The French Gardener (22 page)

Ava awoke early. She hadn’t slept well since that kiss on the beach. Her heart beat wildly, a confusing mixture of excitement and fear that sent the blood pumping through her veins. She lay listening to the cheerful clamor of birds in the trees and thought of the garden stirring to life with the warmer weather and longer days. The dawn light spilled into the room, flooding a slice of carpet with enthusiasm and yet, for Ava, it filled her with dread. The light signaled another day’s struggle with Jean-Paul and her own, uncontrollable desires. They worked in each other’s company like a couple of magnets fighting the force that pulled them together. They talked about anything but their true feelings; both suffered the same frustration inside, and the same struggle to dissemble.

Phillip lay on his back, his hand by his ear in carefree abandon. Ava turned on her side and watched the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed with the slow regularity of a man contented with his lot. He had done nothing to deserve her betrayal. They enjoyed a solid marriage in spite of his long and frequent trips abroad. He left her in no doubt that he loved her greatly. She, in turn, held him in the highest esteem; she respected his opinion about everything and admired his intellectual brilliance. She relished his lack of arrogance, his reliability, his strong moral code, his deep wisdom. So, why did she risk it all by loving a man she couldn’t have? Was it worth losing everything for a moment’s ride on a rainbow?

She thought of her children. Those three trusting people whose lives depended on the solidity of the foundations she built for them with Phillip. If she were to shake those foundations, what future did they have? But even while she held their futures in her hands like fragile feathers she was still distracted by the irresistible draw of Jean-Paul. There was only one thing to do.

She didn’t wait for Phillip to wake up but maneuvered herself on top of him, nuzzling her face in his neck. He stirred as he felt her warm body on his and wrapped his arms around her dreamily. “I want another baby,” she whispered into his ear. Phillip awoke with a jolt.

“What?” he mumbled, struggling to consciousness.

“I want another baby,” she repeated.

“Shrub, darling. Another baby? Right now?”

She held him tightly, frightened of losing him. “Yes.”

“I think we should think this through sensibly.”

“I’ve thought it through. I can think of nothing else.”
Nothing else to tie me to home so I don’t run away…I can’t trust myself anymore
.

“I don’t think I could give you a baby right now even if I wanted to,” he said, pushing her gently off him. “That’s not the sexiest way to wake a man.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, rolling onto her back and throwing an arm over her face. “You know how I am. If I have an idea I have to act upon it immediately.”

“Usually one of your most endearing qualities,” he said drily, stumbling into the bathroom.

“I’m getting on for forty. If I don’t have another now I’ll miss my chance.”

“Aren’t three enough?” Her reply was drowned by the sound of water gushing out of the tap as Phillip brushed his teeth and splashed his face with cold water.

“Then let’s go away for a few days,” she suggested when he emerged. “Just the two of us.”

He looked at her and frowned. “Are you all right, Shrub?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I didn’t think wild horses could drag you from your children and gardens.”

“It’s been so long. I never see you. You’re in your study working, or abroad. I need to see more of you.” There was an edge to her voice he hadn’t heard before. He sat on the bed beside her.

“If that’s what you want. I’m sorry, darling. I had no idea.”

“I want to spend some time with you without the children. I want you to look on me as a woman and not just a mother.”

“You’re all woman to me, Shrub.” He tried to smile, but her sudden, uncharacteristic outburst worried him.

“Marriage has to be worked at. If there are chinks, things can get in. There can’t be any chinks. Do you see?”

“I’m trying very hard to see. It’s a little early in the morning to see much.”

“Let’s go abroad. Somewhere warm. We can lie in the sun and read. Walk hand in hand on a beach somewhere. Do you remember before Archie was born?”

“Tuscany. Of course I remember. We were young and in love.” He laughed.

“We made love all afternoon after big glasses of rosé and big plates of pasta. It was warm and balmy. I remember the smell of eucalyptus that scented the air. At night we wandered the streets of Siena and Florence without a care in the world. Let’s do it again.” Her eyes blazed with enthusiasm and Phillip’s anxiety ebbed away.

