“Jean-Paul!” Phillip greeted him warmly. “I see you have moved into the château!”
Jean-Paul grinned. “I had to buy boots to get there. That little shop by the church has everything,” he replied. Ava’s heart sank. She knew Phillip would ask him for dinner and that he would accept.
“Would you like to join us for dinner?” he asked. “I’ve brought back a brace of pheasants. Ava’s a splendid cook.” Poppy wriggled down and followed her brothers back onto the lawn. “We could almost eat outside.”
“I would love to, thank you,” Jean-Paul replied.
Ava bit her tongue. Infuriated by her husband’s lack of sensitivity, she turned on her heel and followed the children, leaving Jean-Paul and Phillip talking like two old friends.
That night Phillip confronted her in the bedroom. “What’s wrong, Shrub? You’ve been in a sulk all evening.”
“I’m fine,” she replied, walking into the bathroom to run a bath. Phillip followed her.
“You barely said a word all dinner.”
“I’m just tired. I’ve been entertaining people all weekend.” She poured oil into the water, filling the room with the scent of gardenia.
“Jean-Paul?”
“Toddy came yesterday with the boys. I thought it would be nice for us to have dinner together. I didn’t want to see anyone else. I’m tired of performing. I just want to relax and not have to make an effort.”
He put his arms around her. “I’m sorry,” he said, breathing into her neck. He kissed the tender skin below her hairline. “I didn’t think.”
“Next time,” she replied with a sigh.
He swung her around and curled a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “Is he very hard work?”
“Jean-Paul? No. He’s perfectly nice. He’s even nicer when he’s in the cottage and out of my hair.”
“You’re doing me a huge favor having him here. I really appreciate it. Henri will be grateful.”
“I know. Grateful and helpful. You’d better reward me.”
“I’ll reward you in plants.”
“I showed Jean-Paul the place I want to plant a cottage garden. He was interested.”
“Really?” Phillip wasn’t sure whether or not she was being sarcastic.
“Oh yes, he took it all in. If he had had a pen and pad he would have taken notes.”
“Good.”
She looked at him askance. “He doesn’t have a clue, Phillip. I’m going to be dragging him around like an unwanted sack.”
“That’s rather harsh. Get him to do all the dirty work for you. Like digging and clearing up.”
“I will. He won’t like it and he’ll leave to the sound of doors slamming the length and breadth of France.” She laughed.
“That’s better. You were horribly sullen.”
“You’d better treat me a little better then, or I’ll have a permanent potato face.”
“I will. I hate the potato face.” He went back into the bedroom. “Everyone sends their love, by the way. They all missed you.” Ava ignored him and sank into the bath, feeling her irritation ebb away.
The following day Ava introduced Jean-Paul to Hector. She was relieved to see he was dressed appropriately in a pair of faded jeans and country shirt in muted colors. He had rolled up the sleeves to reveal brown arms glistening with a light covering of hair. On his feet were his new Wellington boots.
Hector was in his sixties, dressed in the same tweed cap and waistcoat he had worn for as long as Ava had known him. His face was gnarled like an old tree, his eyes bright as new conkers. He spoke with a strong Dorset drawl, curling his Rs as tight as pigs’ tails. “Could do with a little help in the garden,” he said, unsmiling. Hector rarely smiled. “Especially as them leaves are coming down quicker than I can rake them up.” Jean-Paul was dismayed to be handed a rake and taken off to sweep. By the look on his face Ava was certain he had been expecting to do more interesting things. His obvious disappointment made her feel bad in spite of her happiness at being left alone to do the herbaceous border. It amused her to think of those two endeavoring to hold a conversation. She couldn’t imagine what they had in common. If Jean-Paul managed to understand half of what Hector said it would be a miracle.
Jean-Paul spent all day clearing the grounds. Raking leaves, mowing the grass with the old Dennis mower, cutting down a dead pear tree, generally clearing away the debris of a plentiful summer. He had stopped only to eat the sandwiches he had made himself and drink a can of beer from Ava’s fridge. He looked done in.