“Will you come back to Hartington?” she asked when they lay together, bathed in a pool of light dropped from a little window above them.
“Yes,” he said. “You know I would move mountains for you.”
“You don’t have to, my darling,” she replied, lovingly caressing his face. “I’m here now.”
Hastily, they tidied themselves in preparation for lunch. Ava fastened the front of her dress and smoothed it down, brushing off any telltale wisps of straw. Jean-Paul made for the door, then turned and kissed her again. She laughed and kissed him back. “You look beautiful,” he said, stroking her face with his eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dress.”
“I wore it for you.”
“It suits you. And your hair is down. I like it down. What happened to the pencil?”
She laughed at his teasing. “Seriously now, how do I look?” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Flushed.” He took her hand. “Come, we’ll walk the long way around, that way any evidence will be blown away by the wind.”
When they reached the terrace, Antoinette, Henri and Phillip were just getting up to go in for lunch.
“Perhaps you’d like to freshen up in your room,” said Antoinette to Ava. “I’m sorry, I should have offered when you arrived. Françoise will show you.”
Ava followed the older woman up the stone staircase and along a corridor until they reached a door at the end. Françoise opened it to reveal a large bedroom with a four-poster iron bed draped in white linen. A window was wide open, giving on to the dovecote and the fields of vines beyond, and a pair of white curtains billowed on the breeze that blew in from the garden. Françoise was surprised that she spoke French. “Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked, grateful to be understood.
“No, thank you. I’ll be down in a minute.” She noticed that her suitcase was on a stand, open and ready to be unpacked. She delved inside for her sponge bag and hurried into the bathroom to wash away the evidence of adultery. Catching herself in the mirror she paused to see if there was anything in her appearance that might give her away. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes shining, her hair tousled and tumbling over her shoulders. She pulled out a piece of straw that had gone unnoticed. Instead of throwing it in the bin she put it in the pocket of her sponge bag. Something to treasure. It would always remind her of the first time they made love.
She leaned out the window and surveyed the gardens. The sky was clear blue, the scent of newly cut grass and sweet-smelling shrubs rose up on the air and, beyond it all, stood the dovecote, their secret place, half hidden behind the wall. She smiled to herself and thought of Jean-Paul, recalling his kiss and his touch. She closed her eyes and wished the week would last forever.
XXV
The sweet scent of unfurling leaves. The tremor of my childlike excitement at the sight of spring.
Ava sat through lunch exuding a radiance that affected them all. Phillip delighted in his wife’s happiness and silently congratulated himself on arranging this break away from home. It was obviously what she needed; she was back on sparkling form, looking lovelier than ever. Henri smelt Ava’s sexuality like a dog sensing a bitch on heat and flirted with her in his coarse, bombastic manner. Jean-Paul watched her with dreamy eyes, holding her gaze a little longer than was prudent, throwing his head back and laughing in a way he hadn’t laughed for weeks, certainly in a way he never behaved in the presence of his father. Antoinette reveled in his joy and knew that Ava had done as she had asked and persuaded him to return to England. Ava slipped back to her normal, ebullient self, holding the table with her stories and making them all laugh with her impeccable timing and witty repartee. She felt electrified by Jean-Paul’s presence in the room, as if he were spring incarnate, coaxing her winter branches into blossom.
After lunch, Henri insisted on showing them around the vineyard. Antoinette declined gracefully, floating off for a siesta. She kissed her son, leaving him with an affectionate look, then smiled conspiratorially at Ava. Ava panicked. A mother’s instinct perhaps? Then she shook off any feeling of unease. She couldn’t possibly know. Her complicit look must refer to the fact that Ava had succeeded in getting her son to change his mind and return with them to England.
Ava walked behind Phillip and Henri with a bounce in her step, her shoulder almost touching Jean-Paul’s arm. She was unable to hide her exhilaration, taking pleasure from every stolen moment. Henri led them down the garden to the dovecote. “Thank goodness doves can’t talk,” Jean-Paul commented under his breath as they slipped through the gate.