The Woman from Paris(144)
“Perhaps.”
“It’s just so unfair. Everyone’s been pulled down by her absence. She was with us for such a short time, and yet she made a big impression. Fairfield was such a happy place. Now we all mope about like children at a party once the entertainer’s gone. Tom sleeps all day, Joshua sulks in the drawing room reading the papers, Roberta just looks guilty all the time, as if it’s her fault Phaedra left. I just want things to go back to the way they were.”
“They will, in time.”
“I hope you’re right.” She grinned at him guiltily. “I can’t even get my act together to start the farm shop. It’s such a good idea, but I don’t have the incentive without Phaedra. I know we’d have had such fun doing it together, like when we restored the folly. Do you remember when we danced? How we laughed, all of us together. That’s a lost afternoon we’ll never get back.”
“But there will be more afternoons like it, perhaps better. Don’t dwell in the past, Antoinette. Live in the now.”
She grinned at him as the waitress placed tea and cake on the table. “I think this might taste a little better than your cake,” she said with a chuckle. “What do you think?”
* * *
The following day as she knelt on the bank of the lake, placing the weeping willow into the hole Barry had dug, she thought of William. She smiled at the memory of him burning the cake, the sheepish expression on his face when he had seen her standing in the doorway, and their tea at Oliver’s. She looked forward to his visits. He had been a great source of comfort during the last six months, the only person who managed to make her feel light inside.
She loved the way he now turned up without calling first. Sometimes he brought another score of music for her to learn, other times they’d walk up to the folly and chat in front of the fire—they never ran out of things to say. He was a wise counsel and a sympathetic listener, but he was also witty, and the more she got to know him, the more she appreciated his humor. He had a very dry sense of humor, transmuting sorrow into laughter, and little by little Antoinette found that with him she could shake off her melancholy and feel joy again.
She patted the earth around the weeping willow and stood up to admire it. “This will be beautiful once it’s big,” she said to Barry.
“Willows grow quite quickly.”
“Good. What next?” She turned to the row of plants and shrubs neatly placed on the grass behind her and thought how beautiful it was going to look. Without Phaedra her plans of opening the garden to the public in the summer and starting the farm shop seemed like a pipe dream—she didn’t feel brave enough to do those things on her own. She wiped her brow and glanced up at the house, half expecting to see William striding down the lawn towards her, but instead Basil scurried into view to herald the arrival of Margaret.
The old lady marched down to the lake in her long green coat and Wellington boots. Once, that sight would have struck fear into Antoinette’s heart, but now her heart warmed in anticipation of her mother-in-law’s good company and irreverent humor. “Come and see what we’re doing down here,” she said as Margaret reached her.
“Gosh, haven’t you been busy at the garden center.” Margaret’s cheeks were rosy from her walk. She wore a green headscarf tied at the chin and a pair of designer sunglasses Tom had given her. They looked comical teamed with her Barbour coat and rubber boots.
“It’s keeping me very busy.”
“That’s the spirit. The gardens are so big, you start at one end, and by the time you reach the other, it’s time to go back to the beginning again.”
“Do you want to come in for a cup of tea? I could do with a break.”
“That would be lovely.” They set off up the lawn towards the house. “You know, I’ve just had Roberta on the telephone. She and Joshua have been asked to a very grand charity dinner-dance at Battersea Power Station. Do you think David would lend her the Frampton Sapphires? By rights they belong to him now, being the eldest son. It’s just the occasion, and it would be nice for them to get a little wear.”
“You know what he thinks of Roberta,” said Antoinette.
“It’s about time he buried the hatchet! Really, it’s no help at all having those two at each other’s throats.”
“Let me ask him. You never know . . .”
“It would be nice. We all have to make up and move on.”
Antoinette shook her head. “I’m not sure David can.”
“Really, is it that bad?”
“Yes, it’s bad, Margaret. His heart is well and truly broken.”