The French Gardener

by Santa Montefiore

  “Sanderson.”

  “Of course. Very subtle.”

  “I love light.”

  “There’s plenty of that here. What happens outside?”

  “Let’s get a cup of tea, then I’ll show you around.”

  “I think it’s time for a glass of wine,” said Blythe, needing fortification. Surely no one deserved to live in such a paradise.

  Blythe took her glass of chardonnay around the entire house, taking her time to poke her nose into each room, commenting on the wallpaper and furniture as if she were a potential buyer. Once she’d seen inside, she asked Miranda for a tour of the garden. They wandered up the thyme walk, stepping across long shadows cast by the topiary balls, watching the setting sun bleed into the sky. The children’s voices could be heard on the other side of the house, rising into the air like the loud chirping of birds.

  Miranda showed her the vegetable garden, telling her proudly about sowing the vegetable seeds. “There was a time I couldn’t live in anything but a pair of heels. Who’d have thought I’d learn to wear gumboots with style?”

  “I thought you were miserable down here.” Blythe had preferred it when she had been unhappy.

  “I was. Now I love it. I have Jean-Paul to thank for that.” They walked up the meandering path of the cottage garden. Miranda pointed out the shrubs and plants beginning to flower. Blythe was surprised how she knew them all by name. Her friend had changed and she wasn’t sure she liked it. The balance of power had shifted, leaving her at a disadvantage. Only her secret gave her consolation. They walked on until they came to the old dovecote, watched over by towering larches. “I want to buy some doves,” said Miranda. “There’s something very lonely about this place. It’s like a neglected corner of the garden. Sad, somehow. Doves will put the life back, don’t you think?”

  At that moment, Jean-Paul strode out of the trees, pushing a wheelbarrow full of dead branches. Blythe caught her breath. “Hello, Miranda,” he said, setting Blythe off balance with a wide smile.

  “Wasn’t Mr. Underwood supposed to clear away that tree?”

  “Yes, but he’s old.” Jean-Paul shrugged and settled his eyes on her friend.

  “This is Blythe,” Miranda said. “She’s come to stay for the weekend. I’m showing her around the garden.”

  “I’ve heard so much about you,” said Blythe in French, gazing back at him coyly. “You’ve done wonderful things in this garden.”

  “Thank you,” he replied, smiling again. “I commend your French.”

  “It’s a little rusty.”

  “It sounds perfect to me.”

  “I’m so pleased. It’s been a while since I’ve had a chance to practice it.” She turned to Miranda. “You should speak to Jean-Paul in French.”

  “I don’t speak French,” Miranda replied.

  “Oh, of course you don’t. Silly me!” She settled her cat’s eyes on Jean-Paul again and shrugged. “Tant pis!”

  “I think I’ll go and be a crocodile for a while,” he said to Miranda.

  “They’ll love that,” she replied, spotting the knowing twinkle in his eye as he departed. Blythe watched him walk away, her gaze lingering appreciatively on his slim hips and low-slung faded jeans.

  “Christ, Miranda!” she exclaimed once he had gone. “No wonder you like it down here. He’s delicious!”

  “I know. Everyone fancies him.” Miranda turned away so Blythe wouldn’t see her blush.

  “Are you fucking him?”

  Miranda was appalled. “Of course not! I’m married.”

  “So? You said yourself, David’s never here.”

  “What difference does that make? I love David. Why would I want to be unfaithful? There’s more to life than sex.”

  “Is there? Life would be very dull without it!” They continued to walk towards the field where Charlie the donkey stood chewing grass. “You’d want him if you weren’t married,” she added with a smirk.

  “That’s irrelevant.”

  “I’m not married and I want him. How did you find him?”

  “He just turned up here one day with Storm. He found her in a field and brought her back.”

  “What was he doing in the field?”

  “I don’t know. Looking for a job!” On reflection it was all very bizarre.

  “In a field?”

  “He was on his way here. He’d seen my advert in town. Anyway, what does it matter? He’s a good gardener and that’s what counts.”

  “He’s obviously not married. Divorced?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t know? Haven’t you asked him? Has he any children?”

