The Woman From Paris (29 page)

“Not intentionally. Barry puts out food for the little ones: robins and thrushes and of course the charming little blue tits. The finches love niger seed, so Barry puts out feeders especially for them. Of course the pigeons try to hog the feeders. George had a shoot, so the keeper always put down feed for the pheasants and partridges. I’m not sure what’s going to happen now. It all depends on David, and I’m not sure he really enjoys it. He doesn’t like killing things.”

“Fair enough,” said Dr. Heyworth. “It’s a brutal sport.”

She proudly showed him the trees she had planted at the end of the orchard. Some of them already displayed a little pink blossom. “I can’t tell you the fun I had yesterday. It was so liberating to sit out here and work. I felt I had real purpose. It was peaceful and warm.” She inhaled and smiled contentedly. “Really, I can’t think why I didn’t do more gardening when George was alive. Busy, I suppose. But one should make the effort to do things one enjoys. Don’t you agree, Dr. Heyworth?”

He was looking at her indulgently, clearly charmed by her
enthusiasm. “I think you’ve found the key to happiness, Lady Frampton.”

She laughed dismissively. “You flatter me.”

“Not at all. I think people spend their lives running around so fast they never have time to just
be
. You were just
being
yesterday, out here in this lovely garden with the flora and fauna. You were enjoying the moment, and I think that is the key to real happiness.”

“Well, I did feel very happy.” She glanced at him anxiously. “Should I feel this happy so soon after George’s death?”

“I don’t think Lord Frampton would want you to mourn him indefinitely.”

“But it’s only been a few weeks.”

“You’ll have your ups and downs, Lady Frampton. But whenever you feel down, you must come out into the garden because it makes you feel better. That can only be a good thing.”

She smiled again. “Then I shall and I shan’t feel guilty about it. Come on, there’s lots more to see. Check out our bird feeders: you’ll be astonished by the amount of birds we have here at Fairfield.”

They continued to wander around the grounds, chatting together contentedly. Dr. Heyworth admired the ancient trees. He knew the names of every one of them. He recognized the plants emerging through the ground after the long winter and made suggestions for one or two new shrubs that would work well in her garden. At one point he suggested it was time to leave, but Antoinette persuaded him to see the folly. “It’s only a few minutes’ walk up the hill. A charming little place and quite run to ruin now,” she explained. “I hadn’t thought about it in years until yesterday, when I was pottering in the garden. You see, it’s all alone up there on the hill. Neglected and forgotten, which is a crime as it’s so pretty. As I’m getting involved in the garden now, I thought I might restore it. It’s part of Fairfield Park, after all, and
someone quite clearly built it with love. It’s only right that we should look after it.”

The folly was very charming, in spite of the mildew that discolored the windows and the ivy that grew up the pillars supporting the
pediment. It was classically proportioned and harmonious, the stone giving it a warm allure. “How very interesting,” said Dr. Heyworth, studying it closely. “It’s made of Bath stone. I recognize it from a house I used to stay in as a child in Wiltshire.”

“What’s Bath stone doing all the way over here in Hampshire?” said Antoinette.

“I can’t imagine.”

“It’s romantic, isn’t it?”

“Very.”

“What shall I do with it? I mean, it’s hidden away here and overgrown with plants. Nature does take over if you let it, doesn’t it?”

“It certainly does.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I think it just needs a bit of cleaning, inside and out. It was obviously built up here because of the view of the house and the lake.” They both surveyed the grounds that spread out before them, making a spectacular view. The lake shone a deep navy, and a few wild ducks moved smoothly across the water like little boats.

“I’ve always thought this was a place to come and picnic,” Antoinette mused.

“Perhaps. It’s south facing, so it gets the sun as it rises in the east and sets in the west. It’s very peaceful up here. Of course, it might have been built to observe from the house, in which case it was merely ornamental.”

“A waste, if that’s the case.”

“Yes, I agree with you. It’s a place that must be enjoyed.”

“I’m going to do it. I’m going to make it beautiful again.” Her voice rose with excitement. “And I’m going to try and find out why it was built in Bath stone. I mean, it would have been easier to build in Hampshire brick.”

“But not nearly so pretty,” said Dr. Heyworth.

