The French Gardener (36 page)

David arrived at Hartington House a few hours after Miranda had left for the station with Henrietta, who had parked her Fiat in their driveway to pick up on their return. Mrs. Underwood was supervising the children in the kitchen, cooking dinner for three. There was no point putting the children to bed the moment their father walked through the door, and besides, it was the weekend; they could all sleep in the following morning.

Mrs. Underwood heard the front door open. Gus and Storm jumped down from the banquette where they had been podding broad beans for tomorrow’s lunch, and rushed up the corridor to greet him. She heard squeals of “Daddy” from Storm and David’s laughter as he must have picked her up and swung her in the air. It was a happy reunion. She had heard rumors about an affair and Miranda discovering them necking in the greenhouse, but she wasn’t one to pry into other people’s business. By the sounds of things, David was as happy as a lark out there.

“How’s my boy?” he said to Gus, bending down to ruffle his hair. “You’ve grown!”

“No, I haven’t,” said Gus. “You need glasses.”

“You’re right about that. But I’ve acquired some, metaphorically speaking, and I’ve never seen you better than I do now.” Gus scrunched up his nose. His father sounded different. “Let’s go and find out when dinner is.” The three
of them went back down the corridor to the kitchen where Mrs. Underwood was drying her hands on her apron.

“Good evening, Mr. Claybourne,” she said, smiling at the sight of him. She had always found Mr. Claybourne handsome. He had lost weight, she noticed. Could do with a little feeding up. “I’ve done roast chicken with potatoes,” she informed him, wishing she’d added a few more potatoes to the roasting tin.

“Smells delicious! When do you want us to eat?”

She looked at her watch strapped tightly around her fleshy wrist. “An hour. Eight-thirty-ish.”

“Good. Come on, children, let’s go outside before dinner. It’s a shame to waste such a glorious evening.” Gus looked at his sister and shrugged. He didn’t sound like Daddy at all.

They set off down the thyme walk, towards the woods. “What are we going to do, Daddy?” asked Storm.

“I don’t know. Let’s see what comes up.”

“We made a camp in the dovecote with Jean-Paul,” said Gus, running ahead to show it off. David winced at the mention of that man’s name.

“I bet you did,” he said drily, watching Storm follow her brother. He gazed around the gardens, fragrant in the soft evening light, and noticed how beautiful everything was. There was little color now, just different shades of green and white. There was something very soothing about the lack of vibrant hues and he felt the tension that had built up ever since he had been discovered with Blythe ebb slowly away like a gentle tide carrying away debris with every wave.

The children lingered by the dovecote, showing their father the fire they had built to cook on and the hole in the ground where they were going to bury their treasure. David noticed the purple shadows thrown across it, the way the white was turned to pink, and to his surprise he saw a pair of doves fly in through one of the little windows below the roof. He
was injected with optimism, his spirit suddenly filled with excitement as if something magical was going to happen.

“Come on! Let’s keep going,” he said, marching on towards the field. The children ran after him. David felt a hand slip into his and expected to see Storm, skipping along beside him. To his surprise it was Gus. He smiled down at his son. Gus grinned up at him bashfully before lowering his eyes. He didn’t feel he deserved Gus’s trust. He hadn’t yet done the mileage to merit that level of confidence.

They reached the field where Jeremy Fitzherbert kept his cows and climbed over the fence. Charlie the donkey lifted his head and stopped chewing grass at the sight of the little boy. “We should have brought a carrot for Charlie,” said David. Gus felt a wave of shame. Storm put out her hand.

“Come on, Charlie,” she called, but the donkey didn’t move. He watched them warily, his body stiff in anticipation of flight. “Don’t be frightened,” she continued. “Daddy, why won’t he come? He normally does.”

“He’s not used to me,” said David. “Come on, Charlie.” David put out his hand and smiled encouragingly. Slowly they approached him. Charlie didn’t know what to expect. They seemed friendly enough. Gus withdrew his hand from his father’s and delved inside his trouser pocket for a mint. He had started a packet that afternoon. He placed one on the palm of his hand and stretched it towards him.

