Ava had been surprised to see that he painted. She hadn’t imagined him to be artistic. She had written him off as a shallow, spoiled young man who drifted aimlessly through life without a care in the world. But he had been far from aimless; his longings were bullied into hiding by his controlling father. At Hartington he had been able to set them free. To paint without guilt. To create and be admired for it. You gave me so much, Ava.
It wasn’t long before the children found him. Gus was prepared for disappointment, his face long and sullen, his fringe hiding the spark of hope in his eyes lest it serve only to humiliate him. Storm ran ahead enthusiastically, too young to have been crushed by her parents’ lack of interest. Jean-Paul greeted them with a smile, their presence in the garden banishing his sorrow like sunshine breaking through cloud. “I am glad you are up,” he said, putting his hands on his hips. “I thought I would have to start without you. Are you ready? We have lots of work to do.” He led them off to the greenhouse where they picked up the tools Jean-Paul selected, then proceeded towards the hollow tree.
“It’s completely hollow,” Storm cried, poking her head out at Gus. Her brother forgot his resentment and climbed in, as enthralled as she was.
“It’s a real den,” he said, gazing around at the husk of bark that formed a perfect playhouse. “We should find something to put on the ground. Something soft,” he said.
“Like hay,” she volunteered.
“Yes, like hay. Jean-Paul!” Gus shouted, sticking his head out. “Where can we find hay to line the floor?”
“You won’t find hay at this time of year. But wood shavings will do and I know just the place. We need wood for the tree house and a ladder. Come with me!”
They pulled their supplies in a cart across the field to the tree. Jean-Paul left the children in their den while he returned for the ladder, where Ava had always kept it in one of the greenhouses. When he got back, Miranda had emerged from her study and was watching the children while they excitedly told her about their project. She had never seen them so animated. Not even Lord of the Rings had put so wide a smile on her son’s face. When she saw Jean-Paul, she thrust her hands into her coat pockets and grinned. He smelled her lime scent on the breeze. She would be good-looking if she didn’t have the pinched look of a woman starved of affection. “I see you’ve been busy,” she said, hugging her sheepskin around her. His eyes were drawn to her feet. She followed his gaze and grinned. “You can take the girl out of London but not London out of the girl!” She laughed, knowing her open-toed Gina heels looked ridiculous in the countryside.
“If they are going to help me in the garden, I have to bribe them with a house. From here they will be able to see the church spire of Hartington. I’ve looked around the garden. There is much to do. Who has been weeding in the border?”
“Oh, that’s Mr. Underwood. I’ve just hired him. He’s helping out. You know, clearing up the leaves.” She didn’t quite know what he did. “He’ll be here somewhere.”
“He can help me then. I need more than one pair of hands. It is a big job. We need to get things cut back and replanted. Is there a nursery nearby?”
“Yes. A big one by the golf club. You can’t miss it. It’s rather good, so I’m told. Take my car.”
Jean-Paul leaned the ladder against the tree and scaled it, a plank of wood and baler twine under his arm. In spite of the cold he worked in shirtsleeves and jeans. He was slim-hipped and lithe, moving from branch to branch as if trees were his natural habitat.
“Gus, pass me the hammer,” he instructed, pulling a nail out of his breast pocket and placing it between his lips. Gus scrambled out of the tree. He climbed the ladder with the hammer and passed it to Jean-Paul. “Right, come up here and hold this plank still.” Gus glanced at his mother. She was looking up at him, her face suddenly serious.
Fueled by his mother’s attention and Jean-Paul’s confidence in him, Gus did everything he was told with eagerness. Jean-Paul didn’t treat him like a little boy, but as an equal, as capable of assisting as any man. He ran up and down the ladder with tools and twine, passed him small planks of wood and sticks. He watched the Frenchman build a platform around the branches. Once that was secure, he built the walls, leaving gaps for two windows and a door. He made a proper roof using two boards of plywood he had found in the barn, and a sturdy beam. For the door he used an old cupboard that he knew had been Poppy’s; it fitted perfectly. Gus didn’t mind that it was pink. Phillip had hated throwing things away, keeping the oddest assortment of objects from curtain poles to an old wood burner in a shed attached to the back of the barn. Miranda was surprised Jean-Paul had found it. She didn’t even know it existed.