The French Gardener(123)
“I didn’t plan to fall in love with her, Papa.”
“I don’t question your taste, Jean-Paul. In fact, I admire it. She’s a rather fascinating woman. But you have a responsibility at Les Lucioles. You are my only son and I need you to produce an heir to continue after you are gone. Ava has her own family. Nothing will come from a relationship with her. She is as dry as the desert. You need a fertile young filly…”
“I don’t want anyone else,” Jean-Paul interrupted.
“I’m not asking you to fall in love with another woman. I didn’t fall in love with your mother. I admired her, respected her. I knew she would be good for me and Les Lucioles and I was right. Look what she has done to the gardens! She created them out of nothing and now they are the envy of France. She is the perfect hostess to my clients. The perfect chatelaine. A good wife and mother. It is a shame she did not bear me more children. Tant pis! Marry a lady like I did. Take a mistress. But Ava is the wife of my friend and therefore she is out of bounds. Cut your losses and thank the stars that Phillip never found out.”
“I don’t want to marry a woman I don’t love,” Jean-Paul began, but he knew his father wouldn’t understand.
“Love,” he said dismissively. “Love with your head, not with your heart. That is the advice I give to you.” He patted his son’s knee and his voice softened. “I admire you for walking away, though. For leaving without causing ripples. Had Ava not been married she would have made the perfect wife for Les Lucioles. You are not far off the mark. Find another Ava.”
“There is only one.”
Henri shook his head and chuckled. “You are young. You will learn that no woman is unique. But if you marry your mistress, you create a vacancy.”
As the car swept up the drive to the château Jean-Paul felt more isolated than ever. Without Ava by his side its beauty was an affront. He wished the sky were gray and the vines less luxuriant. It was indecent that the place should vibrate with such magnificence when his heart was so full of unhappiness. The dogs trotted out to greet him and he patted their heads and rubbed his face into their necks.
“Go and see your mother,” said Henri. “She is beside herself. She thinks this is all her fault.”
Jean-Paul found his mother on her knees beside the dovecote, pulling out weeds. When she turned to greet him he could see that she had been crying. “Maman?” he inquired anxiously, hurrying to her side to embrace her. “I’m so sorry that I’ve caused you pain.”
“It is all my fault,” she whispered, taking his hand. “I encouraged her to persuade you to return to England. She must have thought I condoned the affair. But I didn’t know. I was only thinking of you. I didn’t consider her, not for a moment.”
“It’s not your fault. I was already in love with her. If she hadn’t come I would have returned to her in the end.”
Antoinette’s voice hardened. She looked at him steadily. “But you won’t ever go back, will you, Jean-Paul?” When he hesitated, she pressed him further. “Your father has made my life a misery because of Yvette. Don’t ruin Phillip’s life. Think of the children.”
“We have both thought of nothing but the children. That is why I am here.”
Her shoulders drooped. “Thank God.” She pushed herself up. Jean-Paul followed her back through the gate to the château. “You are young. You will love again. You can’t see it now, but you will. The heart has a miraculous way of mending. You think it is not strong enough to withstand such pain and yet it survives to love again.
“Find a girl who can make you happy and give you children. Fill Les Lucioles with love and laughter. Don’t be like your father. Make her happy in return by remaining faithful to her as your father should have remained loyal to me. Forget the past. Look at this beautiful corner of Bordeaux. It is ripe for a new family and a new beginning. You will promise me, Jean-Paul?”
“I will try.”
She stopped on the lawn and turned to him, determined to bring the matter to a close. “No, you will promise me. I’m your mother and I love you. You’re all I have. I know what is best for you. Don’t contact her again. Leave her in peace with her family. Please, Jean-Paul. If you want to be happy, consign her to the past and let her go.”
“I will wait for her children to grow up. When they no longer need her she will come to me.”
“Eh bien, let us leave it at that,” she conceded, certain that he would forget about Ava in time and marry someone else. “Come now, I want to show you what I have planted in the orchard.” He let her slip her hand through his arm and walk him back up the garden.