“Here, Charlie. I’m not going to hurt you.” He fixed the donkey with his eyes, hoping to communicate kindness and honesty. He knew the animal was afraid of him and he didn’t blame him. He had been unkind, chasing him around the field with a stick. Now he was ashamed of his actions. He had been young then, he thought, young and ignorant. Now he was more grown up he knew not to hurt living creatures, whatever their size. They all deserved respect. Jean-Paul had taught him that. “Don’t be frightened, Charlie. I’m not going
to hurt you,
ever again
,” he added under his breath, hoping his father had not overheard.

Tentatively, the donkey stretched his neck and sniffed Gus’s hand with large, velvet nostrils. The scent was too much to resist. He extended his lips and sucked up the mint. Storm wriggled in delight. David put his hands on his hips and watched as Gus pulled out a couple more mints, giving one to his sister so she could feed him, too. Little by little Gus befriended his old target. Charlie let the boy stroke his face and rub grubby fingers across his broad nose. Storm patted his neck and pulled off matted strings of fur that hung off his back like dreadlocks. “He needs a good brush,” she said. “I’m going to ask Jeremy if we can take him out and groom him.”

“Good idea,” Gus agreed. “We can take him for walks on a rope.”

“Yes, and feed him. He can be our pet.”

“I think he’ll like that,” said David. “He certainly liked those mints.”

Gus pressed his forehead to Charlie’s and whispered that he was sorry. Charlie seemed to understand him. He puffed and snorted and pricked his long ears. When they continued up the field to the woods, Charlie followed them right to the gate and stood staring as they disappeared into the trees. Gus felt elated. Now his past mistakes were completely erased. With renewed energy he ran off up the path that cut through the trees, hurdling fallen branches and brambles. Storm walked with her father, keeping an eye out for the fairies who lived among the leaves. David wondered why he had always been too busy for these simple pleasures. He gazed around as the light faded, singeing the tops of the trees, plunging them into shadow, and he realized that here was where he belonged. Here with his family. Whatever happened, he’d fight to save it.

Miranda and Henrietta settled into their suite at the Berkeley Hotel, a light and spacious room overlooking the busy London streets. Harvey Nichols was just a block away and Harrods a little on from that. Miranda should have felt euphoric. She could almost smell the perfume wafting in through the window. Yet she felt subdued. All she could think about was Ava Lightly and Jean-Paul and the hopelessness of it all. She had lived their love story as if it had been her own.

Henrietta was awed by the grandeur of the hotel. She rushed about the suite, marveling at the marble bathroom where little bottles of Molton Brown bath oils stood neatly beside tiny soaps and a miniature sewing kit. She held the fluffy white dressing gown against her and did a twirl as if it were an exquisite ball dress. “They’ve even provided slippers!” she squealed.

“There’s a swimming pool upstairs if you fancy a swim, and a spa. You have to have a massage.”

“I’ve never had a massage,” she confessed, blushing. “I don’t think I’d be happy to take my clothes off in front of a stranger. Besides, there’s an awful lot of me!”

“Don’t be silly, Etta. They massage people ten times the size of you. Go on, I insist. Tomorrow at six when we’ve exhausted ourselves. I’ll certainly be having one.” Henrietta watched her friend. Although she was smiling, she could not hide her unhappiness. Even her lovely skin looked gray. She didn’t like to pry. She longed for Miranda to confide in her so that she could be a proper friend, like Troy, who was always there during the bad times as well as the good. That’s what a friend was to Henrietta: someone she could rely on to love her, no matter what. She longed for Miranda to give her that opportunity.

That night they had dinner in their suite, in their dressing gowns. The waiter brought it in on a trolley, the dishes kept
warm beneath large silver domes. Henrietta was so enchanted she drank far too much wine and ate everything on her plate including the little red pepper which she hated.

“I’m sorry I’ve been a terrible friend,” said Miranda, fortifying herself with a glass of wine. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors that David and I have separated for the time being. I caught him sleeping with an old friend of mine. A girl I’ve known since school. He’d been having an affair with her for months.”

“I had heard something along those lines. I didn’t want to ask…”

“I hadn’t seen her for years then bumped into her in London. Her son’s the same age as Gus.”

“You don’t expect to be betrayed by a friend like that.”

“But she wasn’t a real friend, was she? Just because we were close at school. A lot of water’s gone under the bridge since then. We’re very different people. School bonded us, but besides Gus and Rafael, we don’t have anything in common—except David, of course.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks. Life’s a bummer. I would have told you, but I needed to get it all sorted in my head first. Anyway, he’s apologized.”

