“Don’t look so sad. You’ll make it harder for me.”
“I don’t want you to leave.”
“Then be with me!” he argued roughly, taking her by the shoulders. “Be with me!”
“I can’t,” she replied hoarsely. “I want to, but I can’t.”
“Then what is there for me here?”
“I don’t know. At least we’re together.”
“But at what price?”
“I can’t live without you, Jean-Paul. Please don’t make me live without you.”
“I can’t live with you if I’m not able to hold you,” he replied gruffly. “I’m a man, Ava. Un homme qui t’aime.”
“Et je suis une femme qui t’aime.”
He stared at her in astonishment. “You speak French? My God, I thought I knew everything about you.” He traced a finger down her cheek and across her chin as if willing himself to remember every contour.
“Will I never see you again?”
He wiped the tears with his thumbs. “I don’t know.”
“Jean-Paul, you can’t leave me like this. Just when the garden is bursting into flower. All that we’ve created together…”
“Will remind you of me.” He laughed cynically. “Maybe it will convince you to come and join me.” He drew her close. She heard the frantic beating of his heart and inhaled the spicy scent of him she hoped she’d never forget. She closed her eyes but the tears escaped, soaking his shirt.
“What will I say to Phillip?” she asked.
“Tell him I have had enough.”
“I don’t want him to think badly of you.”
“Then tell him I had to leave on account of a woman. It is always easier to add a little truth to a lie.”
“Oh, Jean-Paul, please stay, I beg you.” But she knew it was useless. “What will your father say?”
“I don’t care.”
“But your inheritance?”
“I’ll transform his gardens at the château and show him what I am capable of.”
“But we’ve only just begun. There is so much more to learn.”
“Then I will have to teach myself.”
“You won’t see your cottage garden in full bloom.”
“I don’t care about the cottage garden. I care only about you. I will never see you in full bloom and for that I am heartbroken.” He lowered his head and kissed her again.
This time she shut her eyes and parted her lips and let him kiss her deeply. She didn’t think about her children or Phillip. Jean-Paul was walking out of her life forever and while he kissed her, nothing in the world could distract her from him.
Ava ran to the house and threw herself on her bed where she cried like a child. She focused on that final kiss under the tree and tried to hold him there where she could still feel him. It seemed unreal that she would never see him again. He had become so much a part of Hartington that the place would feel empty without him. She thought of the cottage garden exploding into flower and cried all the more. It was his dream. His creation for her. It was wrong that she should enjoy it alone.
What would she tell the children? They loved Jean-Paul, too. He was part of the family. She was more determined than ever to have a baby, to hold her here and concentrate her mind. A child to stand between her and the door to remind her where her place was. Archie, Angus and Poppy were at school all day. How was she to fill the hours except in the gardens they had tended together? Every plant would remind her of him. What if her longing grew too much? What if it corroded her reasoning and her judgment? What if it drove her crazy like Daisy Hopeton and she was unable to stop herself? A new baby would stop her more surely than anything.
She didn’t know how she was going to tell her family that Jean-Paul had gone. She decided to tell them that he had gone home to see his mother. That way, if he changed his mind, he could always come back. How she hoped that he would change his mind. She told the children at teatime, hiding her face in the tomato and basil sauce she was cooking for their spaghetti. They gave it a moment of their attention before returning to more important things like building a camp under the refectory table in the hall. Ava stared into the saucepan, holding back her tears. They would never know the sacrifice she had made for them.
Ava had made a cheese soufflé and roasted a pheasant in order to take her mind off Jean-Paul’s departure. The children had played in the hall with the dogs, diving in and out of their camp, pulling the books off the table in their exuberance. Ava cooked to the sound of the radio, but the country songs she liked just made her cry, so she tuned into Radio Four and listened to a short story instead. When Phillip returned for dinner, the children were in bed. Ava handed him a glass of red wine warmed by the Aga and kissed him. Seeing his smiling face in the doorway confirmed that her sacrifice had been worth it. What sort of woman would she be if she left him and the children and ran off to France?