“What’s wrong with that?” He sighed, endeavoring to be patient.
“Oh, I don’t know what makes him tick.”
“You’ve known him a day.”
“Go back to your book. You just don’t see it, do you?”
“I don’t think there is anything to see. He’s not interested in plants but appreciates the beauty of the garden. I would say that is a point in the young man’s favor, wouldn’t you?”
She lifted her book off her knee. “Don’t worry, darling. I’m trying to find a missing piece to the puzzle. Go back to your book.” He smiled and began to read again. “After all, I’m the one who’s got to work with him and find him things to do. It’s all very well paying Henri back for helping you with your research, but I’m the one with the responsibility. Henri’s done nothing for me.” She looked at him but his face was impassive. “Oh, I’ll shut up. Just remember my reservations when it all goes up in smoke and Henri closes all those doors the length and breadth of France!”
IX
The sweet smell of ripe apples. The last of the plums.
The following morning Toddy kept her word and took Jean-Paul riding, leaving the twins with Archie, Angus and Poppy, playing around the hollow tree. Mr. Frisby slept in the porch, curled up in an old jersey. Phillip had gone shooting for the weekend in Gloucestershire, taking Tarquin with him. Ava was left alone with Bernie and the children, baffled that anyone would want to kill for sport.
She took the opportunity to tidy the cottage. The last resident had been Phillip’s bachelor brother who had used it as a weekend home. He had finally married and bought a house near Sherborne and Phillip had tried to rent it out. He put in a new kitchen and gave it a fresh coat of paint, but it proved unpopular as there was no driveway. People had to park their car up at the house, walk across the field and over the bridge, which was a big inconvenience for both parties. None of the potential residents had been suitable, until now.
Despite that, Ava had always liked the cottage. It was picturesque, nestling in isolation beneath leafy chestnut trees. Symmetrical with a big mossy roof and small windows, it was like a house in a fairy tale. To Ava it was a secret cottage, shrouded in romance and so pretty, with pink and white roses that scaled the walls and tumbled over the front door in summer. Outside, the river flowed slowly beneath the stone bridge and on to the sea.
She made the iron bed with clean sheets and threw the bedspread into a corner to take back to the house to wash. She hoovered the carpets and polished the furniture, scrubbed the floor in the kitchen and hall. She threw open the windows to let autumn imbue the rooms with the sweet scent of damp grass. Satisfied with a job well done she stood awhile to admire it. A few logs in the grate, a boisterous fire, a good book and some classical music and it would feel just like home. She smiled with pleasure, then left with the bedspread.
Toddy returned with Jean-Paul in time for lunch. The children had played all morning in the tree, running into the hall with muddy boots and red cheeks. Jean-Paul disappeared upstairs to change. Toddy rummaged about in the boot of her Land Rover for a pair of slippers. Mr. Frisby awoke and scampered over the gravel to take up position around her neck like a pretty white stole. She let out a bellow of laughter as he nibbled her earlobe. “Did you miss me?” she asked, nuzzling him fondly.
Ava had roasted a couple of chickens. She stood by the Aga making gravy while the children jostled each other over the sink, fighting to wash their hands. Toddy returned and helped herself to a glass of apple juice from the fridge. Her black hair was short and spiky from having been trapped under her riding hat, her face flushed from the wind, her eyes shining from her morning with Jean-Paul. She sidled up to Ava. “He’s rather dishy!” she whispered with a smirk. “Fine figure of a man on a horse! He reminds me of a polo player I had in the Argentine before I married. He’d be fun to roll around with in the hay.”
“Curb your excitement. The last thing his ego needs is someone like you fancying him. Though, I dare say he’s probably worked it out already.”
“There’s no harm in a little window-shopping. I’m not intending to buy. That said, I wouldn’t mind taking him on approval.” She leaned back against the Aga to warm her bottom.
“Why don’t you introduce him to one of your cousins?”
“Not a bad idea. He’s going to be bored stiff in Hartington.”
“He can always spend the weekends in London. Cruise the King’s Road, go to the Feathers Ball at the Hammersmith Palais. Isn’t that what young people do these days?”