“Have you?” she asked coyly. “When are you going to give it to me?”
“I could give it to you now,” he said, kissing her again. “You smell delicious. Why don’t we sneak upstairs for ten minutes? I heard your mother running a bath, they’re going to be a while.”
“I haven’t had a bath either.”
“Good, I like you better before you go and cover yourself in oil. Come on!”
He took her hand and led her upstairs, both giggling like a couple of children afraid of being caught. Once in the bedroom he pushed her playfully onto the bed and settled himself beside her. He kissed her again. She forgot about the present as he pulled her shirt out of her jeans and ran his hand over her stomach. He undid her bra and cupped her breast, rubbing the nipple with his thumb. Then he buried his face in her neck, kissing the tender skin until she wriggled with pleasure. Aware that they could be disturbed at any moment they made love quickly. Miranda didn’t think about Jean-Paul. It had been so long since David had looked at her in that way, his eyes sleepy with lust, his mouth curled with admiration, that she remained in the moment with him.
When it was over they lay together, bound by the intimacy of their lovemaking. “You were a feast, darling!” he exclaimed. “Now I’ll give you your reward.” He got up and wandered naked into his dressing room. Miranda covered herself with the sheet and prepared herself for her gift.
“I hope you haven’t gone mad!” she said. It was impossible not to go mad in Theo Fennell.
“Don’t you think you deserve it, darling? I leave you down here all week. This is to tell you how much I appreciate and love you.” He returned holding a red box. Miranda knew immediately that it couldn’t be from Theo Fennell, whose boxes were pink and black. She felt a wave of disappointment but made an effort to dissemble. “Happy Christmas, darling.”
“Thank you.” She hesitated a moment before opening it. “What have you gone and bought me?”
“Go on,” he encouraged, smiling in anticipation. Inside the box was a diamond heart pendant. If she hadn’t had the call from Theo Fennell she would have been thrilled with it. What woman could be unhappy with diamonds? But all she could think of was the piece of jewelry David had had engraved. If it wasn’t for her, who was it for?
Spring
XXI
The happy sight of pussy willow. The first glimpse of a daffodil shooting through the soil.
Hartington House, 1980
The change of season brought on a change in me, a blossoming, like an unexpected flower bursting through snow. Outwardly, I continued as if nothing had been said, but inwardly I could not forget M. F.’s declaration of love. Suddenly, something I had never considered lingered at the forefront of my mind, like a carrot before a donkey who had always been content with grass. I should have sent him home and avoided the terrible anguish and pain that was to strike us both in the heart. But how could I have predicted what was to come when at the time I truly felt nothing but affection? As winter thawed I found myself thinking more and more about him. Moments when my mind was normally empty were filled with his laughter and that wide, infectious smile, so handsome my stomach flipped at the merest thought of it. The nights grew increasingly tormented, the days charged with electricity that continued to build between us like humidity in summer before a storm. Perhaps if Phillip had been at home more, it might not have happened. But he was away so much. I was lonely. His absences allowed me and M. F. to grow close. And I, starved of company, allowed it to happen. I fought with the guilt.
My moods swung from joy to despair, when I would sit alone on the bench in our cottage garden and ponder the hopelessness of this forbidden love. Every time I indulged those impossible dreams the faces of my children rose up before me, cutting them down before they could take root. I loved M. F., but I loved my children more.
Phillip continued in his merry way, disappearing to France and Spain for weeks on end, even traveling as far as Argentina and Chile in search of new wine. He was oblivious of the growing kernel in my heart. At first I pretended I had not seen it, then I concealed it, but as it grew I was unable to ignore it, that feisty seed of love that M. F. had planted that day in the woods.
Ava was plagued with confusion. How could she love two men at the same time? Her love for Phillip had not diminished, not even an inch, and yet, she found herself growing more and more attached to Jean-Paul. She had presumed affairs happened when there was already discord in the marriage. Yet, there was no discord in her marriage. Not even boredom. There was no reason why she should be attracted to Jean-Paul when everything in her life was as it should be.