She sighed. “To think, it’s been up here for all the years I’ve lived in the house and never once have I asked myself why, or even spent time up here. It never crossed my mind. It’s as if my eyes have opened to a world within my familiar world. Does that sound silly?”

“Not at all.”

“It’s really very strange. I feel quite different.”

“Consider a tree, Lady Frampton. Growing in its shadow is a smaller tree. That small tree can only see the branches of the big tree that grow over it. One day that big tree is felled and the little tree thinks it cannot possibly survive without the shelter the big tree gave it. But then the little tree opens its eyes and sees the sky, the sun, the stars at night, and the birds flying across it. They were always there, only it couldn’t see for the branches of the big tree. While it mourns the loss of the big tree, it celebrates the new world that has opened up right above its head.”

“And I’m the small tree,” she said, smiling wistfully, recalling how George had always dominated because of his bigger personality.

“It’s true. You will all miss George, but a new chapter is beginning for you now.”

“I think it’s going to be an exciting new chapter.”

They walked back down the hill to the house. “I shall go home now,” Dr. Heyworth said, pulling his car keys out of his pocket.

“Thank you for coming on a Saturday.”

“No, thank
you
for inviting me for dinner last night. I’m only sorry your sister suffered such a nasty fall. I’ll pop by and see her tomorrow.”

“But it’s Sunday. You don’t want to come here on a Sunday, do you?”

“Weekends are pretty much the same as weekdays to me, as I only work part time. I’d very much like to see Rosamunde, just to check that she’s recovering as she should.”

Antoinette gave a knowing smile. “Well, if you insist.”

“Make sure she gets lots of rest. No walking about unnecessarily.”

“I will.”

“Call me if you’re worried.”

She watched him climb into his car and put the key in the ignition. “Rosamunde is a strong girl; she’ll recover fast. I’m going to go and find Barry and tell him about my plans for the folly.”

“I look forward to seeing it in all its glory.”

She laughed. “You shall. I’ll get David to help me when he comes
back tomorrow. I hope they’re having a good time. I haven’t heard a squeak.”

“See you tomorrow, Lady Frampton. Oh, and by the way . . .”

“Yes?”

“You have a very fine garden!”

She waved him off, and he disappeared down the drive. Just as he vanished, the ubiquitous figure of Margaret Frampton came into view, striding across the field with Basil. Antoinette stood on the steps and waved. Margaret waved back. Antoinette wondered what her mother-in-law had been up to these past few days. It was unusual for her to keep such a low profile.

She watched the older woman open the little gate at the edge of the field and wait impatiently for Basil to scurry through. The dog found a trace of something appealing and scuttled off in the opposite direction. Margaret barked at him, slapping her thigh, until he was forced to abandon his hunt and do as he was told. He came darting through the gate like a terrified guinea pig. Margaret closed the gate behind her and strode across the gravel towards the front of the house.

“Hello, Antoinette,” she exclaimed.

“Hello, Margaret. I was going to call you this morning,” said Antoinette.

“Oh really. Why?”

“I hadn’t seen you for a couple of days. I wanted to check that you were all right.”

“Perfectly well, thank you.” She climbed the steps then stood a moment at the top, catching her breath. Her large bosom heaved up and down like bellows. “I hear Rosamunde took a fall last night.”

Antoinette was astonished that news had traveled so fast. “Yes, she did. Who told you?”

“Reverend Morley,” Margaret replied casually.

“Reverend Morley? How on earth did he know?”

“He knows everything,” Margaret said, a secretive smile spreading around her eyes and the corners of her mouth. “Don’t forget he has a direct line to God.”

Antoinette didn’t know which was more surprising, the humor on
the woman’s face or the fact that she was making a quip about God. “Let’s go inside,” she said, turning and walking back into the hall. There was something different about her mother-in-law today.

They went into the drawing room and sat down on the sofa next to the unlit fire. It was a warm day and Antoinette had told Harris to light a fire in the small sitting room instead so that Rosamunde would be warm should she want to come downstairs and watch television. “So you invited Dr. Heyworth for dinner,” said Margaret.

Antoinette wondered whether the spy had also told her that Rosamunde had been drunk. “Yes, he’s been very good to me these last few weeks,” she replied.

