At first she tried to distance herself from him. She sent him to the far corners of the garden, but even though he wasn’t physically present he was constantly on her mind. Then she dismissed her feelings as sisterly fondness. After all, they had worked closely together in the garden now for six months—it was natural that she should feel like his big sister. But as winter thawed and the snowdrops and daffodils began to raise their heads, she could deny it no longer. Her feelings were sexual and they weren’t going away.
She had witnessed a transformation in Jean-Paul. He had arrived in autumn an arrogant, insouciant young man. Little by little the garden had changed him. She would not have imagined the part she had played in that change. That he had watched her with her plants and animals, with her children and her husband, and when she was alone with him. Ava had no knowledge of her own intrinsic magic. Whether it was Ava or the garden, Jean-Paul had undergone a definite change for the better. He had become more sensitive, more understanding. The root of that change, of course, was love. The more love he felt in his heart, the better a human being he became.
One day in March Jean-Paul suggested they drive to the beach for the morning. “We can have lunch in a pub. I’d like to see a little more of Dorset.” He put his hands out and shrugged. “It’s drizzling. There is little we can do in drizzle.” His grin of entreaty made it impossible for her to refuse.
“That’s a good idea,” she replied, trying to mask her anxiety. It was all very well being alone with him in her garden, but somehow the idea of spending the day together on the beach felt improper. “I’ll tell Phillip. Perhaps he’d like to come.” Jean-Paul’s face fell at the suggestion. “He’s probably too busy, but I know he’d appreciate being asked,” she added hastily, making off towards the house.
Phillip sat in his study in a worn leather armchair, the dogs lying on the rug beside the fire, classical music resounding from the tape recorder in the cupboard. He was so deeply engrossed in a book that he did not hear his wife enter. “Darling,” she said, drawing near. He raised his eyes, startled a moment, then smiled at the sight of her. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“You never interrupt, Shrub,” he replied, putting the book on his knee.
“Jean-Paul has suggested we go for a walk on the beach. It’s a miserable day. We’d have lunch in the pub. He wants to see more of the countryside. Why don’t you join us? It’ll be fun.”
“As much as the thought of strolling in drizzle with my wife appeals to me, I will decline,” he replied and Ava was horrified that she felt such relief. In an effort to assuage her guilt she managed to look suitably disappointed, planting a lingering kiss on his cheek. “You’re very transparent, Shrub,” he said with a chuckle.
“Transparent?” she repeated, blushing.
“Yes.” He scrutinized her face. “You think you’ll be bored with Jean-Paul on your own, don’t you?”
“No.”
“I know you, Shrub. I can read you like a book. You’re my number one bestseller.” He laughed. “I’m afraid you’ll have to go alone. I’m sure you’ll survive.”
“You’re a beast!” she exclaimed. “You leave him to me all the time. You owe me for this. You know that, don’t you?”
“Whatever you want is yours,” he replied.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
He pulled her down and kissed her on her forehead. “I hope you do,” he said. With a bounce in her step she left the room, closing the door softly behind her.
Jean-Paul and Ava drove down the narrow winding lanes towards the coast. Ava felt unusually nervous, like a teenager on her first date. Jean-Paul looked relaxed, clearly enjoying her company and the sight of the newly budding countryside. The windscreen wipers swept the rain off the glass with the regularity of a ticking clock. Ava sensed more keenly than ever the swift passing of time. At the end of the summer he would return to France, having picked her up and dropped her like a tornado. They would both recover from their infatuation. She would reflect on what might have been, certain that as a married woman she had had no choice but to refuse him.
She parked the car in a lay-by and led him down a snake path to a secluded beach. “No one comes here,” she told him. “It’s stony. But I love the roughness of it and the sound of pebbles under my feet.” It was drizzling steadily, but she was dry under the cowboy hat Toddy had bought her in Texas some years before, a poncho she had acquired in Chile as a teenager, jeans and gumboots. Her hair was stuffed into the hat, escaping in a few curly tendrils down her neck. She had never considered herself good-looking, but the way Jean-Paul looked at her told her she was the most beautiful woman in the world.