“I wish I had met him. He popped in once, about eight years ago when I was away visiting my mother. I would like to have shown him around personally. I’m surprised Phillip showed him the estate beyond his wine cellar.”
“Darling, there is nothing nicer than walking around your gardens in springtime with a glass of chilled white wine,” responded Phillip with a chuckle.
“He says you have a great talent,” Jean-Paul continued. Ava was flattered in spite of the uneasy twist in her gut that predicted a terrible clash of personalities. As attractive as he was, she simply couldn’t see them working together.
“Have you left a girl behind in Paris?” Phillip asked with a grin.
Jean-Paul smirked and raised one eyebrow. “A few,” he replied.
“Oh dear,” said Ava, bristling at his arrogance. “I hope you don’t suffer from a broken heart.”
“I have never suffered in love,” he said.
“Yet. There is plenty of time for heartbreak. You’re young.”
He nodded in agreement. “My heart will break when my mother dies. That is inevitable.” She looked at him quizzically. It was a strange comment to make for a man of his age.
“You are obviously close.”
“Of course. I am her only child. I am spoiled and indulged. My mother is an incredible woman. I admire her.”
“I hope our sons feel that way when they are your age,” she said, though she wasn’t sure whether she really did.
“You have three children, yes?”
“Two boys and a girl. You’ll meet them later today when they come home from school.”
“It must be nice to have siblings.”
“I think they enjoy it. They fight a fair bit. No one really likes to share.”
“That is true. I have never had to.”
“Your English is perfect. Where did you learn to speak it so well?” Ava asked.
“I grew up with an English nanny.”
“An English nanny?” Ava repeated. “Good gracious. Was she a tyrant?”
“What was she called?” asked Phillip.
Jean-Paul gave the most enchanting smile. “Nanny,” he replied and laughed heartily.
“Nanny?” she repeated, disarmed by his sudden, unexpected humor.
“I never knew her real name. She was just Nanny.” He looked bashful. “She left when I was twenty-one!”
Later, while Jean-Paul was unpacking in his attic bedroom, Ava confronted her husband in his study. “It’s never going to work,” she protested. “You can tell he’s never done a day’s labor in his life. He might dream of creating an English garden of his own, but I bet he’s never got down on all fours in the mud. What on earth is his father thinking, sending him here? If he was eighteen and fresh out of school I would understand. But he must be in his late twenties. Doesn’t he have a mind of his own? What am I going to do with him for a year? He’s going to be bored stiff in Hartington. I can’t imagine him picking up girls in the Duck and Dapple. It’s hardly buzzing. He should be in London with other young people, not with me and the children. God, it’s a disaster!”
Phillip put his hand on her shoulder and smiled. “Don’t worry, Shrub, it’ll work out. A bit of hard labor will do him good. You’ll have an extra pair of hands and you can create all those wonderful gardens you’ve been longing to make but couldn’t do on your own. The wildflower meadow and orchard, the cottage garden you keep going on about. Put him to work. Plant it all up. Create your dream.”
“He’s more suited to a yacht in St. Tropez than to a lawn mower here in Hartington.”
“Give him a chance.”
“I can’t see him in the cottage.”
“He’ll be fine. Stop worrying.”
“He’s just not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
She turned away and walked over to the window. Gray clouds were gathering. “I don’t know.” She sighed. “Someone less smooth. With rough hands and dirty fingernails like mine. In boots and grubby trousers. Not a dapper city swinger in cashmere and Gucci loafers, for God’s sake.” She shook her head at the absurdity of it. “He’ll last a week!”
Phillip chuckled. “I think you’ll inject him with enthusiasm and he’ll stay forever.”
“I hope to God he doesn’t. I don’t think I’ll last more than a week!”
Ava picked the children up at 3:30. She parked her yellow car on the green and stepped out of it just as it was beginning to drizzle. Toddy Finton was there with her ferret, Mr. Frisby, sitting obediently on her shoulder. She had twin boys in the same class as Angus. “Hi, Ava,” she said, her cheeks pink from having spent the morning hacking across the countryside on her chestnut mare.