The French Gardener(64)
“Well, let’s go down to the cottage and see if he’s there.”
“I don’t think we should disturb him on a Saturday.”
“I’m the boss. I can disturb him whenever I like.” He sounded more severe than he meant to. Miranda followed him across the field. The children waved from their tree then disappeared inside.
“That tree is a godsend. It keeps them busy for hours. They never tire of it.”
“I suppose it’s better than television,” he grunted. Miranda frowned. A moment ago he had been so happy. She mentally replayed their conversation, wondering if it was something she had said.
At the cottage, smoke billowed from the chimney, suggesting that Jean-Paul was at home. David knocked on the door and shoved his hands into his pockets. It was bitter out of the sun. Jean-Paul had been painting in the spare room. When he heard the knock on the door, he put down his brush and went downstairs to open it. David extended his hand and introduced himself formally. He did not smile. Jean-Paul was not what he expected, though he was relieved to see how old he was.
“Please come in,” said Jean-Paul, standing back to allow them into the hall. “It’s cold outside.”
“But beautiful,” Miranda added, shrugging off her sheepskin coat. “The children are in your tree. We can’t get them out!” David noticed the excitement in her voice and felt his irritation mount.
“I see you’ve been busy in the garden,” he said, wandering into the sitting room. The fire glowed, Crystal Gayle sung out of the CD player. “Do you really like this music?” he asked.
“Of course,” Jean-Paul replied with an affable shrug.
“I suppose you are a different generation,” David went on. Miranda began to feel uncomfortable. She so wanted her husband to like him.
“Please, sit down. Can I make you coffee or tea?”
“No thanks, we’re not staying. I just wanted to meet you. I trust my wife’s judgment, but I like to know those I employ.”
“Naturally.” Jean-Paul looked like a father might look at his son. He understood the younger man’s disquiet. David was as transparent as the river Hart. “I hope you are satisfied with my work so far. You have a beautiful home. You could not have chosen a more charming house anywhere else in England.”
David straightened up, flattered by the Frenchman’s words. “I’m impressed with the tree house,” he said, returning the compliment. He found the ease with which Jean-Paul had mollified him almost as irritating as his jealousy. “It’s good to see them enjoying themselves.”
“You were right to leave the city. Children need to be in the countryside where they have space to run around. They are full of energy. You must be very proud.”
“I am,” he replied. “We both are.” He turned to Miranda and took her hand. The sensation of his skin against hers made her flinch. “You’re doing a wonderful job.”
“Thank you.” Jean-Paul smiled. Miranda’s heart flipped and even David felt moved to smile in return. “If there’s anything you need, let me know. Before you arrived I hadn’t turned my thoughts to the garden so we’re probably in need of tools and things.”
“You have everything. The previous owners left everything behind.” Jean-Paul’s face grew suddenly serious.
“Good. Well, we’ll leave you in peace. Maybe take the children for a walk.” Miranda looked at him in astonishment. He had never taken the children for a walk, nor, as far as she could remember, ever taken himself for a walk.
Once outside, he dropped her hand. “He’s perfectly nice,” he said, striding towards the bridge. “I see he’s taken a shine to the children.”
“They’ve taken a shine to him, too,” she replied.
“He’s not what I expected.”
“Really? What did you expect?”
“Another Mr. Underwood.”
“Oh no,” Miranda laughed. “He’s well educated.”
“What’s he doing gardening then, if he’s so well educated?”
“Perhaps he loves it.”
“Doesn’t make much money.”
“I don’t think he cares about money.”
“Has he left a wife back in France?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
He chuckled cynically. “He’ll soon make his way through all the women in Hartington. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. He’s much too good-looking.”
“Oh, really, darling! He’s not like that at all.”
“Just because he doesn’t flirt with you.” She dropped her eyes to the ground and shoved her hands into her pockets. There was a sharp edge to his words which caused her pain.