“I remember you in that black and white polka-dot sundress. You were the most lovely creature I had ever seen.” He kissed her forehead. “You still are, you know.”

“We can make a baby in Tuscany. A celebration of our marriage and our love. Oh Phillip, it’ll be so romantic.”

“I’m not sure sleepless nights and nappies are very romantic. Think about it, Shrub. You’re talking about another human being. Another member of our family. A child too small to play with his siblings. I’m old, don’t forget. And I’m not going to get any younger. If you really yearn for another child I won’t deny you. But I want you to think about it very carefully and to consider the sacrifices. Are you ready for them?”

With those thoughts she prepared to face Jean-Paul. Having suffered guilt that morning in the arms of her husband, she now suffered it all over again as she stepped into the garden in search of Jean-Paul. She was considering bringing another child into the world solely to prevent herself from yielding to him. Suddenly that felt like a betrayal, too.
I should send you away
, she thought unhappily,
but I couldn’t bear never to see you again.

She wandered into the wildflower garden and stood in the sea of daffodils. The sky was clear and fresh, the air sweet with the earthy scent of fertility. All around her the gardens were stirring with life, the trees vibrating with hundreds of nesting birds jostling each other for position. Instead of uplifting her, they made her sad. A vital part of her would never flower but remain stunted, like a bud killed off by frost. She would always wonder what life would have been like beside Jean-Paul. In her heart she knew she would die not knowing, for the sake of Phillip and their children.
My life does not belong only to me,
she concluded.
I’m bound to my family by love and nothing will ever change that. I have chosen my life and the lives of four others depend on me. I must be content with his friendship. Friendship is better than nothing
.

She lifted her eyes to see Jean-Paul striding purposefully up the meadow towards her just as Phillip’s car disappeared
down the drive. The sleeves of his blue shirt were rolled up, his forearms brown and strong, his shoulders wide, even his gait had changed in the months he had been at Hartington. He was no longer a precious city boy used to long lunches on the rue Saint Germain but a man of the land, who loved it as she did. Her spirits rose and her resolve weakened. As he approached he seemed to transform the gardens around him into something magical. The sight of those daffodils and the almost phosphorescent green of the newly emerging leaves on the trees caused her intense happiness.

His face was drawn. Before she could speak he took her hand and pulled her behind the hollow tree, wound his fingers through her hair and kissed her on the mouth. Finally, he pulled away.

“I can’t go on like this,” he said at last. “Every day I love you more. Don’t you see how you torment me? What began as a pleasure simply to be with you is now a curse. I am permitted to look but not touch and that, my beautiful Ava, is slowly killing me. So, I have decided to go back to France.”

His words winded her as violently as if he had struck her. “You’re leaving?” she gasped.

“Don’t look so sad. You’ll make it harder for me.”

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“Then be with me!” he argued roughly, taking her by the shoulders. “Be with me!”

“I can’t,” she replied hoarsely. “I want to, but I can’t.”

“Then what is there for me here?”

“I don’t know. At least we’re together.”

“But at what price?”

“I can’t live without you, Jean-Paul. Please don’t make me live without you.”

“I can’t live with you if I’m not able to hold you,” he replied gruffly. “I’m a man, Ava.
Un homme qui t’aime
.”

“Et je suis une femme qui t’aime.”

He stared at her in astonishment. “You speak French? My God, I thought I knew everything about you.” He traced a finger down her cheek and across her chin as if willing himself to remember every contour.

“Will I never see you again?”

He wiped the tears with his thumbs. “I don’t know.”

“Jean-Paul, you can’t leave me like this. Just when the garden is bursting into flower. All that we’ve created together…”

“Will remind you of me.” He laughed cynically. “Maybe it will convince you to come and join me.” He drew her close. She heard the frantic beating of his heart and inhaled the spicy scent of him she hoped she’d never forget. She closed her eyes but the tears escaped, soaking his shirt.

“What will I say to Phillip?” she asked.

“Tell him I have had enough.”

“I don’t want him to think badly of you.”

“Then tell him I had to leave on account of a woman. It is always easier to add a little truth to a lie.”