“Really, that’s beyond the call of duty, Antoinette. Still, very generous of you to have him.” Her tone was patronizing, and Antoinette knew she felt it was beneath her to entertain the local doctor.

“He came this morning to see Rosamunde.”

“How is she? Was it a very nasty fall?”

“Yes, it was. She’s badly bruised.”

“Oh dear, poor thing.” She seemed genuinely sympathetic. “I do hope she stays in bed and gives her body time to recover. No gallivanting about the fields with the dogs.”

“No, she’s going to take it very easy.”

“Good.”

Margaret’s face softened as a pleasant thought popped into her head. “So, when’s that delightful girl coming back to Fairfield?”

“You mean Phaedra?”

“Of course I mean Phaedra. There isn’t another delightful girl that I’m not aware of, is there?”

“They’re back from Murenburg tomorrow,” Antoinette replied.

“Next weekend, then. That would be nice. You will ask her, won’t you?”

“Of course I will. I’d like to see more of her, too.”

“You know, she’s very wise for her years.”

“Yes, she’s a deep person,” Antoinette agreed.

“Yes, that’s a good word,” said Margaret with satisfaction. “She has depth,
real
depth.”

“It sounds like she had a rather tough upbringing.”

“Unhappiness drives a person deeper, so Reverend Morley tells me. That’s meant to be a good thing. Apparently, it teaches us wisdom and compassion. Phaedra seems to have a good deal of both. Unusual in a young person, don’t you think? Young people these days are awfully selfish.”

“I think the boys were rather disappointed that she turned out to be their half sister,” Antoinette confided.

“Well, I do see why. She’s a very pretty girl. She’d have been too good for Tom, anyhow, and I wouldn’t have wished David on her. He’s not a good bet. As siblings they’ll always be in one another’s lives.”

Antoinette leapt to her son’s defense. “I don’t think David’s a bad bet, Margaret. He just hasn’t found the right girl. He’s very discerning.”

“He should get out more. Perhaps Phaedra can take him out a bit in London. He’s not going to meet many potential wives down here, is he?”

“That’s very true. Maybe Phaedra has a nice friend she can introduce him to.”

“I’d imagine she has plenty. Birds of a feather flock together.”

“You’re so right, they do. I’ll take her aside when I next see her and ask her to take David in hand.” The idea gave Antoinette a rush of confidence.

“If he’s going to inherit this place one day, he’s going to have to fill it with children. He can’t be rattling around all on his own.”

“Rather like me,” said Antoinette with a sigh. “I’m rattling around in it now.”

“But you’ve had years of filling it up with a family. That’s very different from starting on your own. When David marries, then you can think about passing it on to him as Arthur and I did when George married you. It’s a house that needs to be full of people. But don’t ever feel bad that you’re rattling, Antoinette. You can rattle in your own home as much as you like.”

Antoinette was disarmed by her mother-in-law’s response. In fact,
they had pretty much agreed on everything, which was extraordinary. “You know, Margaret, I sometimes think of Arthur,” she said wistfully.

Margaret’s face hardened. “Do you?”

“Yes, he had the same lightness of being as George.”

Margaret sniffed. “I suppose he did.”

“He used to make you laugh.”

“Yes, he did. Quite how he managed it, I’m not sure.”

“I remember that the most.”

“Probably because I don’t laugh much anymore.” She leaned towards Antoinette conspiratorially. “You know, I feel a fraud sometimes, when I laugh.”

“Do you? Why?”

“Because I’ve forgotten how to do it. It no longer comes naturally. It feels contrived and out of character.” She shook her shoulders to show how uncomfortable she felt.

“But you are entitled to laugh just as much as anyone else.”

“I’m a terrible old sourpuss.”

Antoinette smiled; if ever there was a time to laugh, it was now. “You don’t
have
to be a sourpuss.”

“I was very gay when I was young. I was jolly and gay.” She looked put out, as if turning into a sourpuss had been forced upon her.

“You can’t use that word these days, Margaret.”

“Rubbish! Now you can see what I mean when I say young people are selfish. That was a perfectly good word for happy before they came along and stole it.” The corners of her mouth quivered. She sucked in her cheeks. “You see, Antoinette. I
am
a terrible old sourpuss!”