The French Gardener(132)

They reached the field where Jeremy Fitzherbert kept his cows and climbed over the fence. Charlie the donkey lifted his head and stopped chewing grass at the sight of the little boy. “We should have brought a carrot for Charlie,” said David. Gus felt a wave of shame. Storm put out her hand.

“Come on, Charlie,” she called, but the donkey didn’t move. He watched them warily, his body stiff in anticipation of flight. “Don’t be frightened,” she continued. “Daddy, why won’t he come? He normally does.”

“He’s not used to me,” said David. “Come on, Charlie.” David put out his hand and smiled encouragingly. Slowly they approached him. Charlie didn’t know what to expect. They seemed friendly enough. Gus withdrew his hand from his father’s and delved inside his trouser pocket for a mint. He had started a packet that afternoon. He placed one on the palm of his hand and stretched it towards him.

“Here, Charlie. I’m not going to hurt you.” He fixed the donkey with his eyes, hoping to communicate kindness and honesty. He knew the animal was afraid of him and he didn’t blame him. He had been unkind, chasing him around the field with a stick. Now he was ashamed of his actions. He had been young then, he thought, young and ignorant. Now he was more grown up he knew not to hurt living creatures, whatever their size. They all deserved respect. Jean-Paul had taught him that. “Don’t be frightened, Charlie. I’m not going to hurt you, ever again,” he added under his breath, hoping his father had not overheard.

Tentatively, the donkey stretched his neck and sniffed Gus’s hand with large, velvet nostrils. The scent was too much to resist. He extended his lips and sucked up the mint. Storm wriggled in delight. David put his hands on his hips and watched as Gus pulled out a couple more mints, giving one to his sister so she could feed him, too. Little by little Gus befriended his old target. Charlie let the boy stroke his face and rub grubby fingers across his broad nose. Storm patted his neck and pulled off matted strings of fur that hung off his back like dreadlocks. “He needs a good brush,” she said. “I’m going to ask Jeremy if we can take him out and groom him.”

“Good idea,” Gus agreed. “We can take him for walks on a rope.”

“Yes, and feed him. He can be our pet.”

“I think he’ll like that,” said David. “He certainly liked those mints.”

Gus pressed his forehead to Charlie’s and whispered that he was sorry. Charlie seemed to understand him. He puffed and snorted and pricked his long ears. When they continued up the field to the woods, Charlie followed them right to the gate and stood staring as they disappeared into the trees. Gus felt elated. Now his past mistakes were completely erased. With renewed energy he ran off up the path that cut through the trees, hurdling fallen branches and brambles. Storm walked with her father, keeping an eye out for the fairies who lived among the leaves. David wondered why he had always been too busy for these simple pleasures. He gazed around as the light faded, singeing the tops of the trees, plunging them into shadow, and he realized that here was where he belonged. Here with his family. Whatever happened, he’d fight to save it.



Miranda and Henrietta settled into their suite at the Berkeley Hotel, a light and spacious room overlooking the busy London streets. Harvey Nichols was just a block away and Harrods a little on from that. Miranda should have felt euphoric. She could almost smell the perfume wafting in through the window. Yet she felt subdued. All she could think about was Ava Lightly and Jean-Paul and the hopelessness of it all. She had lived their love story as if it had been her own.

Henrietta was awed by the grandeur of the hotel. She rushed about the suite, marveling at the marble bathroom where little bottles of Molton Brown bath oils stood neatly beside tiny soaps and a miniature sewing kit. She held the fluffy white dressing gown against her and did a twirl as if it were an exquisite ball dress. “They’ve even provided slippers!” she squealed.

“There’s a swimming pool upstairs if you fancy a swim, and a spa. You have to have a massage.”

“I’ve never had a massage,” she confessed, blushing. “I don’t think I’d be happy to take my clothes off in front of a stranger. Besides, there’s an awful lot of me!”

“Don’t be silly, Etta. They massage people ten times the size of you. Go on, I insist. Tomorrow at six when we’ve exhausted ourselves. I’ll certainly be having one.” Henrietta watched her friend. Although she was smiling, she could not hide her unhappiness. Even her lovely skin looked gray. She didn’t like to pry. She longed for Miranda to confide in her so that she could be a proper friend, like Troy, who was always there during the bad times as well as the good. That’s what a friend was to Henrietta: someone she could rely on to love her, no matter what. She longed for Miranda to give her that opportunity.