Miranda began to cry. The end of the book was more tragic than she had imagined. Ava had kept the cottage a shrine. That was why the table was still laid for two; the only way she could prove her loyalty to him was to leave the place exactly as it was. She remained married, raised her children and continued as before, yet the cottage stood as testament of her love for him.
Miranda was surprised to read that Ava had had another child as she had contemplated before the affair with Jean-Paul began. It was another tie to keep herself from leaving. Peach tied her to the nursery and restrained her from bolting.
Peach is my consolation and my joy. Every day she fills me with wonder and appreciation. I am blessed. Out of the ashes this little soul rises to dry my tears and stroke my wounded heart with her gentle gaze and enchanting smile. I thought that part of me had died the day he left, but I was wrong. It was growing inside me as bright and beautiful as the man himself. Peach came with enough love to bind together the broken pieces of my spirit and mend my shattered world. If it hadn’t been for her I would surely have shriveled like an early flower killed by frost. Peach is my everything and she doesn’t even know it. One day I’ll tell her. God give me that courage…God, give me the time…
Miranda was stunned. She reread the last paragraph through her tears and realized that Peach was Jean-Paul’s child. The child he had longed for. The child he didn’t know he had. She was overwhelmed by the gravity of the secret she now held in the palm of her hand. What am I to do? She shuddered at the prospect of telling him that she had had the scrapbook all this time. Would he curse her for removing it from the cottage? Would he understand that she couldn’t have known it was left there for him? How would he react when she told him of the table laid for two, frozen for twenty-six years, exactly as he had left it? Would he ever forgive her?
The following day Miranda telephoned Henrietta to explain the plans for the weekend. Henrietta was beside herself with excitement. She hadn’t told Miranda about Jeremy. They had spent the evening together that Saturday at the fund-raising party in the town hall. Since then he had frequently called in at her shop. Sometimes she had been with Troy, and Clare had reported his visit. “It’s him again,” she’d say with a wry smile. “Why doesn’t he just ask you out?” Henrietta didn’t know why he didn’t ask her for dinner. Perhaps he was shy. Perhaps he just wanted her friendship. She couldn’t imagine someone like Jeremy falling in love with her. Maybe he just felt sorry for her. Clare rolled her eyes. “No wonder you’re still single,” she said, not intending to be unkind. “You should have more confidence in yourself. Thanks to Susannah and Trinny you’re actually looking rather hot these days!”
After Miranda had booked the Berkeley Hotel she set about finding out where Phillip and Ava Lightly had moved to. She contemplated asking Mrs. Underwood or the vicar, but then she was struck with a better idea. She’d call on the post office under the pretext of having received a package for Mrs. Lightly. Surely, when they moved they had left a forwarding address.
The excitement of unraveling the mystery of Jean-Paul and Ava Lightly’s secret world distracted her from the ghastliness of her own marriage breakdown. Far from feeling rejected by Jean-Paul, she felt compassion. Her love for him paled beside the blaze of Ava’s. She would recover. Ava never did. Her heart bled for them both. If she could bring them together again, after all this time, he would forgive her for having kept the scrapbook.
She marched into the post office that was housed in the shop owned by Fatima’s son Jamal.
“How are you, Jamal?” she asked breezily.
“Very well, thank you.”
“Your mother’s a star.”
“I know. She’s a good worker, like me.”
“I can see that. You run this place all on your own?”
“With a little help from my wife.”
“Of course. Get the whole family working. Cheap labor!”
“Indeed.” He chuckled. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve a favor to ask you.”
“Go on.”
Miranda tried not to look nervous. She wasn’t used to being underhand. “I have received a package for Mrs. Lightly. It has no return address on it and I don’t want to open it.”
“Of course. Would you like me to send it to her?”
“I thought I’d telephone her, actually, and ask whether she’d like to see what I’ve done to her gardens. She can pick up the package. It’s rather large, too large to post.”
“I see. Not a problem. Let me have a look for you.”