“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 dep
arture. 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.”
“Splendid.”
“When were you thinking of going?” They served themselves and sat down.
“The end of May. The children will be at school all day so Verity won’t have to do much more than get them up in the mornings and pick them up after school and put them to bed. I think a week would do.”
Ava pulled a face. She didn’t like to leave the children. “You don’t think that’s too long?”
“Seven days? No, you need a proper rest.”
“Make it five, darling. I’ll get twitchy after that and they’ll miss us. Why not leave on a Monday and return on a Friday, that way we’re back for the weekend.”
“It’s up to you.”
“Yes, that’s better. Five days. Where shall we go?”
“Leave it to me. Tuscany perhaps, or somewhere in Spain. I’ll think about it.”
“Thank you,” she said, sighing heavily.
“Are you all right, Shrub? You don’t look happy.” He took her hand across the table and studied her face. “You don’t look happy at all.”
“Oh, I’m fine,” she said brightly.
“You’re still thinking about having another baby, aren’t you?”
“It’s on my mind, yes.”
“It’s worrying you.”
“It’s a big decision.”
“Very big. You’ve got plenty of time to decide. Don’t let it make you miserable. If you really want another child, Shrub, I’ll do my best to comply. You know I can’t deny you anything. It should give you joy, not make you sad.”
“I know. I’m just not sure I’m doing it for the right reasons.”
“We have three beautiful children who give us tremendous pleasure.”
“I know.”
“Think about it on holiday. The sunshine and rest will do you the power of good and put life into perspective. Now, give me a smile, darling. You’ve made a feast. I raise my glass to you. You’re a wonderful woman, Ava.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “And you’re my Shrub.” Ava was stunned. That was a gesture unique to Jean-Paul. Phillip had never kissed her hand before. She felt her cheeks burn and the overwhelming desire to cry. “Darling, you look like you’re about to burst into tears.”
“You’re so good to me,” she said, unable to hold back anymore. Phillip chuckled, assuming her tears were inspired by his loving reassurance.
“You deserve nothing less.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “When I married you, you were a girl. You’ve grown into a woman I am so proud of. You’re beautiful, intelligent, interested in everything, but, above all, unique. There’s not a person in the world who resembles you in any way. I’m the luckiest man in the world to have found you.”
“You’re making me cry,” she said, grateful for the excuse.
“Cry all you like, Shrub, darling,” he said gently and kissed her hand again.
XXIII
First bees and insects on the flowers of the ivy on top of the wall. Lavender crocuses appearing in the grass.
Ava expected Jean-Paul to come back. The place was so empty without him it seemed inconceivable that he would not return to fill it. He belonged there now as much as the dovecote and the hollow tree, and his absence upset the harmony of the garden. Like a homing pigeon she made her way to the cottage, hoping that she would see the lights on and smell the smoke wafting out of the chimney; but it was cold and empty and unwelcoming. She stood on the stone bridge and leaned over, gazing at the hypnotic flow of water below. The breeze was warm and sugar scented, caressing her skin like soft fingers. The bushes and trees rang out with the song of birds. Above them all sang the skylark, its voice brave and clear and unwavering. Little violets opened their purple faces in the sun and white periwinkle trailed its wreaths along the riverbank.
She wandered through the gardens in a daze, allowing her melancholy to possess her like a malady. She lingered amidst the sweet smells of daphne odora and viburnum, drawing them in through her nostrils, anticipating the ecstatic soaring of her spirits, but nothing came. Her sorrow was heavy like stone.
Finally, she climbed into the car and drove to Toddy’s, a rambling old farmhouse nestled in the valley five miles up the road. She turned into the drive, not noticing the pink cherry blossom fluttering in the sunshine like clusters of little butterflies. She parked her car outside the house and walked around to the back where Toddy was busy in the stables with her horses. When she saw Ava she waved heartily. Ava returned her wave with a forced smile.
“What a pleasant surprise first thing in the morning!” Toddy exclaimed, emerging from one of the stables in riding boots and jodhpurs that clung to her legs like a second skin. “Are you all right? You look frightfully pale.”
“I’m fine, just a bit down,” Ava conceded. There was no point pretending.
“Anything specific?”
Ava shrugged and took a deep breath. “I’m just tired,” she replied, thrusting her hands into the pockets of the long stripy coat she wore over jeans. “Phillip’s gone off to London. I barely see him these days. He’s so engrossed in his book.”
“Men! At least he’s got an interesting job, unlike Ben who can’t even mention his business without my eyelids drooping. Of all the men in the world, I have to marry an accountant!”
“Keeps you on the straight and narrow!”
“I’ve learned to be devious over the years, trust me. Come inside. I could do with another cup of coffee. You look like you could do with something stronger.”
Lying on a beanbag in the middle of the kitchen table was Mr. Frisby. “He’s been unwell,” Toddy informed her, running a hand over the sleeping animal’s back. “Nothing serious, just a cold. Must have caught it from the twins. Earl Grey or bog-standard
builders’ tea?”
“Earl Grey,” Ava replied, sinking into the armchair. The kitchen smelled of coffee and toasted currant buns. Toddy clattered about taking cups from the cupboard and fishing two spoons out of the dishwasher she hadn’t bothered to unload.
“How’s the devilishly handsome Jean-Paul?” she asked, reaching to the back of the cupboard for the box of Earl Grey. Ava hadn’t anticipated the mention of his name and blanched.
“Gone to visit his mother,” she replied.
“Shame,” said Toddy with a chuckle. “The girls will be disappointed.”
“The girls?”
“Samantha and Lizzie. Sadly, no great romance to report there. I don’t think they’re his type. He probably finds English girls very unsexy.”
“Probably.”
“Still, he’s hung in, hasn’t he? I thought he’d be bored stiff here in Hartington. Do tell him to come out riding again when he comes back. I think he really enjoyed himself.”
“Oh, he did,” said Ava hoarsely, barely daring to speak in case the tremor in her voice gave her away.
“To think you thought he’d last a week.” Toddy poured boiling water into one of the cups. “Do you remember Daisy Hopeton?”
“Of course. Mother never stops talking about her.” Ava was relieved to change the subject.
“Well, she’s back.”
“Back?”
“Yes. Staying with her mother. You should give her a call. Wasn’t she once a good friend of yours?”
“Yes, she was.”
“Well, she’s come for her children. She wants to take them out to South Africa. It’s all rather messy.”
“How terrible. Poor Michael.”
“To lose your wife and then your children. He might be a dullard but he’s a good father.” She handed Ava the cup of tea. “Sure you don’t want me to add a little brandy?” Ava shook her head. Brandy couldn’t cure the pain in her heart.
“I’m rather relieved, actually,” said Ava, thinking of herself. “I don’t think I could understand a woman who leaves her four children. However in love she is, surely the greater part of her heart resides with them.”
The French Gardener Page 23