“Do you still love him?”

Miranda took a swig of wine and narrowed her eyes. “I think I do.”

“You
think
you do?” Henrietta wondered how it was possible not to know.

“I’ve been rather distracted lately.” Miranda deliberated whether or not to tell her. She had to tell someone, the secret was burning a hole in her heart.

“What could possibly distract you from worrying about your marriage?”

Miranda laughed. “I know, it’s silly. I don’t really under
stand it myself. To be honest, I’m glad something’s hotter than David. It’s Jean-Paul.”

“You’re not in love with him, are you?”

“No, and that would make two of us,” said Miranda, grinning knowingly at her friend. “You’re not in love with Jean-Paul either, are you?” Henrietta shook her head. “Who then? There’s someone, I can tell by the look on your face.” Miranda needed to hear of someone else’s happiness like a ray of light through the darkness that now enveloped her.

“I want to hear your story first,” said Henrietta.

“I’ll only tell you, if you tell me who you’re in love with.”

“Jeremy Fitzherbert. There, now I’ve said it.”

Miranda was surprised. She sat back in her chair and stared at Henrietta, suddenly seeing her in a completely different light. “Jeremy Fitzherbert. I’d never have put you two together. But now you mention it, I can’t believe I never did. How far has it gone?”

“Oh, not very far,” she mumbled, lowering her eyes and turning the color of the pepper she had foolishly consumed. “We haven’t even kissed. Maybe he doesn’t want to.”

“Don’t be silly. If you’re not kissing, what
are
you doing?”

“We’ve spent some time together. He comes into my shop.”

“He must have a shop of his own by now,” said Miranda.

“He’s sweet.”

“He’s handsome. I remember the first time I met him, I noticed his eyes. They’re very blue.”

“Yes, they are, aren’t they?”

“Well, get on with it. Why don’t you make the first move?”

“Oh, I couldn’t.”

“Then you have to give him more encouragement.”

“I’m sure he knows.”

“Then why isn’t he making a move?”

“Because he’s shy.”

“No, he isn’t. He’s not sure you feel the same way.”

“Perhaps he just wants to be my friend.”

Miranda nearly choked on her wine. “No man is going to go to all that trouble for friendship—unless he’s gay.”

“Like Troy,” said Henrietta, her smile turning wistful. “So, what’s
your
secret?”

Miranda drained her glass and poured another. “I’ll begin at the very beginning…”

“That’s always a good place,” giggled Henrietta, feeling deliciously light-headed.

“…with a scrapbook I found in the little cottage on the estate…”

Henrietta listened while Miranda told her of Ava Lightly, her affair with a mystery man she called M. F. and the gardens they had planted together. “The man Ava referred to as M. F. is Jean-Paul.”

“Oh my God!” Henrietta gasped. “Are you sure?”

“Mr. Frenchman—I thought it was a coincidence when he just happened to saunter into my home and offer his services as gardener. You know, now I think about it, when I asked him what he did, he said ‘I garden.’ He never said he was a gardener. ‘I garden, why not?’ It’s only now, with hindsight, that it sounds odd. He owns a beautiful vineyard in France. No wonder he never asked about money. He’s a rich man. Only love could make a man of his means and status work as a lowly gardener and live in a little cottage! He said he’d bring the gardens back to life and he has. But he can’t bring Ava back to life. She’s dead.”

Henrietta paled. “Dead?”

“I rang her up and spoke to her daughter.”

“Have you told Jean-Paul?”

“Not yet. I’m too frightened.”

“You have to tell him! You have to give him the scrapbook. It’s his by right.”

“At least he’ll know how much she loved him.”

“You have to tell him that you found the cottage as a shrine to their love. The table laid for two, the teapot and cups. The house kept as if they had just gone out for a walk and never returned. It’s the most romantic story I’ve ever heard.”

“But there’s more, Etta.”

“You have to tell me. I can’t stand it!”

“Peach, the daughter I spoke to, is his.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m certain. She writes it clearly in the book. After Jean-Paul returned to France, Ava realized she was pregnant. She writes that Phillip thought the baby looked just like her, but she saw Jean-Paul’s smile. She called her Peach, which is what Jean-Paul called her—
ma pêche
.” Miranda began to cry. “Do you know what she said? She said that every smile her daughter gave her was a gift.”