  “No.”

  “What were his references like? Who was he working for before he came here? A grand English family no doubt.”

  “I have no idea.”

  “You didn’t check him out?”

  “I didn’t need to. I sensed he was right.”

  Blythe raised her eyebrows. “You hired him because he’s handsome. He could be a criminal on the run, for all you know.”

  “I doubt it.” Miranda grew irritated. “Look, Blythe, I don’t care if he’s a criminal on the run or has three wives across different continents. He does a wonderful job here and he’s good company. I enjoy being around him. I don’t ask him about himself out of respect. I don’t want to pry.”

  “You mean you don’t want to look too interested.”

  “I don’t fancy him, Blythe!”

  “Of course you don’t.” She gave a little snort. “But I do.”

  “You’re unavailable.”

  “I don’t know. My lover is about to dump me. Once he showered me with gifts, now he rarely has time for me. You know, I turned up at his office the other day in nothing but a fur coat and suspenders. He couldn’t resist me then.”

  “You’ve got a nerve.”

  “It was fun. I like taking risks.”

  “Do you think he’ll leave his wife for you?”

  “I don’t know.” She surveyed the estate and fantasized living here. It was an appealing thought. “At the beginning we couldn’t get enough of each other. Now, I’m not so sure. I don’t think I’m wife material anymore.”

  “Have you met the wife?”

  “Yes.” Blythe cast a sidelong glance at Miranda, relishing her secret.

  “What’s she like?”

  Blythe chewed the inside of her cheek as she pondered the best way to answer without giving the game away. She knew she was taking a risk even discussing it with Miranda, but there was something about Miranda’s perfect life—and perfect Frenchman—that made her want to burst one or two of her bubbles. “Nice,” she replied carefully. “I’m a bitch!” She gave a throaty laugh, then pushed her wrist out of her sleeve. “Look, this is what he gave me for Christmas.” Miranda looked at the Theo Fennell diamond watch and recalled the strange telephone call in December. Her stomach twisted with anxiety.

  “It’s from Theo’s,” she observed.

  “Yes. Isn’t it gorgeous? I’m loving the pink strap.”

  “Is it engraved?”

  “Yes. It says Big Pussycat on the back. Private joke. But that was Christmas. He hasn’t given me anything since,” she pouted.

  Miranda took a breath. No, it can’t be. It’s just a coincidence, she thought, suddenly feeling nauseous. We’re not Theo’s only clients. Anyone could have bought her that watch. But her mind began whirring with possibilities. Was David Blythe’s lover? Is that why he spent so much time in London? Did Blythe, the friend she had known since school, have the malice to steal her husband? She glanced across at her, still watching the diamonds glitter in the sunshine, and concluded that it was impossible. If David were Blythe’s lover, Blythe would have kept the affair secret.

  Once, Miranda would have shared everything with Blythe. They had occupied the same bedroom at boarding school, exchanged stories about boyfriends and tales of family strife, fought and made up as good friends do. But they weren’t schoolgirls
anymore, and time had grown up between them, forming an invisible wall. The truth was that Miranda didn’t know Blythe as she once had. Their lives were no longer joined by shared experience. Apart from their children, they had little in common. Instead of communicating her fears, Miranda kept them to herself. She no longer trusted her friend.

  As they walked back to the house, Miranda tried to hide her anxiety by asking Blythe about herself and letting her rattle on, but she could not dispel the feeling that David was seeing someone else. She had become so involved in the garden and her children and her secret desire for Jean-Paul. But the more she thought about it, the more her suspicions were aroused.

  They reached the hollow tree where Jean-Paul was playing with the children, pretending to be a crocodile. Gus was in his arms, wriggling about, trying to free himself, roaring with laughter. Miranda suddenly felt tearful. Jean-Paul was such a natural father. Her children adored him. He was full of inventiveness and enthusiasm. Why couldn’t she be married to him?

  When Rafael saw his mother he clambered down from the tree house and ran up to her excitedly. “Mummy, J-P’s a crocodile, quick, up the tree. You mustn’t be eaten.” Blythe thought how much she’d adore to be eaten, and lingered on the grass hoping the handsome Frenchman would play with her as well. She rather fancied being swept up into his arms. Jean-Paul put Gus down and laughed as he scampered back up the ladder, gloating happily that he had outwitted the crocodile.

