The French Gardener(63)

“You,” she replied with a smile.

“Do you see anything you like?”

“I see someone I love,” she said truthfully.

“I’m so pleased. Anything less and I’d be very disappointed.”

“Silly!” He returned to his book.

She shook Jean-Paul from her mind and returned to hers. However, Jean-Paul’s confession had made a small chink in her heart, by way of her vanity. A chink that, though tiny, weakened the whole.

I admit that I was flattered by his confession and more than a little excited. A man as handsome as M. F. finding me attractive, it was something that had never crossed my mind. I had never entertained even the smallest idea of love. He was like a beautiful animal to be admired from afar, to befriend, but not to covet for oneself. As alarming as I found our conversation in the woods, I kept it to myself. I didn’t share it with Phillip. Perhaps, somewhere in the darkest corners of my heart I was falling for him, too, I just didn’t know it. I should have sent him back to France and avoided the pain that was to follow. But how could I have known? I didn’t anticipate the danger I was sailing into, like a merry vessel in calm water coasting towards an unseen waterfall that would threaten to destroy everything I loved. For now I enjoyed the attention from the safety of my marital bed.



Miranda began to cry. Alone in her study, curled up in the armchair beside the fire, she ran her fingers over the red leaf of a sweet gum tree stuck on the page with glue. She had been married for eight years, but she had never felt a love as intense as Ava’s.





XVII



The sound of roaring fires and the taste of roasted chestnuts




Hartington House, 2005

David didn’t seem the least bit curious about Jean-Paul. The garden was Miranda’s department, like decoration and general maintenance; he trusted her judgment. Mrs. Underwood was a treasure and her husband, although eccentric, kept the home fires burning and the paths free of leaves. Of Fatima, who worked two mornings a week, he had no opinion. He had no desire to meet the housekeeper.

The first weekend after Jean-Paul had moved into the cottage David didn’t notice much difference, except for the tree house which kept the children occupied right up until bath time. Gus had shown it off proudly, demanding that he climb the ladder and take a look inside the house which boasted a toy cooker, table and two chairs. Storm showed him the hollow tree camp, although he was too big to enter himself. He wondered what sort of gardener would go to the trouble of building such an exquisite playhouse. They didn’t ask to watch DVDs and Gus left his PlayStation in his bedroom. He also noticed the children played together without quarreling. That was a miracle in itself. His curiosity was aroused, but, as Jean-Paul did not come up to the house, David felt no compulsion to introduce himself. Besides, it wasn’t fair to disturb him on his weekend off.

But by the end of November he began to notice a marked change. The borders looked groomed, the soil was a rich brown and free of weeds, the dead clematis that had scaled the front of the house was pulled down and carted away. Great heaps of rotten foliage were piled high in the vegetable garden ready to be burned. The stones along the thyme walk had been weeded, the balls of topiary trimmed into perfect spheres. The gardens were a pleasure to behold, even in winter. He didn’t usually bother to walk around his estate, from a combination of inertia and lack of interest, but now he was drawn away from golf to enjoy the marvels of his property.

The more David saw, the more his admiration grew. Miranda showed him around enthusiastically, pointing to the things Jean-Paul had done, deriving pleasure from these rare moments together. She watched her husband’s astonishment with a real sense of achievement, feeling her spirits soar to the bright blue skies where a buzzard now wheeled in search of prey. She wanted to take his hand like they had done in the early days of their marriage, when they used to spend Sunday mornings wandering around the Serpentine before nipping into Jakobs for lunch, but something stopped her.

“The children help. They rush home from school to dig up all the weeds and fill the wheelbarrow. He showed them how to roast marshmallows on the bonfire. Even Mr. Underwood was dancing around it like a Red Indian. It was so funny.” She recalled that she hadn’t laughed like that with David in a very long time. Perhaps she never had.

David started to feel uneasy. “I’d better meet this Jean-Paul. He sounds like Mary Poppins,” he said grudgingly.

“That’s exactly what he is! The children can’t get enough of him. Storm has made friends with Jeremy’s cows and Gus has taken an interest in planting bulbs. He likes playing with the worms he digs up.”