The French Gardener(65)

“No, he doesn’t.”

“I should hope not. He knows his place.”



When they reached the hollow tree David announced that they were all going for a walk. “I want you to show me your cows, Storm,” he said, watching her crawl excitedly out through the hole in the bark. Her hair was strewn with twigs and pieces of moss and her cheeks glowed. Gus jumped down from halfway up the ladder, wishing he had something to show his father.

With Storm leading the way, they retreated over the bridge and along the riverbank towards the field of cows. Jean-Paul heard their voices and went to watch them at the window. He stood awhile, enjoying the sight of the little girl skipping through the long grasses. Poppy used to walk with a dance in her step, her dark hair flying about her shoulders in the wind, pretending to be a butterfly or a reindeer. Storm was beginning to learn the magic of the garden that Poppy had known instinctively. It was an enchanted world, ready for her to explore. He looked forward to showing her spring, when the ground would come to life and all the work they had put in would reward them with flowers. Then the magic would really begin.

Gus walked behind his father, whacking the grass with a stick, as if he carried the weight of the world on his small shoulders. There was something angry about him, simmering at his core like lava. His eyes were cold as if to protect himself from disappointment and he always looked up from under his fringe with a mixture of expectation and mistrust. Now that Jean-Paul had met both parents, it was easy to understand the boy’s frustration. He knew that children needed to be listened to, needed love and time. He didn’t doubt Miranda and David loved their children, but they had little time to give. He recalled the little gestures that daily demonstrated Ava’s love for her children. That sort of foundation was a priceless gift for a child; a solid base camp from which to embark upon life.

He returned to his painting. With each brushstroke on the canvas he felt connected to her again.



Storm talked to the cows as if they were her friends, stroking the short hair between their eyes. “You see, they know me,” she said proudly. “Jean-Paul says they have five stomachs.”

“Lucky them,” said David. “I wish I had five stomachs. Then I could eat five times as much of Mrs. Underwood’s crumble and custard.” Storm giggled. Miranda watched her happily. It had been a long time since they had all done something together. Gus sat on the riverbank and picked the grass absentmindedly. Miranda went to join him.

“Can you see any fish?” she asked.

“No.”

“I need to buy you a rod. I’m sure Jean-Paul knows how to fish.”

“He’s going to get me a net so I can catch them.” The boy’s eyes lit up. “We’re going to build a camp in the woods so we can watch deer. He says we’ll see little ones in the spring. We might even see a badger. I’m going to make a spear so I can kill them.”

“I’m sure that’s not Jean-Paul’s idea!”

“Can I have a penknife for Christmas?”

“I’ll have to ask your father.”

“Please!”

“We’ll see.” The thought of Gus with a penknife was rather alarming.



After lunch David didn’t retreat as normal but suggested they light the bonfire in the vegetable garden. Gus informed him that it was Jean-Paul’s pile of rubbish to be burned the following week. “We’re going to be Red Indians again,” he said, demonstrating by making a whooping noise with his hand over his mouth.

“It’s my house and therefore my pile of rubbish,” said David, striding off to put on his boots. Miranda realized he was jealous of Jean-Paul. That was why he had taken her hand and why he had gone for a walk with the children. Jean-Paul was a better father to the children than he was. Instead of reveling in David’s jealousy, she felt ashamed of it; ashamed that her husband had to compete with the gardener to prove himself a worthy father.

That night they made love. After weeks of no contact Miranda knew she should have felt grateful, but she felt only resentment. She knew his actions were motivated by the presence of Jean-Paul. He was marking his territory like a dog pissing on a tree. She closed her eyes and tried to put Jean-Paul out of her mind. But suddenly it was Jean-Paul’s mouth kissing her and his hands caressing her and, in that delicious moment, she realized that the Frenchman excited her. With unexpected ferocity she held her husband close, wrapped her arms and legs around him and tried to focus on the familiar feel of his skin, as if afraid those disloyal thoughts would drive him further away.



The following morning they went to church. As it was their first visit, they were viewed with the same excited curiosity as new animals at the zoo. The Reverend Freda Beeley clasped David’s hand enthusiastically between her own doughy ones. “It is such a pleasure to see you. I knew you would come eventually.” Her voice was thick and fruity. Storm and Gus giggled at the sight of her fearsome bosom that wobbled beneath her robes as she spoke, giving her the shape of a blancmange.