Fionn was both surprised and hurt at the ease with which Faith moved in with his brother Gerard. Faith was the first girl Fionn – cautious in love as he was in business – had taken seriously after he set up in practice. They did not yet live together as Faith owned a small apartment in the Marais and valued her independence. But Fionn believed that before too long she would move in with him. Gerard even joined them on the occasional outing. One rainy Monday afternoon, Gerard, who was also his partner in their international legal firm, leaned into his office in the business suite they shared in Paris’s sixth arondissement and asked:
“You don’t mind if I take Faith to the opera on Tuesday week, do you? I’ve got hold of a pair of tickets and you’re tone deaf.”
Fionn looked up from reviewing a divorce settlement for Jacques, a tenor in the Paris Opera Gerard had recently introduced to the firm.
“I didn’t know Faith was interested in music. Did Jacques find you the tickets?”
“Yes she is and yes he did. I hope you’re looking after her with the same attention you are lavishing on Jacques’ settlement. We’ll never be able to recover our time costs from him.”
“You can credit his file with the value of the tickets then.” Fionn returned to a clause dealing with post-divorce relationships, and added lightly, “Just don’t steal my girlfriend.”
And that was that, although it wasn’t, quite. Gerard’s outing with Faith niggled Fionn throughout the week. He broached it with her as they read the newspapers over coffee at La Provence on Saturday morning.
“You don’t own me.” Faith was quick to defend her freedom.
“No, of course not. It just would have been, you know, civil to ask me first.”
“Civil. You lawyers. You classify everything. And everybody,” she added.
His brother came into his office again some weeks later just as Fionn was preparing to go home. Gerard had been in New York negotiating a settlement for a firm of wine brokers in a suit against a chain of restaurants in Brooklyn. He stood by the window looking down at the early evening traffic on rue Jacob.
“Faith wants to take you for a drink.”
“I haven’t seen her this week. She told me she was going home to see her folks.”
‘She wants you to call her now that she’s home.’
‘Is something up?’
‘Just give her a buzz.’
Gerard hung around apparently expecting Fionn to ring Faith while he was in the room. Whatever the issue, Fionn wasn’t going to share it with him.
He gave his brother a quizzical look and picked up his briefcase. “I’ll call her later. I’m taking the papers on L’affaire Elf home. You and I are meeting the executives tomorrow morning at nine. Please don’t be late.[************]”
[/************] When Fionn called her later that evening, Faith sounded reserved. “Could we meet?”
“OK, when?”
“In half an hour. At L’Ancien.”
Fionn took a cab so as to get to the bar before her. L’Ancien was in a small square just off the Rue des Irlandais. The patron was surly but the wine was good. Fionn enjoyed watching the street life through the plate-glass window and looked forward to seeing Faith as she sauntered in, attracting attention from the men at the bar. When she arrived, Faith seemed surprised to find him already seated at their usual table beneath the mirror.
“Thanks for coming. I didn’t expect you to be on time.”
“I thought you were away, visiting your parents.”
“I was away but not with them.”
Fionn raised his eyebrows.
“Gerard asked me to join him in New York, so I did.” She sat down and picked up the glass of white wine Fionn had ordered for her. It was half empty when she put it down. Then she said, matter of factly, “Gerard wants me to move in with him.” She paused and when Fionn said nothing, continued, “I said I would.” She leaned across and put her hand on his, “I’m sorry.” Fionn tried to speak but couldn’t. For a while all he could hear was a noise in his head, a hissing sound which drowned his senses. When it lessened enough for him to talk, his eyes watered over and he wondered which part of him would play up next. Faith looked at him concernedly although she removed her hand.
“So he love-bombed you?”
“Don’t be jealous. It doesn’t suit you.”
“Why then?”
“It just happened. Gerard is very assured and persistent. You seem almost naive in comparison.”
“You could have given me some notice.”
“Notice. How lawyerly. Emotions don’t work like that, Fionn. Life isn’t a game, you know. Women are not just pawns to be moved around on a board.”
Faith stood up. “I am fond of you Fionn, but Gerard loves me. You wanted me around but it never went any deeper than that. Try harder with someone else and you might surprise yourself. Please, don’t make life too difficult for Gerard.” And she left the bar.
For the first time in his life, Fionn understood the meaning of loss. A sadness washed over him, leeching his energy. He remained seated, the memory of their time together swirling around in his head. True, he hadn’t questioned Faith’s remaining in her apartment, although she spent at least half the week at his own in a bourgeois pile on the Ile Saint-Louis. The distance she kept matched his expectations of a modern urban relationship, leaving space for separate interests. His were limited to clients of the practice. If Faith were bored she never said so. What a contrast compared to Gerard’s rambunctious life, his suits cut by a tailor also favoured by a popular actor, his ease with the maitre d’s of the best restaurants, and his ability to manage a meeting with barely a glance at the briefing papers. His brother flowed through life like a river. Gerard had seen his younger brother’s hesitancy and reckoned the omens were favourable.
