The Lavender Garden (23 page)

“Sebastian, throughout our entire conversation, you’ve talked about
I
. Please remember that it’s no longer
I
. It’s
we
. I’m your wife now, we’re a partnership, and we’ll sort out the problems here together, just as you helped me sort out mine in France.”

“You’re very sweet, Emilie, but I really don’t think, given the circumstances, there’s much you can do to help.” He sighed.

“Why do you say that? Firstly, you know I have money. And as your wife, whatever I have is yours. Of course I can help you. I
want
to help you. Especially if, as you say, the finance is only needed to get you through until your business starts to provide a better income. If it makes it easier, think of me as an investor,” she suggested.

Sebastian took his head from his hands and stared at her in wonder. “Emilie, are you seriously saying you would help me financially?”

“Of course,” she said, shrugging. “I don’t see the problem. You’ve been there for me in the past few months. Now I can be here for you.”

“Emilie, you’re an angel.” Sebastian wrapped his arms around her suddenly and hugged her. “I feel so guilty I didn’t tell you all of this before we were married. To be fair, it was only when we arrived here yesterday that I realized just how desperate the situation is. And I admit to hiding my head in the sand more than I should have done. God, when I opened my bank statement this morning, it resembled the financial equivalent of a car crash.”

“Please, at least don’t worry about the money any longer. When you’ve worked out the amount you need, I’ll have it transferred over to your account here in England. Personally, I think there are more urgent problems than money to sort out at present. Like filling the oil tank.” Emilie raised an eyebrow. “We can pay over the telephone by credit card, I’m sure. Then at least we’ll all be warm.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Sebastian turned to her, his face gray with anxiety. “You’re being so good about all this. I really am so terribly sorry.”

“Hush. Besides the oil, which is an easy problem to solve, the next thing surely is to find someone to take care of your brother’s needs. Yes?”

“Absolutely. The most immediate source would be an agency temp, but they really do charge an arm and a leg. . . .”

“We’ve just agreed that money is not the problem. Is Alex lying when he says he can look after himself?”

“Well, it’s a fair point to say that I’ve never trusted him to,” Sebastian admitted. “He’s just so accident-prone, Emilie. Knowing him, he’ll end up electrocuting himself by putting a tin of beans into the microwave, or using his computer to order vast quantities of booze from the nearest vintners.”

“So, he doesn’t actually need a qualified nurse to take care of him medically?”

“Well, he takes some drugs in the morning to help his circulation, but it’s more a case of his practical, physical needs.”

“If we fail to find someone, I could help take care of him, at least temporarily,” suggested Emilie. “I have some experience with my mother, who was also in a wheelchair in the last few weeks of her life. I’m also a qualified vet, so I know about the workings of the body.”

“But could I trust you not to fall for Alex’s charms?” Sebastian eyed the empty whiskey glasses and shot her a half-amused glance. “Or his influence?”

“Of course!” Emilie refrained from pointing out that Sebastian himself had drained the two glasses, not his wife or his brother. “Surely it’s not surprising he gets frustrated. Does he ever leave the house?”

“Rarely, but I can’t really see Alex wanting to go to the community center every Wednesday and join the rest of the local disabled gang for a game of snap and a cup of cordial. Or, at least, that’s how he would view it. He’s always been a loner. Anyway”—Sebastian let his arms leave Emilie and sank back onto the sofa—“there you have it. Your husband’s life out on a plate: unexpurgated and—at present—a bloody disaster.”

“Please don’t say that, Sebastian. Many of these things are not your fault. You’ve done your best to help your brother and keep your business and this house going. You mustn’t blame yourself.”

“Thanks, sweetheart. I really appreciate your support. You’re wonderful, you really are.” Sebastian leaned toward her and kissed her softly on the lips. “Now then, we need to phone the oil company before it closes and put ourselves in the inevitably large queue of snowbound and oil-less masses. If you don’t mind me using your credit card, maybe you could give it to me so I can read out the details when I call them?”

“Of course. It’s upstairs in my handbag. I’ll go and get it.”

