The French Gardener(77)

Constance had the annoying habit of interrupting. She’d ask a question but not listen to the answer, preferring to give her opinion instead, cutting one off midsentence. After a while Miranda gave up trying and sat back and listened with half an ear, making the right noises in the right places to suggest that she was paying attention. David liked her father, Robert. They sat smoking cigars, discussing politics. They shared the same opinions, both right wing and equally pompous.

The children played outside in their boots and coats, their laughter rising into the damp air. But Gus seemed lost without Jean-Paul. He tried to get his father to play with them, but David was busy with their grandfather. The child lingered on the stone bridge, gazing forlornly at the cottage that was empty and cold. Storm returned inside to play Hama beads on the kitchen table while Mrs. Underwood cooked lunch. Gus was left alone to wander about in search of entertainment. Without Jean-Paul to keep him busy he reverted to what he knew best: tormenting small, defenseless creatures.

He found his target along the thyme walk. It was a large spider with black hairy legs and a round, juicy body. Having been prodded with a stick it was cowering under a leaf, but Gus could see it clearly. It waited, frozen with fear. But in spite of its experience of birds and snakes, the spider couldn’t have imagined the nature of this predator.

Gus rolled onto his stomach where the paving stones were still damp from drizzle fallen in the night. It was no longer raining but the sky was darkened by clouds and the wind was edged with ice. Slowly, so as not to frighten the spider away, Gus moved his hand. The spider remained motionless, hoping perhaps that the predator might not see it if it didn’t move. But Gus was an expert when it came to spiders. He wasn’t afraid of them, like his sister and her friends. With a swiftness that came from years of practice, Gus thrust his fingers forward and grabbed the creature by one long, fragile leg. “Gotcha!” he whispered triumphantly. The spider tried in vain to escape. Gus pulled it out into the light and very slowly, while still holding one leg, plucked another off the body. He couldn’t hear the spider wail or see the look of pain in its eyes. Perhaps it felt no pain at all. It didn’t matter. One by one he pulled the legs off until all that remained was the soft round body which he left on the stone for a bird to eat. The legs lay like tiny twigs discarded by the wind.

His sense of satisfaction was short-lived. He thought of Jean-Paul and how he loved all God’s creatures, and was suddenly gripped with shame. Hastily, he squashed the little body under his foot, hoping to wipe away the deed, pretend it had never happened. He ran off into the vegetable garden, closing the door behind him, and found a warm place in one of the greenhouses. To his surprise it was full of pots. Each pot was packed tightly with earth, lined up in neat rows. There were about fifty in all and Gus swept his eyes over them in awe. He knew instinctively that Jean-Paul had planted something special in each that would grow in the spring. He sensed them hibernating beneath the soil. So this is garden magic, he thought excitedly, wishing that Jean-Paul were there to explain it to him. He spotted a beetle lying on its back on the concrete floor, legs wiggling frantically as it tried to right itself. Gently, so as not to hurt it, Gus flipped it over with a leaf and watched it scurry beneath a terra-cotta pot. His spirits rose on account of his good deed.



Miranda showed her mother and Constance around the garden. She found it easier to handle her mother’s barbed comments out there where Jean-Paul had sown his magic. She felt close to him, as if his presence warmed the air around her and filled her spirit with serenity. Constance rattled on enthusiastically, while Diana sniffed her contempt. “Goodness, do you really need such a large property? Terribly hard to maintain.”

“We have two gardeners,” Miranda replied grandly, smiling to herself as she thought of Jean-Paul.

“At your age I did everything myself. It’s terribly extravagant to employ so many people…”

“What nonsense, Diana,” interjected Constance. “You said so yourself, it’s a hard property to maintain. I would imagine you’d need more than two. I hope they’re good!”

“As you can see…”

“I certainly can, Miranda,” Constance interrupted again. “There’s not a weed to be seen anywhere. I do hope to see it in spring. It’ll burst into glorious flower.”

“Oh, spring will be lovely,” Diana agreed. “But by summer, everything will grow out of control and then you’ll realize you’ve taken on more than you can chew.” Miranda was relieved when Mrs. Underwood announced that lunch was ready and they returned inside.