m not thinking straight. We pull down the blind and barricade the door with a chair, and I’m looking around at our furniture options when Finn steps forward and cups my hips, still tightly encased in neoprene.
“What I really want,” he murmurs, “is to cut this wetsuit off you. Bit by bit.”
I feel a flare of excitement inside, immediately tempered by a price tag.
“Too expensive,” I manage, my voice thick, and Finn’s mouth twitches.
“Thought so. But one day.”
One day. As he pulls me closer, the phrase dances through my mind like sparkle dust. One day my Finn will come. But he’s here, right here. My beloved Finn.
The sex is even better than last night. How can it be? Last night was perfect. But somehow it is. More prolonged, more edgy, more … sublime. Finn’s imagination goes to places I wouldn’t have guessed. In fact, I’m having to reassess him. And myself. And what sex can be.
And you know what? If the whole of the Rilston staff are lined up outside, listening to us, let them. Enjoy the show! Sell tickets! I couldn’t care less.
At last, we lie on a makeshift mattress of cushions, panting, dazed, letting the world come back into focus.
“So,” says Finn, his voice slow and low, as though all the tension has drained from him. “The trouble with these new fancy-pants glass lodges is, where will people have sex?”
“Yes.” I nod. “It’s a design flaw. We should let the architect know.”
I nuzzle into Finn’s delicious skin, breathing him in, wishing we had more time, but knowing we don’t.
“I have to go,” says Finn, as though reading my mind. “Therapy calls.”
“Of course.” I raise myself on an elbow, remembering Kirsten’s words and feeling a flicker of apprehension. “Hope it all goes well.”
“Thanks.”
“You know, if I can ever help … talk anything through …”
I keep my eyes fixed on Finn’s face and watch how he closes up, turns his chin away. And for the first time, I feel a pang of actual hurt. Why won’t he let me in? Why won’t he let me help him?
“Thanks for the offer,” he says at last, sounding so reluctant that I feel a flare of something perilously near resentment. If we really are two vulnerable people, getting better—or whatever—then shouldn’t we try getting better together?
“Maybe your therapist will tell you to talk to close friends,” I suggest. I have no idea if this is likely, but it’s a way to prod him.
“Maybe.” Abruptly, he gets to his feet and starts putting his damp swimming trunks back on. He’s blinking fast and he looks quite stressed, and I suddenly feel guilty for feeling anything like resentment.
“Finn, you don’t have to struggle on alone,” I say gently. “You can tell me. Whatever’s gone on.”
“I appreciate it,” he says, with a nod. “Thanks.”
My heart sinks. He sounds so formal. He could practically be dictating a work email. But if I press him, he’ll just retreat more. I know it. I’m already sensing his patterns.
What’s your puzzle? I think, gazing at him wistfully. But he’ll tell me when he’s ready, and now all I can do is be here for him.
“Meeting you has been the best thing about coming here,” I say. “The best thing.”
“You too.” As he turns, his dark eyes are so warm and affectionate, I can’t believe he was holding out on me a moment ago. “Sasha, you’re incredible. And I’ll see you when I get back. Are you coming up to the hotel now?”
“No, I’ll take my time,” I say, getting to my feet. “You shoot off. And good luck.” I wrap my arms around him, trying to give him all the love and support he needs through physical touch. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.” He kisses me one last time, then heads out of the lodge, and I sink down on the sofa, already counting down the minutes until he’ll be back.
It takes me a while to pull myself together. I eat a Twix to restore my energies, then stare up at the ceiling for a bit, then wonder what to do for the rest of the day. Everything feels a bit hollow, now Finn’s gone.
But at last I wrap myself in a towel and decide I’ll take a long, hot bath in my woodland-creature bathroom, which I have actually got quite fond of.