Faith married Gerard early in the following summer. The brothers’ professional relationship survived, somehow, although at times tension in the office suite on rue Jacob was strained to breaking point.
During the following year and a half Fionn saw Faith occasionally, mostly at social events connected with the firm but never on her own. He remained drawn to her, and did not try to hide his feelings, although she affected not to notice. His usual composure, calm and unexcitable, was thrown when she rang him on his cell phone late one winter afternoon.
“I need to talk to you.”
“When?”
“Now. At L’Ancien. Come soon, please.”
Fionn cleared his desk and his mind to join her. It began to snow as he walked through the Jardin du Luxembourg. By the time he had climbed up Rue Soufflot, the dome of the Pantheon was a patchy white. He turned right towards the bar, panting from exertion and the anticipation of seeing her alone. The winter light was fading fast and the few people about were scurrying home.
Faith was already seated at the table beneath the mirror. She greeted him with a wan smile and a flick of her hand. He slipped in beside her, nodding to the patron. The man looked up from washing the ware behind the counter. He wore the same scowl as before. Without a word he poured two glasses from a bottle of Macon Blanc and brought them across.
Fionn waited for a sign but Faith didn’t say a word. Finally, his curiosity got the better of him.
“How’s tricks?”
She shrugged and took a sip of the wine. A long brown envelope sat on the table. She pushed it towards him.
“Read it.”
Inside was a letter from a clinic. He gathered that both Faith and Gerard had signed up to a treatment from something his brother let slip, deliberately, as always. He had even, at Gerard’s request, provided a discreet sample. In the flowery language employed by professionals all over the city, Fionn read what he had suspected for some time. He put down the letter.
“I’m sorry.”
Another shrug.
“It’s not your fault. Two genes, one good, the other bad. I happened to choose the wrong one.” She laughed but did not smile.
Fionn hoped she wasn’t going to cry. He could handle anything else, intemperate judges, aggressive flics, even thugs on a night out. But Faith’s eyes were dry. From what he knew of her she was already on to solutions.
Faith grabbed the letter from him. “Gerard hasn’t read this. He’s convinced I’m to blame.” She paused and looked at Fionn. “And he’s not going to find out.”
A minute passed. Neither of them said a word. The patron came over and topped up their glasses. Fionn made to speak and then changed his mind. He felt the better for remaining silent and was content just to be close to her. Faith toyed with her glass, running her finger around the rim. He waited for her to say something.
“They can’t tell from a blood test. Not between brothers belonging to the same blood group. I looked it up.”
Fionn stared at her. She met his eyes. Hers were grey-green but he couldn’t hold them for long. His heart thumped and his ears started to burn. Awkwardly, he raised his glass.
“What do they say in the movies?”
“I’m not interested.”
He leaned over and touched her shoulder. She allowed herself a slight smile.
“You were always so hesitant. That’s the difference between you two. Gerard rushes in at every opportunity. He’d knock over all these tables to get to the door if a passing girl winked at him. But you . . .”
Faith shook her head.
“What always amazed me was how you ever linked up with anybody, even if it was only for a while. I reckoned that you would marry your secretary or at least one of the interns in your office. No one else could get that near.”
“I was shy.”
“No you were not. You were calculating. I could see you working out the odds on a relationship even before anything got going. Did no one ever tell you that he who hesitates is lost?”
“When you and I were together . . .”
Faith’s eyes flashed as she interrupted him: “That was the past, Fionn. When Gerard started pressing, you backed off. So what if he’s your elder brother? That didn’t give him rights over you or over me. I thought that you would put up a fight, which would have made life more interesting for both of us, but you just faded into your caseload, a legal chameleon.”
And now Faith was back with a proposal that some people, such as his parents, might regard as bizarre. And yet, at the time it didn’t strike him as so. In his legal practice, which he continued to share with Gerard, they encountered far stranger arrangements between human beings. Faith was now the game strategist, playing for high stakes.
“You seem to be casting me as the Cheshire Cat, fading out and fading in.” Fionn knew he was being used but he felt flattered nonetheless. He was trying hard to imagine the future dynamics between the three of them.
Faith had worked it out, though. She was free from any doubt, and guilt didn’t come into the equation. “I can’t share you both. I just want to borrow you for a while. Gerard doesn’t need to know. The two of you patched up your differences after we split up. Whatever happens between us from here on is private.”
She stroked Fionn’s face lightly. “I’m going now. Call me soon. But don’t leave it too long. And finish my wine.” She stood up and left the bar.
Fionn saw his image reflected in the window. He was a cork bobbing on the surface of life to whom a line had been thrown. An unreliable one, perhaps, but it might see him into port. And he decided to grab hold of it.
Justin MacCarthy practiced law full-time until recently. He was shortlisted for the Francis MacManus Short Story Competition, broadcast in 2012. Caseload is his first story in print. He lives in Sandymount, Dublin
