The French Gardener(78)

“I must say, Miranda. You’ve done a splendid job, you really have,” said Constance when Diana was out of earshot. “You really have to be a terrible old sourpuss to find fault with it. Think nothing of it, my dear. The problem does not lie with you, but with your mother and the very ugly green monster that’s got under her skin.” The older woman winked. Miranda smiled and followed her into the cloakroom to hang up her coat.

Diana took her place at the dining room table. “Funny to have used such pale colors on the walls,” she said to her daughter. “It’s very London. I think warm colors are better suited to the countryside.”

“I don’t think…” Miranda began, but Constance dived in there before she could finish.

“It’s very pretty, Miranda. You’ve done the house beautifully, hasn’t she, Robert?”

“Yes, indeed,” her brother replied, having not considered the decoration for a moment. “Very tastefully done.”

“Gus and Storm, come and sit next to your grandmother. I see you so rarely. Miranda never brings you to stay with me. She should share you both a little more. Poor Grandma!” Miranda rolled her eyes and watched the children do as they were told, though without enthusiasm. “So pleased you’ve got a cook, Miranda. It wouldn’t be worth us coming all this way if we had to stomach your efforts.” She gave a little laugh as if it was meant in jest, but Miranda turned away, bruised. No wonder her sister had gone to live on the other side of the world.

Mrs. Underwood entered with a roast leg of lamb. The room was at once infused with the scent of rosemary and olive oil. Diana inhaled deeply but said nothing. Miranda wondered whether she’d have the nerve to criticize Mrs. Underwood. Now, that would be a skirmish she’d pay good money to see. She waited as her mother took her first bite while Mrs. Underwood went around the table with the dish of roast potatoes. Diana chewed in silence, her cheeks flushing with pleasure. Finally, she spoke.

“Very good,” she said briskly, piling another load onto her fork.

“Of course it is,” replied Mrs. Underwood, watching David help himself to four large potatoes. “It’s organic Dorset lamb. You won’t get better than this.” Diana knew better than to argue.



On Christmas Eve Gus and Storm put their stockings out for Father Christmas and went to bed without any fuss. Gus declared that he was going to lie in wait for him, while Storm argued that if he did Father Christmas wouldn’t come at all and neither of them would get any presents. Miranda tucked them up and returned to the drawing room to add a log or two to the fire and turn on the Christmas tree lights. She closed the curtains, put on a CD and sat a moment on the fender. She missed Jean-Paul. She missed his reassuring presence around the place. She wondered how he would advise she deal with her mother. He had answers for everything, like Old Father Time. Suddenly she had a longing to return to the scrapbook and for her parents and Constance to go home so that she could lie in peace on her bed and disappear into the secret life of Ava Lightly.

At that moment, David entered in a burgundy smoking jacket and matching velvet slippers. He saw his wife on the fender and smiled at her. “How are you, darling?”

“Surviving,” she replied.

“Are the stockings ready for me? I’m rather looking forward to playing Santa!”

“I hope Gus doesn’t stay awake for you. I’m afraid you’d be a big disappointment to him.”

“He’s been out all day. He’s exhausted. I don’t imagine he’ll manage to keep his eyes open for more than five minutes.”

“Mummy’s being very awkward,” she said, changing the subject.

“Only because you let her.” He popped open a bottle of champagne.

“It’s been like that all my life and I still don’t know how to handle her.”

“You’re a grown woman. Just tell her to shut up.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Since when have you been such a wilting wallflower?”

“David!”

“Well, darling. People treat you according to how you let them. All you have to do is say ‘no.’”

She frowned at him. “I can see why Blythe raves about you.”

“Does she?”

“Yes, she says you give good advice. Now I know she’s right.” He poured her a glass of champagne.

“Here’s to you, darling,” he said, kissing her cheek.

“What’s that for?” she asked.

“Just to tell you how much I appreciate you. I’ve bought you a splendid present.” Miranda smiled, thinking of Theo Fennell.