She looked at her watch, aware that she should have been writing, but Jean-Paul was compelling. She’d get to her computer after the children had gone to bed and then she would answer all the e-mails requesting articles and changes to the ones she had already submitted. Right now, she was enjoying watching the Frenchman entertain her children.
“We will leave the ladder here for the moment,” Jean-Paul told Gus. “Until we build our own steps. For that we need the right size wood. You can come with me and choose it. There must be a timber yard here somewhere.”
“Mr. Fitzherbert will know,” said Gus. “He’s our neighbor.”
“Then we will ask him,” said Jean-Paul, climbing down the ladder. Gus remained on a branch, gazing over the treetops to where the spire of St. Hilda’s soared into the sky. “Look! It’s Mr. Underwood,” he exclaimed, waving. “Mr. Underwood. I’m in a tree!”
Mr. Underwood gazed up at the tree house. “It’s a palace!” he gasped, taking off his cap in homage.
“This is Jean-Paul, the landscape gardener,” said Miranda, hoping Jean-Paul would have the sense not to correct her.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Mr. Underwood. “I’ve been doing a bit of clearing up,” he informed him importantly. “There’s a lot of work to be done in the garden. I’m glad there’ll be the two of us.” Jean-Paul looked at the elderly man and recognized his need to feel useful.
“I’m glad to be of help,” he said with a smile. Mr. Underwood puffed out his chest and nodded. “We have two more helpers. Gus and Storm,” he added with a wink.
Mr. Underwood nodded again, his lips curling into a grin. “They can look out for fryers up there.”
“Fryers?”
“Rabbits,” said Mr. Underwood. “I’ll get my gun out and kill the buggers. Put them in the pan and fry them. That’s all they’re good for.” Jean-Paul remembered watching rabbits at dusk with Ava and her children. Poppy used to leave bowls of carrots for them, delighting when she found them empty in the morning.
Jean-Paul clicked his tongue. “We’ll secure the vegetable gardens so they can’t get in. I’d prefer to befriend them than make them my dinner,” he said with a chuckle.
“I’d like one as a pet,” said Storm.
Jean-Paul patted her head. “You’ll soon be sharing your den with them,” he said. “Them and the squirrels.”
Miranda returned to the silence of her study with reluctance, sat at her desk and switched on her computer. After a while she was absorbed by her e-mails and finally by her article, her fingers tapping swiftly over the keys.
That afternoon Jean-Paul took Gus and Storm to buy seeds. Gus helped fill their basket and chose the vegetable seeds with Storm, taking the packets down from the stand as if they were sweets. The seeds he couldn’t purchase there he’d get sent from Les Lucioles.
On the way back they stopped at Jeremy Fitzherbert’s farm. Jean-Paul remembered it well. Jeremy’s father, Ian, had run the farm back then. Jeremy had been in his twenties. He had helped out during the harvest, rouging and manning the dryer. Jean-Paul doubted he would remember him. They had never been introduced.
Jeremy was in the workshop with his manager, discussing the need to replace the old Massey Ferguson tractor. When he saw the children standing in the doorway, he broke off his conversation and approached. Mr. Ben trotted up to Gus and sniffed his boots, his thick tail wagging with excitement. They smelled of Ranger. “Hi there,” Jeremy exclaimed.
“My name is Jean-Paul. I’m working for Miranda Claybourne up at the house.”
“Ah.” Jeremy nodded. “These two helping you, are they?”
“They are. I couldn’t do without them,” he replied, smiling. Jeremy was warmed by the Frenchman’s grin.
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
“I need timber to make a ladder for the children’s tree house. I thought you might know where to buy some.”
“Buy some? Good Lord. You don’t need to buy it. I have a barn full of timber. We’re constantly felling trees. Come, I’ll show you.” The two men walked through the farm followed by the children and Mr. Ben. It was exactly as Jean-Paul remembered it. The dryer was the same, scattered with wheat from the harvest. The barns were still peeling their green paint, the corrugated iron roof thick with moss and leaves. He remembered bringing the children to play on the mountains of wheat in the summer with Ava. Ian hadn’t minded the mess they made, patiently sweeping the ground once they’d left. He’d have done anything for Ava Lightly.