“Well, the garden is looking stunning. I’d love to show it to you tomorrow. We’ve planted loads of vegetables. The children have invited friends home for tea. We wouldn’t have imagined that happening six months ago, would we?” In her enthusiasm she was about to tell him she had started writing a novel. However, something made her hold back. Her novel was linked to Ava Lightly’s scrapbook and her own, secret fantasies about Jean-Paul. She might try to publish it under a pseudonym. “Everything’s good,” she concluded.
David tucked into his chicken, drank half a bottle of wine and finally began to relax. It was extremely unsettling having Blythe in his house. Recently, he had begun to feel displaced in his own home. The sight of his wife and children in the vegetable garden with Jean-Paul had given him a painful jolt. They had looked like any ordinary happy family, laughing and playing in the sunshine. Miranda had treated him as if he were of little importance. She didn’t smile at him the way she smiled at Jean-Paul. He had noticed the way her eyes lit up when he looked at her. The way they seemed to communicate silently like two people who shared secrets. He regretted his affair with Blythe. It had meant nothing. Just a bit of fun. But now he felt Gus and Storm drifting away from him like bright helium balloons in a big blue sky, too far away to reach. They had settled into Hartington with their mother. They all had a place there among the trees and flowers, but there didn’t seem to be a place for him.
He chatted to Blythe as any friend would, hoping to give nothing away. It had been reckless of her to accept the invitation. He’d get through the weekend without raising suspicion, then he’d tell her it was over. He had tried to let her down gently, seeing less of her, not taking her calls. But she was strong and persistent and he had made the error of weakening at the sight of her in suspenders and fur coat. She had to be told straight. Their affair had to stop. He watched her in the candlelight, her features distorted by the shadows that fell across her face, and realized that he had made a massive error of judgment. She wasn’t the type of woman to let go easily. In fact, if he didn’t handle it right, she could create a lot of trouble.
After dinner they remained at the table discussing Blythe’s divorce. There was nothing more gratifying for her than talking about herself, sweeping everyone into her drama. The more she drank, the less attractive she became. By contrast, Miranda looked serene, if a little detached.
Later, in bed, Miranda turned over onto her side, facing away from him. Her breathing was so quiet he could barely hear her. “Miranda,” he whispered. “Are you still awake?”
“Yes,” she whispered back.
“Come here.”
“I’m tired,” she replied without moving. She didn’t feel like making love. He put an arm around her waist and edged close behind her.
“I want to spend time with the children tomorrow,” he said.
“Good,” she mumbled sleepily.
“What would they like to do?”
“Pirates.”
“That’s not my game,” he retorted sharply.
“Then do something different. Take them up to the castle. I’ve never taken them there.”
“Would they like that?”
“I’m sure they would if you make it fun.” David thought about it a moment. He wanted to confess that he had forgotten how to make things fun.
“I’ll do my best,” he said with an awkward chuckle.
“You’re making me hot,” she said, not unkindly. He moved back to his side of the bed. The sheets were cold.
“What’s happening to us?” he said suddenly. “We used to laugh all the time. We used to share everything. Now we exist in the same world but apart. Is it my fault?”
Miranda turned over to face him. She could see his distraught face through the darkness. “I don’t feel very close to you anymore, David.”
“You mean you’re in love with someone else?”
“Of course not,” she replied, then laughed. “I love the children and the gardens and this house. I want you to be a part of it. Gus and Storm want their father to play with them, but they never see you. I don’t want to complain. You’re up there all week working your backside off for us. It would be ungrateful to complain.”
“I want to make it right between us. I want to go back to the way we were.” He reached out his hand and placed it on her hip. “I love you, Miranda. There’s no one in the world like you. The trouble is I get so caught up in work, travelling up and down from London, that I forget to tell you I love you. I don’t want to be cold or distant. I feel you drifting away. I don’t want to lose you.”