“Perhaps. But the English have something that the French don’t have.”
“What’s that?”
“A sense of humor.”
She laughed. “I’m so glad it’s not all about manicures and silk underwear.”
“But imagine the power of that combination—silk underwear and a sense of humor? A woman like that would be something, no?”
“I can’t say I’ve given the matter much thought. Now, back to the garden, you! Save your sexy thoughts for when you’re lonely in the cottage.”
Archie, Angus and Poppy helped load the cart with the turf that Ava and Jean-Paul cut with their spades, rolling it up like long carpets. When they grew bored of that game they searched for insects in the newly exposed soil, squeaking in delight when they found a fat worm or centipede. Ava had taught them to love all creatures, explaining their purpose in the garden and how they lived, so that the children respected them as living beings and not as playthings to abuse. “Look, Mummy! Here’s a really juicy worm,” cried Archie, placing it carefully on a leaf and carrying it to his mother.
“He’s delicious,” she agreed, stopping to look. “Now darling, find a nice place for him. With any luck a bird will find him later. He’ll make a feast for a hungry pigeon.” Once he had shown his siblings, Archie did as he was told and settled the worm in the mud. Angus climbed onto the tractor and made purring noises, turning the steering wheel left and right while Poppy pretended the rolls of turf were Swiss rolls on their way to the bakery. The garden rang with their laughter. It was just another day at Hartington House. For Jean-Paul it was a new and exciting world. He had no experience of a united and loving family.
That evening Ava invited Jean-Paul to stay for dinner. They sat in the drawing room, by the fire, having bathed and changed out of their muddy clothes. The children were in bed, exhausted after so much fresh air. Phillip came downstairs in a smoking jacket and slippers, having read them The Velveteen Rabbit, and opened a bottle of wine. “Your garden’s beginning to take shape,” he said, bringing in a tray of glasses. Ava sat on the sofa, her hair tied in a loose ponytail so that wisps floated about her face and neck. She wore wide trousers under a long Moroccan housecoat and a pair of crimson sequined slippers. Her cheeks glowed from having worked in the cold all day and her eyes sparkled with happiness. It had been a perfect day.
“We’ll plant it up next,” she said, grinning at Jean-Paul. “Our reward will come in spring. It’s going to look marvelous!” Jean-Paul lay sprawled in an armchair, his hair damp from the bath and sticking up in points.
“I never thought digging a garden would be fun,” he admitted.
“This is only the beginning. Digging is the boring bit,” said Ava. “The planting is the fun part. Watching the gardens grow is the icing on the cake.”
“What are you going to plant?” Phillip asked, handing them both glasses of wine, then taking a seat himself.
“I’ve drawn a sketch,” she said, pulling a roughly folded piece of paper from her coat pocket. “I want an explosion of color. I want it stuffed full of shrubs and plants.” She looked at Jean-Paul, knowing that he knew she was thinking of his painting. “I thought buddleia, geraniums, roses, polyanthus, campanula, lavender, delphiniums, lupins, daisies. Goodness, I haven’t held back.”
“It sounds marvelously chaotic. Rather like you, Shrub.” Phillip chuckled in his good-natured way.
“We’ve bitten off quite a lot more than we can chew, but I think we can do it. Jean-Paul and Hector are prepared to work like slaves.”
“I’m a good egg!” Jean-Paul said and laughed.
“A good egg, as eggs run,” Ava added with a grin. “We’ll send you back to France an Englishman.”
“I raise my glass to that,” added Phillip.
“Mummy.” Poppy was standing in the doorway in her white nightie, holding her marrow in a blanket. “He can’t sleep,” she said, hugging it close.
“Oh dear,” said Phillip, playing along. “Have you tried rocking him a little?”
“Yes,” she said earnestly. “But he keeps waking up. He keeps waking me up.”
“Come here,” said Ava gently, opening her arms. “I think you need a cuddle, darling. It’s not fun being kept awake by that naughty Monty, is it?” Poppy shook her head. She never doubted she’d be received with love, whatever the time of night.
“I’m very tired,” she said, shuffling over to her mother. Ava pulled the little girl onto her lap and wrapped her arms around her, kissing her temple. “Daddy, if I love Monty like the little boy loved the velveteen rabbit, will he become real?”