The French Gardener(15)

The following morning Gus wandered around to the front of the house and saw an old Fiat parked on the gravel. He looked at it curiously. It was rusting, muddy and the pale gray paint was peeling. In the backseat sat a springer spaniel breathing fog on the windows. He tapped his knuckle against the glass. The dog wagged his tail. Gus wondered who the dog belonged to. When he walked away the animal began to bark. “Shut up, you silly mutt!” he shouted.

“Who are you calling a silly mutt? Not my Ranger, I hope.” Gus was stunned to see a strange woman standing at the front door of his home, her hands on wide hips, who fixed him with narrowed eyes. “You’ll be young Gus, then,” she said, nodding thoughtfully. Her jaw was as square as a spade. The boy knew instinctively that this was a woman one didn’t confront. “I hear you have quite a bite on you.” Gus wondered how she knew. She looked at his bewildered face and softened. “Let’s give Ranger a run around. He’ll be misting up the windows of my car.” She strode down the steps towards the vehicle. “Open it then, lad, it’s not locked.” Gus did as he was told and Ranger jumped out, wagging his tail excitedly and springing up to greet his mistress.

“Who are you?” said Gus, watching her pat the animal fondly with capable, pink hands.

“I’m Mrs. Underwood. I’ll be cooking your lunch today, young master Gus. Roast leg of lamb, potatoes from my own garden, beans, peas and carrots. You look like you need some color in those cheeks of yours.” Gus rubbed them with his hand. “Growing lads like you need vegetables. Off you go, Ranger, and have a run around!” The dog did as he was told and galloped off into the field that led down to the river. “That used to be a beautiful meadow of wildflowers.” She sighed and shook her head. “Mrs. Lightly would have a seizure if she saw what has become of it.”

Gus followed her back into the house, leaving Ranger to run about the property, which he seemed to know. The aroma of cooking meat filled the hall and Gus’s stomach rumbled. “I’d have thought a family like you would be at church,” said Mrs. Underwood, walking down the corridor towards the kitchen. “I’d be there if I weren’t here. Can’t say I’m a great fan of Rev. Beeley. I like a man to represent God. A man I can look up to. After all, Jesus wasn’t a woman, was he? If he’d been a she, no one would have taken a blind bit of notice.” Gus half-listened to her chatter, curious to see what she was cooking.

Miranda was perched on a stool in the kitchen, reading the papers. The smell of cooking had drawn her there, too. She was in a good mood. It felt right having Mrs. Underwood stooping over the Aga. She was as a cook should be: big, fat and enthusiastic, though Miranda couldn’t help but spare a thought for her husband who was half her size in all but belly. “Giving Ranger a run around,” said Mrs. Underwood, washing her hands in the sink. “He’ll be in the river by now.”

“Smells good, doesn’t it, Gus?” said Miranda. “Mrs. Underwood is cooking for us today. And Mr. Underwood is going to help in the garden.”

“He might be old but he’s as strong as an ox, Miranda,” said Mrs. Underwood. Miranda noticed that she had been called by her Christian name right from the first while Miranda called her Mrs. It didn’t seem right, but there was nothing she could do. Mrs. Underwood was clearly a woman used to doing things her own way and Miranda was young enough to be her daughter.

“Where’s Dad?”

“In the sitting room. Now don’t go and bother him, he’s reading the papers.”

“Can I watch Lord of the Rings?” he asked.

“No, darling. You know Daddy said you can’t watch it for a week. Why don’t you go outside? It’s not raining.”

“There’s nothing to do.”

“Nothing to do?” Mrs. Underwood gasped. “In the countryside?”

“Where’s Storm?” he asked despondently.

“In the playroom.”

Gus put his hands in his pockets and wandered out.

Mrs. Underwood had to bite her tongue. She didn’t know Miranda well enough to tell her how to entertain her children. With all that land there was plenty to do. Poor London kids, she thought, they need to be taught how to have fun in the countryside. By the look of their mother, who had gone back to reading the papers, she wasn’t going to be the one to do it.

Gus couldn’t face sitting in the playroom. Storm wasn’t interested in doing the things he liked and he couldn’t watch television. Instead, he went out the front door to kick the gravel, looking for something to destroy. He found a stick on the ground. It wasn’t large enough to torment the donkey, but it was the perfect size to throw for a dog. He headed across the field towards the river, scanning the countryside for Ranger. He hadn’t explored that side of the garden. The field didn’t look like much and was overgrown with weeds. The other side was more exciting with the field full of sheep, Charlie, and the woods beyond. But Ranger had gone this way. Mrs. Underwood said he liked the river.