  Miranda went inside to make the children tea, leaving Blythe with Jean-Paul. She was relieved to be alone. If David was having an affair, what then? Was their marriage over? Was it worth saving? Did she still love him? She wasn’t sure. Could Jean-Paul ever love her?

  David had originally planned to be away on business for Blythe’s weekend, but his desire to spend more time with Miranda and the children overrode his wish to distance himself from his mistress. When he arrived the children were watching a video in their pajamas. Madeleine, Joe and Fred had been taken home. The day had been a great success. Gus had played alongside his friends without picking a fight. He was proud of his home and wanted to show it off. Hartington House had given him a sense of security and belonging and a source of continual entertainment. Since Jean-Paul had arrived he had grown in confidence. Mr. Marlow had praised him for good behavior. He seemed to be enjoying school. Storm’s friends were no longer afraid of coming home and she had little girls with whom to share her playhouse. Miranda read them bedtime stories and helped them with their homework. She delighted in these quiet moments together. Life at Hartington had become a joy. Yet, David wasn’t part of it.

  Miranda watched him greet Blythe with the scrutiny of a scientist observing an organism beneath a microscope. She didn’t miss a thing.

  XXIX

  The battle to keep those naughty rabbits out of the garden. We lost to Mr. Badger, but oh, what a character he was!

  David met Miranda warmly, sliding a hand around her waist and kissing her affectionately on her cheek. Miranda flushed with pleasure and surprise. Blythe’s reaction to seeing him was not dissimilar to the way she had reacted to Jean-Paul. There was nothing in her body language to indicate she was intimate with him. Besides, she was a natural flirt. Despite having been irritated when Miranda had mentioned she had invited Blythe for the weekend, David seemed pleased enough to see her. He was tired from the week in the office and the train journey from London. He looked strained around the eyes. Miranda poured him a glass of wine and, after saying hello to the children in the playroom, he disappeared upstairs to have a bath.

  Blythe sat with Miranda in the kitchen, watching her prepare the roast chicken for dinner. She sipped her wine and nibbled on a carrot. “David’s looking very tired,” she said. “Is he always this exhausted on a Friday night?”

  “Every weekend it’s the same. By the time he’s recovered he’s back on that train to start the whole process again. A banker’s life isn’t a life. It’s just money. Frankly, I’d rather have a husband.”

  “I didn’t know things weren’t good between you.” Blythe looked genuinely concerned. Her sympathy was reassuring and Miranda hastily dismissed her suspicions as irrational. After basting the chicken she picked up her wineglass and joined Blythe at the table.

  “I just don’t see much of him, that’s all. It’s hard to have a marriage when you spend so little time together.”

  “Perhaps this move out to the country wasn’t such a good idea. I mean, for Gus and Storm it’s been fantastic, anyone can see that. Gus especially. He’s a changed boy. He was once so angry. Now he’s charming.”

  Miranda’s spirits rose at the compliment. “He has more of a relationship with Jean-Paul than he does with his own father,” Miranda confided.

  “Doesn’t that sadden David?”

  “I don’t think he’s noticed.” Miranda laughed bitterly. “I have more of a marriage with Jean-Paul than I do with him. And no, I’m not sleeping with him. But I spend more time with him. We share more than David and I do.”

  “Can’t he work at home, at least a day or two a week?”

  “You know he can’t.”

  “Does he know how you feel?”

  “We never have time to talk. I’ve changed, too. You know something, Blythe, I don’t think he knows me anymore.”

  “Darling, this is so sad. You and David are two of my dearest friends. I thought you had the best marriage in London.” Blythe’s reaction to her troubled marriage dispelled any fears of duplicity; she seemed genuinely saddened. If not, she was playing the role of her life.

  “What should I do?” Miranda asked.

  “Talk to him. Work it out. I would hate for you two to have to go through what I’m going through. It’s hell. You’d lose this beautiful house for a start. You’re so happy here, I’d hate for it to be washed down the drain in those shitty divorce courts.”

