They ate sandwiches for lunch, eager not to delay their work unnecessarily. They sat on a rug while Hector returned to fetch his lunch box from the greenhouse. Ava had never expected to enjoy Jean-Paul’s company. She had resented his presence in her garden and been suspicious of his good looks, as if being handsome made him less profound. She had been wrong.
“How can your father disapprove of your painting?” she asked, biting into a turkey sandwich.
Jean-Paul shrugged. “He wants me to be a reflection of himself. I am his only son. His only child. He is a very ambitious, controlling man. I have never liked him.”
“That’s sad. Not to like your own father.”
“I am used to it.” He shrugged again.
“He should be proud you paint so beautifully.”
“He is not proud. Besides, I don’t paint well enough.” He shook his head resignedly. “I do it for myself. I will never be good enough to do it professionally.”
“Why not?”
He flashed her an enchanting smile and for an instant gazed at her with eyes full of affection. “Because I am realistic, Ava. I don’t live in a world of dreams. I know I am not good enough. Papa knows that, too.”
“Just because you won’t make money doesn’t mean it’s not a worthwhile thing to do.”
“I know that.”
“So, what does your father expect of you?”
“To run the vineyard. To make good wine. To uphold the family name. To inherit the château and produce a son to pass it all on as he has done.”
“Couldn’t you just tell him to bugger off? You’re not a child.”
Jean-Paul put down his sandwich and suddenly looked troubled. “I don’t want to hurt my mother. I am all she has.” He held her a moment with his eyes. “She has no marriage. My father has a mistress in Paris. Maman lives in Bordeaux. Les Lucioles means everything to her. It would break her heart if Papa disinherited me.”
“I don’t understand. You’re doing what he wants because of a château?”
“It is not just any château. It is special. Perhaps one day you will see it, then you will understand. It is as magical to me as Hartington House is to you.”
“It must be very magical then.”
“I agreed to come here because Maman asked me to. It is not just about the château, it is about my mother and doing what is right. She loves her home, too, and has put her heart into it. The love she should be investing in my father she invests in me and Les Lucioles.”
“You’re in the middle of something bigger than you,” she acknowledged.
“Yes.”
“Some people make their lives so complicated.”
“I don’t think they mean to.”
“Perhaps not. I’m grateful for my simple life. It might not be spicy but it’s tranquil. I’d sacrifice a lot for tranquility.”
“You and Phillip are lucky. You have a good marriage.”
“I know.” She smiled tenderly. “He’s a good egg.”
“A good egg?” Jean-Paul laughed incredulously.
“Oh, you’ve never heard that expression?” He shook his head. “A good egg, as eggs run, but who likes runny eggs? Do you get it?” They laughed together. Hearing it with the ears of a foreigner made Ava realize what a very silly expression it was.
That afternoon, when the children returned from school, they came to watch their mother in the garden. Phillip strode out, in a green Barbour and wellies, to take the dogs for a walk. Bernie and Tarquin rolled about on the grass in excitement, their barking biting into the damp air. “Don’t forget your parents are coming for the weekend, Shrub,” he reminded her, as he set off towards the dovecote.
“Phillip thinks I have no memory for things other than plants,” she told Jean-Paul with a chuckle. “He thinks I inhabit another world. ‘Planet Ava’!”
“I’d like to live on Planet Ava,” he said, taking a swig of beer.
“I don’t think you would. It’s a lonely planet really.”
“I like to be alone, too.”
“Good. I won’t worry about you in the cottage then. I was about to invite all Toddy’s cousins over to meet you.”
“There’s alone and lonely,” he said with a grin. “I like to be alone, but I don’t like to be lonely, so if they are pretty, I would be happy to meet them.” He stood up and laughed, holding out his hand to Ava. He pulled her up.
“All right, Mr. Frenchman!” she said. “I’ll call Toddy. But if they’re pigs don’t blame me. I know the French have very high standards when it comes to women.”