Emilie dropped a kiss on her husband’s weary head and left the room. As she walked upstairs, she realized she felt a small glow of satisfaction. She could now help her husband just as he had helped her in the past few months. It was a good feeling.

A
week later, things at Blackmoor Hall were calmer. The snow, which had fallen solidly for three days and then frozen into great swathes of treacherous ice, was finally beginning to thaw as the temperature went up. The oil company had delivered the day before, and Emilie awoke to a subtle lessening of the gnawing cold.

A temporary carer from an agency had been sourced by Sebastian for Alex. Emilie hadn’t seen him since the day of her panic attack. As she switched on the kettle for a cup of coffee to take back upstairs to bed, she felt much calmer now. Sebastian had admitted how much money he needed to get him through the next few months, and she’d had the amount transferred immediately to his bank account. Since then, he’d visibly relaxed.

“As we’re snowed in, I think we should treat this imposed hiatus as a kind of impromptu honeymoon,” he’d announced. “We’ve got wine in the cellar and food in the fridge, a blazing fire, and each other. Let’s try and enjoy it, shall we?”

They’d subsequently spent long, leisurely mornings under the covers together, then donned thick coats and Wellingtons to brave the short walk into the village to eat hearty British food at the local pub. On the return journey, they’d indulged in heavy snowball fights and arrived back at the house elated from the fresh, icy air of outside. Evenings were spent together curled up in front of the fire, drinking the wine that Sebastian brought up from the cellar, talking, and making love.

“You are so very beautiful,” Sebastian would say as he kissed her naked body in the firelight. “I’m so very glad I’ve married you.”

The morning before, as the ice had begun to thaw, Sebastian had taken Emilie into the local town of Moulton to stock up on fast-dwindling food supplies. He’d insisted she drive the Land Rover
home, which had been a terrifying ordeal for someone who was not used to icy conditions, let alone driving on the left-hand side of the road.

“It’s important you can do it, sweetheart,” Sebastian had said as she’d driven them back home at a snail’s pace. “When I’m away in London, you’ll need to be able to get out.”

Having made the coffee, Emilie looked with pleasure at the kitchen. Simply washing the filthy curtains that had hung drearily at the windows and placing a vase of flowers on the scrubbed pine table had cheered the room enormously. She’d sourced some pretty blue-and-white china from a selection in one of the cupboards and arranged it on top of the mantelpiece above the range. Climbing the stairs with the mugs of coffee, she could see the sun was shining and the ice was dripping into invisibility. Perhaps she could even suggest to Sebastian that she decorate the kitchen—primrose paint would lift the room completely.

Getting back into bed beside him, she sipped the hot coffee.

“Sleep well?” Sebastian asked, sitting up and reaching for his mug.

“Yes. I’ve decided I quite like this house after all. It’s like an ancient, unloved aunt who simply needs some tenderness and care.”

“
And
lots of cash throwing at it. Talking of which, now the snow has thawed and you’re settled here, I’m afraid I’m going to have to head to London for a few days. Will you be all right without me? Alex seems to be content with his new carer and I’m sure he won’t bother you. You could come with me, but I’ll be working flat out and won’t have any time or the headspace to give you any attention. You’d be bored senseless.”

“Where do you stay when you’re in London?”

“Oh, I normally put my head down in the boxroom of a friend’s flat. Not exactly the Ritz, but it does for the amount of time I spend there.”

“How many days will you be gone?”

“I was thinking that if I left early tomorrow morning, perhaps no more than three. I’ll be back late on Friday night,” he promised. “I’ll leave you the Landy, of course, just in case the weather turns again. I have an old banger I use to run myself to the station. And then, perhaps next time, we can think about you coming with me to London.”

“Okay.” Emilie tried not to worry at the thought of Sebastian’s leaving her here alone with the volatile Alex and a car she was terrified of driving. “I was thinking I might paint the kitchen. Would you mind?”

“Of course not. I’ve got to pop into town to the bank anyway. We could choose some paint at the DIY place on the way back.” Sebastian turned to her and stroked her cheek. “You’re a miracle, Emilie, you really are.”