  Miranda and Blythe put the children to bed. Gus was sharing his room with Rafael, but they fell asleep immediately, exhausted by their games in the fresh country air. David came out of his bedroom, dressed in a pair of slacks and a clean, open-necked shirt. He saw the women hovering outside Gus’s room and went to join them. “Are they asleep?” he asked.

  “Why don’t you go and kiss them good night,” said Miranda. “Even if they’re half asleep, they’ll like it.” David nodded and disappeared into Gus’s room. Blythe gave Miranda an empathetic look. Miranda turned away and began to walk downstairs.

  Gus felt his father’s prickly face as he kissed him on his cheek. He opened his eyes.

  “I wasn’t really asleep,” he hissed.

  “Just pretending?” said his father.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, be a good boy and go to sleep.”

  “Rafael’s asleep.”

  “What did you do today?”

  “We played pirates. Jean-Paul was the crocodile,” he said with a giggle.

  “Was he?” David bristled with jealousy. “Didn’t Captain Hook kill the crocodile?”

  “No! I was Captain Hook and the crocodile ate me.”

  “You look in pretty good shape for someone who’s been in the belly of a crocodile.”

  “I escaped.”

  “Clever you!”

  “Will you play with us tomorrow?”

  “What, be a crocodile?”

  “You can be Smee.”

  David considered his proposal. “I’ll think of a more exciting game,” he said.

  “Okay,” Gus replied. But he knew his father would forget and find something better to do. Gus rolled over and closed his eyes. It didn’t matter if his father didn’t play with him: he had Jean-Paul.

  Miranda was carving the chicken when David came in. He had a strange look on his face, as if someone had put a hand in his stomach and twisted his gut. “Are you all right?” Miranda asked.

  “I’m fine. Just need a glass of wine. It’s been a bad week.” Miranda handed him his glass.

  “Was Gus asleep?”

  David grinned and
took a swig. “No, the little monkey was just pretending. Clever boy.”

  “Like his father,” said Blythe. “Clever, I mean.”

  David didn’t react. “Here, let me help you with that,” he said to Miranda. She handed over the knife and fork in surprise. “This looks delicious,” he exclaimed.

  “It’s from the farmers’ market. Should taste good.”

  “Let’s have a try.” He tore a piece off and popped it in his mouth. The color returned to his cheeks. “It’ll do,” he quipped, feeling better. “So, Blythe, how are things with you?”

  “Rattling on. Same as usual. Should soon be a wrap, then I can move on. Find someone else, start again. God, I don’t feel up to it.”

  “You won’t feel up to it for a while,” said Miranda. “Just take it a day at a time. Besides, Rafael needs you. He’s been in the thick of it. The last thing he needs is a strange man coming on the scene. He’s your man for the moment.”

  “I agree. Anyhow, I don’t think marriage is for me.”

  “Don’t rule it out. You’re young and attractive. There’s someone out there who’ll convince you to change your mind,” said Miranda.

  “Perhaps,” she said, giving a little sniff.

  “Right, Blythe, come and help yourself,” said David. He handed her a plate, then walked up to his wife, put his arm around her waist and planted a kiss on her temple. Miranda looked up at him. Perhaps their marriage wasn’t on the rocks after all, she thought, noticing a warmth in his eyes she hadn’t seen in a long time. The mystery engraving at Theo Fennell was probably a horrible misunderstanding. Must not have been David at all. They just needed to spend more time together. Get to know one another again. He worked hard to give them the life they enjoyed. She had been unfair to doubt him. “And how are you, darling?” he asked her.

  “Well, the garden is looking stunning. I’d love to show it to you tomorrow. We’ve planted loads of vegetables. The children have invited friends home for tea. We wouldn’t have imagined that happening six months ago, would we?” In her enthusiasm she was about to tell him she had started writing a novel. However, something made her hold back. Her novel was linked to Ava Lightly’s scrapbook and her own, secret fantasies about Jean-Paul. She might try to publish it under a pseudonym. “Everything’s good,” she concluded.