“Oh, Jean-Paul, please stay, I beg you.” But she knew it was useless. “What will your father say?”

“I don’t care.”

“But your inheritance?”

“I’ll transform his gardens at the château and show him what I am capable of.”

“But we’ve only just begun. There is so much more to learn.”

“Then I will have to teach myself.”

“You won’t see your cottage garden in full bloom.”

“I don’t care about the cottage garden. I care only about you. I will never see you in full bloom and for that I am heartbroken.” He lowered his head and kissed her again.

This time she shut her eyes and parted her lips and let him kiss her deeply. She didn’t think about her children or Phillip. Jean-Paul was walking out of her life forever and
while he kissed her, nothing in the world could distract her from him.

Ava ran to the house and threw herself on her bed where she cried like a child. She focused on that final kiss under the tree and tried to hold him there where she could still feel him. It seemed unreal that she would never see him again. He had become so much a part of Hartington that the place would feel empty without him. She thought of the cottage garden exploding into flower and cried all the more. It was
his
dream. His creation for her. It was wrong that she should enjoy it alone.

What would she tell the children? They loved Jean-Paul, too. He was part of the family. She was more determined than ever to have a baby, to hold her here and concentrate her mind. A child to stand between her and the door to remind her where her place was. Archie, Angus and Poppy were at school all day. How was she to fill the hours except in the gardens they had tended together? Every plant would remind her of him. What if her longing grew too much? What if it corroded her reasoning and her judgment? What if it drove her crazy like Daisy Hopeton and she was unable to stop herself? A new baby would stop her more surely than anything.

She didn’t know how she was going to tell her family that Jean-Paul had gone. She decided to tell them that he had gone home to see his mother. That way, if he changed his mind, he could always come back. How she hoped that he would change his mind. She told the children at teatime, hiding her face in the tomato and basil sauce she was cooking for their spaghetti. They gave it a moment of their attention before returning to more important things like building a camp under the refectory table in the hall. Ava stared into the saucepan, holding back her tears. They would never know the sacrifice she had made for them.

Ava had made a cheese soufflé and roasted a pheasant in order to take her mind off Jean-Paul’s departure. The children had played in the hall with the dogs, diving in and out of their camp, pulling the books off the table in their exuberance. Ava cooked to the sound of the radio, but the country songs she liked just made her cry, so she tuned into Radio Four and listened to a short story instead. When Phillip returned for dinner, the children were in bed. Ava handed him a glass of red wine warmed by the Aga and kissed him. Seeing his smiling face in the doorway confirmed that her sacrifice had been worth it. What sort of woman would she be if she left him and the children and ran off to France?

However, the fact that she had made the right decision didn’t make it any easier to bear. She tried to pick the right moment to tell her husband: it was vital that she showed no emotion. Tears, blushing, wobbling lower lip and chin would only give her away. She had never been very good at acting. In her school days she had always been given the least responsible parts, like janitor, cook or “member of crowd scene.” Now she was required to give an award-winning performance, but she was insufficiently talented to pull it off. So instead of telling him at the table she decided to toss the news to him while she was bent over the dishwasher, stacking the soufflé plates.

“Darling, Jean-Paul has gone home for a break, to see his mother.” She closed her eyes at the mention of his name and squeezed back tears. Her throat constricted and her face reddened. She stood up and faced the window where her miserable reflection stared back at her from the glass.

“Good” was his reply. “You know, I’ve been thinking about your holiday idea.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I think we both deserve a break. Do you think your mother could come and look after the children?”

“Well, I was thinking perhaps Toddy would take them.”

“No, she’s got too much on her own plate to take on our three.” Finally, it was safe to turn around. She took the pheasant out of the oven and lifted the lids off the vegetables.

“I’m sure Mummy would love it, and the children adore Heinz,” she replied, relieved as she felt the shame drain from her face. “We could ask Mrs. Marley to cook, that way she won’t have to worry about food. I’ll get Toddy to keep an eye. Maybe she could take the boys off Mummy’s hands a little and have them for a couple of afternoons.”