•  •  •

Sebastian left for London early the following morning. Full of plans for the day, which included making a start on painting the kitchen, Emilie went downstairs and made coffee, humming to herself. Then she set to work.

By lunchtime, she’d painted the entire wall of the chimney breast and berated herself for not asking Sebastian to help her move the enormous dresser that took up the entirety of one wall. Sitting down to eat the sandwich she’d made, she heard a car arrive and then leave from the front of the house. Presuming it was the postman, she ignored it. After lunch, she tackled the wall that housed the sink.

“Hello again,” a voice said in French from behind her.

Emilie’s heart sank as she turned and surveyed Alex sitting in his wheelchair by the kitchen door.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, nerves making her sound harsher than she meant to.

“My house and all that,” he replied affably, “and I thought I should inform you that my latest carer has buggered off.”

“Oh, Alex! What did you do this time?” Still perched atop the ladder, Emilie began tentatively to climb down.

“Please!” he said in mock horror. “Don’t you start patronizing me as well.”

“Well, what do you expect?! I’ve only been here a week and I’ve already seen two carers leave.”

“My brother has got to you, obviously,” Alex said sadly.

“No, he hasn’t, not at all,” Emilie replied in English to underline how wrong Alex was.

“I love the way you say ‘not at all’ in your beautiful French accent.”

“Don’t change the subject.” Emilie reverted to French.

“Sorry. Anyway, she’s gone. And now it’s just you and me.”

“Then I must call the agency immediately to find a replacement,” she retorted.

“Look, Emilie, I beg you, please don’t. At least, not for a couple of days. I’d like to prove to you and Seb that I really am perfectly capable of caring for myself. If I absolutely promise to behave—no drink, no drugs, no carousing down at the local pub, et cetera . . .” Alex looked at her in desperation. “Would you grant me a stay of execution? At the first sign of bad behavior, you can call in the reserves.” He shook his head. “And you have no idea how much I don’t want that.”

Emilie hesitated, in a quandary. Surely, she should call her husband and discuss this with him? On the other hand, Emilie knew that if she did, he would almost certainly race home. And with his business as much in need of attention as he’d described, that was the last thing he needed.

Emilie made a decision. She was Sebastian’s wife and would deal with his brother in his stead.

“All right. Is there anything you’ll need?” She put a foot back on the ladder to return to painting the tricky top corner.

“Not currently, thank you.”

“If you do, let me know.” Turning her back on him, Emilie proceeded up the ladder, stuck her brush in the paint, and continued with her task.

There was silence from below. Emilie concentrated on the strokes of her brush.

“Nice color. Good choice,” Alex commented eventually.

“Thank you. I like it.”

“So do I. And as it’s technically half my kitchen, I think that’s rather a good thing, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Another silence. And then . . . “Can I help?”

Emilie refrained from any kind of facetious comment. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“As a matter of fact, I can wield a roller with the best of them,” Alex confirmed, reading her mind.

“Okay. There’s one by the sink. Pour yourself some paint into the tray.”

Emilie watched Alex surreptitiously as he moved toward the sink, grasped the paint pot from the top of it, and poured it efficiently into the tray. “Shall I start here?” He indicated a patch to the left of the dresser.

“If you wish. It’s a shame I can’t move that dresser.”

“I’m sure I can help you with that. My upper torso is stronger than most able-legged humans’. We can have it moved between us, no problem.”

“Okay.” Emilie climbed down the ladder and began to empty the top shelves as Alex cleared the bottom level. Then the two of them together eased the dresser out from the wall.

“Now, tell me about you,” Alex said companionably as Emilie remounted her ladder and he began to roller the wall.

“What do you want to know?”

“Oh, the basics: age, rank, and serial number, that sort of thing,” he said, smiling.

“Well, I’m thirty-one years old and I was born in Paris. My father was much older than my mother and so died when I was quite young.” Emilie was determined to give minimal facts without being rude. “I became a vet, lived in an apartment in the Marais and then met your brother just after my mother died. That’s everything, really.”

“Methinks you underplay yourself. For a start, you come from one of the most aristocratic families in France. The death of your mother even got a mention in the
Times
.”

“You know that from your brother?”