“Thank you,” she said briskly. “I’ll tell Phillip. He’ll be pleased someone admires me.”
“I don’t think he would be pleased to know another man is falling in love with his wife.”
Ava was silenced.
“You don’t have to answer. I know that you are married and that you love your husband.”
“Then why tell me?” she asked crossly. This declaration would spoil what had been an enjoyable friendship.
“Because one day you might surprise me and tell me that you feel the same way.”
She thrust her hands into her pockets. “I’m far too old for you,” she said, trying to make light of it, not daring to look at his face. “You’re my employee. You’re not allowed to fall in love with your boss.”
“I cannot help myself.”
“You’re French, you fall in love with everyone.”
“You are wrong. I have never lost my heart to anyone.”
“Please, Jean-Paul, save your flirting for Lizzie and Samantha. They are more your age and they are free to love you back.”
“Don’t you see? I feel nothing for those girls. They are nice enough. But you are wise and creative and original. There is no beauty for me in faces that show nothing but their youth. I enjoy every line on your face, Ava, every expression, because it is always changing. Their faces are blank by comparison. They haven’t lived. You are an old soul. You have lived many lives, and so have I. I feel I have been looking for you all my life, Ava. That the hole in my heart is your shape exactly. It keeps me awake at night.”
They walked on, the silence now awkward between them.
“I’m sorry if I have made you sad,” he said at last. “That was never my intention.”
She looked at him. His face was drawn into a frown and his eyes seemed to have sunk into shadow. She felt a wave of compassion.
“I’m sorry, too,” she replied, realizing that this wasn’t a silly joke. As a friend, he deserved to have his feelings treated with respect. “I’m sorry that I can’t love you back,” she added softly.
“Do you want me to leave?”
“Not if you want to stay.”
“I want to stay. I wish I hadn’t said it now. I wish I hadn’t destroyed our friendship.”
“Oh, Jean-Paul, how could you?” Impulsively, she hugged him. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her back. She caught her breath. It felt so natural to be there. She pulled away, unbalanced. “We still have so much to do in the garden. I need you.”
They continued to walk along the side of the wood. The sun sank lower until it was a mere orange glow on the horizon. The children ran out of the woods, their baskets full. Archie held a spider in cupped hands and Poppy had tucked feathers into her hairband. Angus had collected snails and a giant mushroom, in spite of his mother’s instructions. “We’ll show it to Mrs. Marley,” Ava said, taking his basket from him. “She’ll know if we can eat it. In the meantime, don’t lick your fingers. I don’t want you to get a tummy ache.” For the rest of the way home the children remained close. Ava chatted about the garden, trying to put Jean-Paul’s words out of her mind. But they hung between them like neon signs, impossible to ignore.
Back at the house, Jean-Paul lingered a moment on the gravel. “Do you want to come in for a cup of tea?” she asked, taking off her boots.
“No. Thank you. I’ll get back to the cottage. I feel like painting.”
Ava understood. When she felt melancholy she liked to sit alone in the garden. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“Good night,” he said, resting his eyes on her for a moment longer than was natural. She watched him walk towards the field, his footsteps scrunching heavily on the stones. She closed the door. Once in the light, outside looked pitch-black.
That night she sat in the sitting room with Phillip, trying to read. The fire glowed in the grate and Crystal Gayle sang out from the gramophone. After a while she realized she had read the same page twice. Her eyes scanned the words but her mind was playing over and over her conversation with Jean-Paul. It was a shock to discover that he felt something more than friendship. She would have written off his confession as a natural rite of passage for a Frenchman had she not seen the depth of feeling in his eyes. He had not been playing a game. He really had fallen in love with her. She turned the page, dismissing it as a fever from which he would soon recover. She glanced at Phillip, sitting in the armchair, his reading glasses on his nose. He sensed her gaze and raised his eyes. “What are you looking at, Shrub?”