The French Gardener(138)

“I know you,” he said. “I recognize your mother in you.”

“And you in me, too,” she said with an embarrassed laugh.

“You have your mother’s directness,” he observed, running his eyes over her features, impatient to take her all in.

She turned to Miranda. “You must be Miranda.”

“Yes. You don’t know how good it is to see you.” They embraced as if they were old friends.

“I tried to telephone you over the weekend, but no one answered. I hope it’s okay that I just turned up.” She gazed around. “Nothing’s changed. It looks wonderful.”

“Come inside,” Jean-Paul suggested. “It’s about to pour.”

“I think I’d better get back to my children,” said Miranda, backing away.

“You’re welcome to join us,” Jean-Paul said. Miranda noticed the color had returned to his face. He looked handsome again, the irresistible twinkle in his eyes restored.

“I’d love to, because I’m curious. But I think it’s right that I leave you together. You’ve got a lot to catch up on. Maybe, when you’re done, I can show you the gardens. It’s all credit to Jean-Paul, but they’re stunning.”

“Yes, please,” said Peach. “I’d love that. My mother would be so happy to see them resurrected. It was her life’s work. I want to thank you, Miranda.”

“Whatever for?”

“For making this possible.”

Miranda felt her spirits leap. “Did I?”

“Of course, I never thought I’d find Mr. Frenchman. Thanks to you, I have.” She looked at Jean-Paul and grinned. He struggled to find the words. She was so like her mother. So direct, so open; it wasn’t as if she were meeting a stranger, but as if she had known him all her life. “Don’t be alarmed,” she said, sensing his astonishment. “I’ve had some time to get used to this.”

Miranda walked up the garden to the house. Around her the gardens radiated their magic and inside she felt complete. She belonged. She looked forward to playing with the children. Perhaps they’d go to the old castle and have a picnic. Maybe she’d invite a few of their friends for tea. She reached the house. Storm and Gus tumbled out onto the porch as a taxi drew up on the gravel. She turned to see David stepping out with a suitcase. He wasn’t in his suit, but in jeans and a green shirt, looking thin but handsome. Miranda smiled back, but she had to wait her turn for he opened his arms and the children flew in. They belonged there, too, she thought contentedly; at last.



Inside the cottage, Jean-Paul put the kettle on. The two of them sat at the kitchen table as Ava and Jean-Paul had done twenty-six years before. But this time it was not to say good-bye but to begin a whole new life together. “There is so much I have to tell you,” said Peach, her green eyes glittering with emotion. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“Tell me about your mother. How did she die?”

“Let’s go back a bit further, or I’ll lose track. Darling Daddy—Phillip—had a stroke about four years ago and for a while we all continued to live here in spite of his slow recovery. Mummy looked after him like a nurse. She refused to seek help. You know what she’s like. It was a full-time job, but he deteriorated. The stairs were a big problem. Everyone told her we had to move. Of course, she was torn between what she knew was right for Phillip, and what was right for her. She loved this place and the gardens, and I know now that the reason for her determination to hold on to them was because of you. She must have hoped that one day you’d come back and get her. We were all grown up. Poppy lives in London, is married with children of her own; Archie married a Chilean and lives in Valparaiso. Angus is a bit of a bohemian. He hasn’t married. He’s a successful historian. You wouldn’t believe it.”

“And you?”

“I’ve never flown the nest. I’m a gardener.” She grinned proudly.

“I am not surprised,” he mused, shaking his head at the miracle of her. Her fingernails were short and ragged, the palms of her hands rough like bark. He was sure she smelled of damp grass and hay. “Go on with your story,” he said, anxious to hear more.

“Well, she stayed on here long after she should have gone. Finally, she was left no choice. She discovered a lump in her stomach. It turned out to be malignant. We moved to Cornwall because Mummy had always loved the sea. She put the house on the market at such an exorbitant price so no one would buy it. It caused her such pain to let it go. Maybe she hoped it wouldn’t sell and she could one day move back. While Daddy recovered, Mummy got worse. It all happened very quickly. She didn’t have much time. Now I’ve read the scrapbook, I think the tumor was a manifestation of the heartbreak she suffered after you left. Her grief was so deep it was unspeakable. She kept it secret all those years. She never told me and I was closer to her than the others, being the youngest.” She hesitated, then added shyly: “And being yours.” They looked at each other as the rain rattled against the windowpanes, and realized that in spite of the fact that they were strangers, the reality of their shared blood and their mutual love for Ava gave them an immediate sense of unity.