“I know you and he haven’t exactly gelled. Is it going to ruin your holiday if he’s there?”
“No. Not at all.”
“He might have returned by then anyway.”
“Exactly. But I don’t mind. I like him. I really do. He’s pleasant to have around and he’s changed a lot since he arrived. It would be nice if he were there. He can show us around the château gardens himself.”
“Good. I want you to have a good rest, Shrub. We don’t have to hang around with them all day. We can venture off on our own and explore. I know you want us to spend time together.”
“That’s okay. I’m sure they’re charming.”
“Yes, but I promised you we’d have time alone. You know I always keep my promises.”
This time she wouldn’t mind if he didn’t.
XXIV
Raindrops on bluebells. The eccentric sound of a cuckoo. The uplifting sight of flirtatious mallards in flight.
They were met at Bordeaux airport by Henri’s driver. He held up a sign saying phillip lightly, welcome! He spoke no English and Ava was thrilled to speak French to him. Phillip listened with pride as she chatted easily. He had never seen her look more beautiful. Her hair was loose and falling down her back in shiny curls. Her cheeks were pink which accentuated the sparkling green of her eyes, and her face had tanned the color of warm honey. She wore glittery pink velvet slippers on her feet and a rather old-fashioned black dress printed with small pink flowers, and a short olive green cardigan. He noticed that she walked with a bounce in her step and was pleased that he had gone ahead and organized this break away from home. It was just what she needed.
Ava was as taut as a tightly strung violin. Outwardly she put on a good show of simply being excited by the holiday, but inside she was quivering with nerves. What would Jean-Paul think of her appearing at his home? What if he had chosen to spend the week in Paris in order to avoid her? Or worse, what if he interpreted this trip as an indication of her readiness to give herself to him body and soul? She stared out of the window and pondered the wisdom of her decision.
France was in the full throes of spring. The trees were all in leaf, tall white candles adorned the horse chestnuts, and undulating fields of vines shimmered with their first leaves. Roses grew in abundance. The driver told Ava that they were planted at the ends of the rows to stop the ploughing oxen from nibbling the vines as they turned around to start the next row. To her delight she spotted a pair of swallows on the wing and a pretty brown thrush.
Finally, the car swept up a long curved drive, beneath an ancient avenue of towering trees that plunged them into shadow. At the end, the house stood bathed in sunshine. It was a majestic, neoclassical building on a grand scale. Built in pale, sand-colored stone, symmetrical, with tall windows framed by blue shutters and ornate black balconies, its beauty distracted Ava from her fears and filled her with wonder. Virginia creeper scaled the walls with honeysuckle and wisteria. As they approached, she could see the steep roof of slate tiles and charming dormer windows, each one capped by a curving pediment like a graceful eyebrow. Narrow stone chimneys reached into the sky with fanciful, cone-topped towers, decorated by a sudden spray of small birds.
The car drew up on the gravel outside the house. A pair of Great Danes charged out of the open door, their deep barks biting into the still air and echoing off the walls of the château. Ava climbed out of the car, her heart beating with anticipation. She raised her eyes to see an elegant, olive-skinned woman standing at the door. With her black hair pulled into a chignon that showed off her beautiful bone structure and deep-set brown eyes, she was obviously Antoinette, Jean-Paul’s mother.
Antoinette smiled serenely. “Welcome,” she said, stepping onto the gravel. “I hope you had a pleasant journey.”
“Splendid,” said Phillip, striding over to her. She gave him her hand and he leaned forward to kiss her. She was tall and willowy in flowing white trousers held at the waist with a brown crocodile belt. She wore a man’s striped shirt beneath a cream waistcoat lined with black-striped ticking. Ava thought she was the chicest woman she had ever laid eyes on. “This is my wife, Ava,” Phillip added, introducing her.
“I have heard so much about you,” she said warmly. “Jean-Paul is so fond of you.” Ava shook her hand, thin and surprisingly cold to touch, and wondered how much he had told her.
“Please come inside. I hope you don’t mind the dogs, they are rather large but very friendly.”
“We adore dogs,” said Ava, trying to hide her nervousness behind a veneer of enthusiasm. “We have two of our own.”