* * *
Antoinette was delighted when Dr. Heyworth telephoned to suggest they paint the second coat while the weather was good. She was flattered that he should offer to help. It was a hard task, for the room was large, but he insisted it was nothing but a pleasure for him. He didn’t want to think of her tackling it on her own. Antoinette was relieved not only to have his company but to have something to occupy her. The thought of spending another day going through George’s room filled her with dread. Harris had been very helpful, but she’d rather have Phaedra’s moral support, or her children’s, for Harris couldn’t advise her about what to keep and what to throw away, in spite of his efforts.
Dr. Heyworth arrived on Tuesday morning, and they set off up the hill together in David’s Land Rover. David was busy on his tractor and had no need for it. The dogs lay outside in the shade of a gnarled oak tree while Dr. Heyworth and Antoinette labored inside. They chatted merrily and laughed at each other’s jokes and witty asides. Dr. Heyworth’s sense of humor suited Antoinette’s perfectly, and they both found the same things amusing. When they looked at their watches and realized it was already half-past one, they were both equally surprised, for the morning had slipped away unnoticed as time tends to do when one is enjoying oneself.
They drove down to the house and lunched outside on the terrace for the first time that year. Barry had begun to put out the potted plants, now there was no fear of frost, and fat bees buzzed around the lilac and lavender bushes. A cuckoo called out from the top of the garden, and pigeons cooed on the roof of the house. Swallows dived, and thrushes ate from the feeders Barry kept full for them. Dr. Heyworth and Antoinette sat in the shade of the umbrella and enjoyed the sounds of summer. “May is my favorite month,” said Antoinette. “Everything looks so lush but so tidy. By August it’s a losing battle in the garden.”
“Especially if we get a lot of rain,” Dr. Heyworth agreed.
“Have you always loved gardening? You’re very good at it.”
“My wife was the gardener, not me.”
Antoinette was stunned and almost dropped her fork. “Your wife?”
Dr. Heyworth smiled at her reaction. “Yes, I had a wife once. She died young.”
“I’m so sorry.” She stared at him for signs of grief, but he simply looked resigned. “How long were you married?”
“Eight years.”
“How did she die? If you don’t mind my asking,” she added quickly.
“Breast cancer. Nowadays women have a better chance.”
“What was her name?”
“June. She was a very sweet girl.”
“You didn’t have children?”
“No, sadly not. Some things aren’t meant to be.”
She gazed at him steadily, her heart flooding with sympathy. “So when you advised me to talk about my loss, you were speaking from experience?”
“Yes, I know what happens when you bottle things up. I bottled June up for twenty years until it made me sick. I only began to get better when I started to talk about her.”
“Who did you talk to?”
“I paid a professional,” he replied sheepishly.
“There’s no shame in that, Dr. Heyworth.”
He frowned and put down his knife and fork. “Lady Frampton, might I be presumptuous in supposing us friends?”
“Of course,” she answered.
“Then might I ask that you call me William?”
Antoinette felt the color rush to her cheeks. “William it is, then; you must call me Antoinette.” It seemed silly that he should have to ask, but she’d never thought of calling him anything but Dr. Heyworth. “You know you can’t be my doctor now, don’t you?”
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t call my doctor by his Christian name; it doesn’t feel right.”
“Then I will find you another doctor. I’m too old, and anyway, I’d much rather I was your friend.”
Antoinette laughed and noticed a little flutter in her stomach, as if she’d swallowed one of those fat bumblebees by mistake. “So would I,” she replied, and her blush deepened.
“By the way, I haven’t seen your sister today,” Dr. Heyworth said, picking up his knife and fork again and tucking into the leg of cold chicken.
“She went home. I’m afraid she had to get back to her dogs and her life. I’d asked a great deal of her: it was only fair that I let her go.”
“Are you all right on your own?” he asked, concerned.
“Of course. I’m fine. David’s just down the track, and Margaret is always close by. Rosamunde will come and stay the odd weekend.”