“Now?” Ava wondered where the conversation was leading.
“He wants to stay here and learn about the vineyard, but Ava, he needs to go back with you.” Ava was unable to reply, her throat was so tight with emotion. “I think he wants to stay for me. You see, I’m alone here most of the time. Henri lives in Paris. I’m sure he told you. He speaks about you with such affection, Ava. It makes me so happy to know that he is understood. He told me he painted a garden for you.”
“It is the most beautiful painting, Antoinette. We have planted it just as he painted it. He has such imagination and flair.”
“I know.” She smiled again and shrugged. “I understand him, of course.” She opened the iron gate, which whined on its hinges like an old dog, and led her into a wild meadow in the midst of which stood the round stone dovecote. “He is not ready to come home, Ava. I can tell he is unhappy. If he comes home now he will not be free of his father. Not for a moment. With you he is able to enjoy freedom to be himself. I couldn’t bear it if he sacrificed that for me. This is an opportunity of a lifetime and I want him to enjoy it. I will still be here in the autumn. Tell him, for me, that he has to return. I know you can persuade him. His father thinks he has come home for a break. He will never forgive Jean-Paul if he thinks he has let you down, after all your kindness. You see, he has to return with you. There is no other way. Do it, please, for me.”
“I’ll try,” Ava replied huskily.
Suddenly, from around the back of the dovecote Jean-Paul appeared. He stood with his hands in his pockets, looking up at them from behind his fringe. He watched them warily. “Jean-Paul, show Ava the dovecote. I must check on lunch.” She looked at her watch. “Goodness, it is nearly time. Don’t be long.” She turned and slipped through the gate, leaving them alone.
“Why have you come?” he demanded, his tone aggressive. He stared at her impassively, awaiting her response, expecting rejection. Ava ran a hand through her hair, feeling awkward. It had been a terrible mistake. Then he shifted his gaze, suddenly looking as vulnerable as a boy. Her heart buckled. He looked so sad.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, slowly approaching him. “I’m miserable, too.”
His face softened. “You look radiant,” he replied, a small smile curling the corners of his lips.
“That is because I knew I was going to see you.”
“Then you have missed me, too?”
“Yes.”
He slipped his hand around the back of her neck, beneath her hair, and pulled her to him, pressing his lips to hers. She didn’t push him away. She didn’t think of her children or Phillip. She existed in the moment, riding the arc of the rainbow, although, in her heart, she knew it would never last. His mouth was soft, his kiss ardent. She parted her lips and let him in, winding her arms around his waist, feeling the muscles tense beneath his shirt as she touched him. His breathing grew heavy, his body hot and taut. He pulled her around the building so they could not be seen from the gate. Ava felt reckless. She was so far from home. She felt like a different person. Intoxicated by the feel of his body in her arms, combined with the scents of France, she forgot that her husband sat on the terrace with Henri and that lunch was a few minutes away in the dining room of the château. She dwelt in a fantasy world where only she and Jean-Paul resided. A limbo where anything was possible.
He took her hand and led her to the door of the dovecote. Inside it was warm and sweet smelling. He closed it behind him and lay down with her on the straw. She caught her breath as he moved on top of her, parting her legs with his knees. He buried his face in her neck, breathing in her familiar, forbidden scent. Her stomach swam with pleasure as he ran his tongue over her skin. Then he was kissing her chest and unfastening the buttons on the front of her dress. He slipped his hand inside and felt the warm softness of her breast, caressing it with his thumb. Her head fell back as he took it in his mouth. She could feel his bristles against the tender flesh and the wet sensation of his tongue as he toyed with her nipple, and her body shivered with the guilty pleasure of enjoying what she had dreamed of for so long in the secret recesses of her imagination.
She let out a deep moan as he lifted her dress over her stomach and helped her wiggle out of her panties. She felt hot and wanton like a teenager, and smiled at her brazenness. When she opened her eyes she saw that he was looking at her as if she were the most beautiful girl in the world. He smiled at her appreciatively and she smiled back, parting her thighs to let him inside her. As they made love he took her hand and entwined his fingers through hers. She didn’t regret her adultery, not for a moment. If she had taken a second to reflect on Daisy Hopeton she would have realized that there wasn’t such a great difference between them, after all.