He looked at her and frowned. “Are you all right, Shrub?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I didn’t think wild horses could drag you from your children and gardens.”
“It’s been so long. I never see you. You’re in your study working, or abroad. I need to see more of you.” There was an edge to her voice he hadn’t heard before. He sat on the bed beside her.
“If that’s what you want. I’m sorry, darling. I had no idea.”
“I want to spend some time with you without the children. I want you to look on me as a woman and not just a mother.”
“You’re all woman to me, Shrub.” He tried to smile, but her sudden, uncharacteristic outburst worried him.
“Marriage has to be worked at. If there are chinks, things can get in. There can’t be any chinks. Do you see?”
“I’m trying very hard to see. It’s a little early in the morning to see much.”
“Let’s go abroad. Somewhere warm. We can lie in the sun and read. Walk hand in hand on a beach somewhere. Do you remember before Archie was born?”
“Tuscany. Of course I remember. We were young and in love.” He laughed.
“We made love all afternoon after big glasses of rosé and big plates of pasta. It was warm and balmy. I remember the smell of eucalyptus that scented the air. At night we wandered the streets of Siena and Florence without a care in the world. Let’s do it again.” Her eyes blazed with enthusiasm and Phillip’s anxiety ebbed away.
“I remember you in that black and white polka-dot sundress. You were the most lovely creature I had ever seen.” He kissed her forehead. “You still are, you know.”
“We can make a baby in Tuscany. A celebration of our marriage and our love. Oh Phillip, it’ll be so romantic.”
“I’m not sure sleepless nights and nappies are very romantic. Think about it, Shrub. You’re talking about another human being. Another member of our family. A child too small to play with his siblings. I’m old, don’t forget. And I’m not going to get any younger. If you really yearn for another child I won’t deny you. But I want you to think about it very carefully and to consider the sacrifices. Are you ready for them?”
With those thoughts she prepared to face Jean-Paul. Having suffered guilt that morning in the arms of her husband, she now suffered it all over again as she stepped into the garden in search of Jean-Paul. She was considering bringing another child into the world solely to prevent herself from yielding to him. Suddenly that felt like a betrayal, too. I should send you away, she thought unhappily, but I couldn’t bear never to see you again.
She wandered into the wildflower garden and stood in the sea of daffodils. The sky was clear and fresh, the air sweet with the earthy scent of fertility. All around her the gardens were stirring with life, the trees vibrating with hundreds of nesting birds jostling each other for position. Instead of uplifting her, they made her sad. A vital part of her would never flower but remain stunted, like a bud killed off by frost. She would always wonder what life would have been like beside Jean-Paul. In her heart she knew she would die not knowing, for the sake of Phillip and their children. My life does not belong only to me, she concluded. I’m bound to my family by love and nothing will ever change that. I have chosen my life and the lives of four others depend on me. I must be content with his friendship. Friendship is better than nothing.
She lifted her eyes to see Jean-Paul striding purposefully up the meadow towards her just as Phillip’s car disappeared down the drive. The sleeves of his blue shirt were rolled up, his forearms brown and strong, his shoulders wide, even his gait had changed in the months he had been at Hartington. He was no longer a precious city boy used to long lunches on the rue Saint Germain but a man of the land, who loved it as she did. Her spirits rose and her resolve weakened. As he approached he seemed to transform the gardens around him into something magical. The sight of those daffodils and the almost phosphorescent green of the newly emerging leaves on the trees caused her intense happiness.
His face was drawn. Before she could speak he took her hand and pulled her behind the hollow tree, wound his fingers through her hair and kissed her on the mouth. Finally, he pulled away.
“I can’t go on like this,” he said at last. “Every day I love you more. Don’t you see how you torment me? What began as a pleasure simply to be with you is now a curse. I am permitted to look but not touch and that, my beautiful Ava, is slowly killing me. So, I have decided to go back to France.”
His words winded her as violently as if he had struck her. “You’re leaving?” she gasped.