‘And if it was an art gallery?’ Pepper asked, and Finn lifted his shoulders in a gesture of defeat.
‘Then, I think, less proud.’
Pepper thought of her own parents, of her father’s donation to help her start up Arts For All and her mother’s muted yet genuine pride when she heard it was doing well, and her heart went out to him.
‘I know it is his problem,’ Finn went on, ‘but knowing that does not help me care less about his opinion. I don’t know why I still let it bother me so much.’
He sighed, then looked at her questioningly.
‘Why is it, do you think, that we must forever try to please our parents?’
Pepper came to a stop outside a gift shop packed to the rafters with colourful ceramic plates, bowls, dishes and ashtrays, blinking as she looked up at him.
‘I guess, because at the point where you pass from childhood into adulthood, you feel responsible for them? Or maybe it’s simply an ego thing – the better you do, the more they praise you. And nobody’s praise means more than a parent’s – at least for most people.’
Finn looked at her with new respect.
‘I think you are right,’ he said. ‘And if I was holding a drink right now, I would toast to that – to our big egos.’
She laughed. ‘OK . . . Anything else?’
Finn considered.
‘Ja. To Lisbon, and to art, and to rain!’ He glanced up at the sky as he said it, and his hair fell away from his eyes.
‘And to Josephine, too?’ suggested Pepper. ‘I would not be here at all if it wasn’t for her.’
‘Is she your grandmother?’
‘God, no! Although, she’s much nicer than either of mine were.’
Finn looked sympathetic, but before he had a chance to reply, Pepper barrelled on.
‘Josephine is just a friend. She came to Lisbon in the sixties and wanted to see it again, and kindly invited me along as her companion.’
She stopped short of explaining about Jorge. That was Josephine’s story to tell.
‘She seems like fun,’ Finn said. ‘The same as you.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ Pepper muttered, ready to brush the compliment away. Finn quickly silenced her by folding his arms across his chest.
‘Are you having fun with me?’ he asked.
Pepper smiled.
‘Yes.’
‘Well, then – you see. It would not be fun if you were not fun.’
‘Are you always so . . .’ Pepper searched for the word.
‘Direct?’
She nodded.
‘Ja, I guess so. It is the German in me. We always say what we mean. Mama is the same.’
‘Us Brits are all mumbling apologies, self-deprecation and pretence,’ she joked, and Finn chuckled.
‘Not my papa. Maybe he is an alien?’
‘I fear he and my mother might have that in common,’ Pepper added, feeling slightly guilty, and Finn laughed even harder.
‘I think,’ he said then, taking a step towards her, ‘that we have a great many things in common. It is good that we met – and then met again.’
Pepper wanted to agree, but all she managed was a gargling sort of cough. Finn was standing so close to her now that she could see the sprinkle of stubble across his jaw, and the dark smudges under his eyes. Where had he come from, this miraculous man, this person with whom she felt so alive, yet so at peace? She kept waiting for the uncertainty to tap her on the shoulder, for the practical side of her subconscious to point out all the reasons why this thing between her and Finn, whatever it was, could not last – but nothing came. Not so much as a murmur. The more time she spent with him, the more she got the feeling that something inside her was mending.
Something she hadn’t even realised was broken.
Chapter 12
‘Do you prefer sunrise or sunset?’ Finn asked, as he and Pepper stood side by side, each staring out across the city. The Castelo grounds were rough and dusty underfoot, and the gardens surrounding them were dotted with gnarly trees.
Pepper had heard the bells ringing in Lisbon’s many churches and knew her time with Finn was almost up, yet she could not seem to drag herself away – not from him, or from the view spread out below them. A sun as dark and slick as honey had trailed down behind the rooftops, leaving behind a sky shot through with fiery reds and smouldering yellows. The dying embers of a day that Pepper knew she would never forget, no matter what happened.
‘Sometimes I go down to the beach at home to watch the sunrise,’ she told Finn. ‘Usually, I hate being all by myself, but it’s different at dawn. It feels like I’m the only person in the world privileged enough to see it, as if Mother Nature is showing me her hand under the table. And the more beautiful the dawn,’ she added, turning from the view to look at him, ‘the more beautiful I feel the day must become.’
Finn nodded.
‘I know what you mean,’ he said. ‘But I have always preferred the sunset – it is so much more dramatic. And if you are a night owl, like me,’ he went on, ‘a sunset signals the start of the fun.’
‘Are you trying to tell me that you’re a party boy?’ she asked, but Finn chuckled.
‘Maybe once upon a time,’ he said. ‘But not any more. Now, I am too old.’
‘How old is too old? No, don’t make me guess!’ she added, seeing him about to retort. ‘That never ends well. I went on a date last year and the guy guessed that I was forty-four.’
‘No!’ Finn laughed out loud.
‘Yes,’ she promised. ‘The very next day, I started using face cream.’
‘I like faces with lines,’ he said then, and Pepper screwed up her own on purpose.
‘I do not mean yours!’ he protested, jabbing her arm gently with a finger. ‘I mean, in general. Lines equal life lived, stories to tell, wisdom to be shared.’
‘That’s why I don’t have any, then,’ she quipped, although it was not strictly true.
Finn shifted until he was facing her and began to examine her through his fringe.
‘For example,’ he began, raising a hand. ‘Can I?’ he asked, pausing a few inches from her cheek.
‘Yes.’
Pepper’s voice sounded hollow.
‘This line,’ he said, lightly running his finger along the top of her cheekbone, ‘tells me that you smile a lot, that you are a happy person. While this one,’ he continued, stroking her forehead, ‘shows me that you use your eyes to work, that you are often concentrating.’
If he carried on touching her like this, Pepper thought, it wouldn’t just be the sun that was sliding down towards the ground.
‘But these,’ Finn said, his fingers coming to a stop on the fleshy part between her eyebrows, ‘prove to me that you worry sometimes, that you care about people, feel concern.’
‘What, my frown lines?’ Pepper asked, trying to make a joke out of the situation. ‘They’re so deep you could hide soldiers in them.’
Finn smiled, but she could tell he was only humouring her.
‘Look at mine,’ he said, squinting hard so that two trenches appeared in the same place as hers. ‘Too much sun,’ he muttered. ‘And probably too much wine. My friend Otto drinks far too much. He is only thirty-six, but he has the skin of a fifty-year-old.’