The French Gardener Part 18

"I've brought you the small tractor and trailer you wanted," said Jeremy. It appeared that neither had noticed her sudden wilting. Storm and Gus wriggled out of the hole in the tree to run about with the dogs.

"Thank you," said Jean-Paul. "That will be a big help." They talked about the gardens, the farm and the weather, unusually warm for that time of year, while Henrietta listened, too shy to utter a single word. Finally, Jean-Paul turned to her. "I gather you are looking after Gus-the-Strong and Bright-Sky today," he said, his eyes deep and twinkling.

"Yes," she croaked.

"How do you like my house?"

"It's terrific, it really is."

"I see you completed the ladder," said Jeremy, patting the wood. "Good solid oak, that." Henrietta envied the ease with which he spoke to Jean-Paul. "Have you been up?" he asked her.

"No," she replied. "As you saw, I had difficulty getting out. I'm sure I'd suffer worse coming down!"

"Not at all. Come on!" Jeremy stood on the first rung of the ladder. "Feels solid," he said.

"It should be. I made it to take the weight of an elephant," said Jean-Paul.

"Then it should hold me," Henrietta laughed nervously, praying that it wouldn't collapse beneath her weight. She regretted every croissant she had ever eaten. Jeremy climbed up first, then he encouraged Henrietta to follow. She placed her feet tentatively on the first rung, then the second, waiting for the crack as the wood snapped in two.

"Don't be afraid," said Jean-Paul behind her. "The ladder is solid, I promise. Are you frightened of heights?" She couldn't tell him she was frightened of her own size.

"A little," she lied. She looked up to see Jeremy holding his hand out for her. When she reached the top she took it gratefully and stepped onto the platform on which the house was built. She took a deep breath and looked around. Gus was right, the view was stunning.

"How beautiful the church spire looks rising above the trees," she said.

"If it weren't for the trees we'd see my farm," said Jeremy.

"I'd like to see your farm," Henrietta replied, remembering picnics as a child watching the combines.

"You can come over any time," he said softly, wondering why he had never noticed her before. She was delicious, like a toffee apple. He glanced down at her left hand and saw she didn't wear a ring.

Henrietta noticed Jean-Paul didn't join them. He stood on the gra.s.s below, talking to the children who were roaring with laughter. They clearly adored him. Jeremy watched her watching Jean-Paul and felt a jolt of disappointment. Not that it surprised him; how could a man like him compete with Jean-Paul?

He left them at the tree and returned to his farm. There was a leak in the corridor outside his bathroom that needed mending. He changed into his blue coveralls, placed his tweed cap firmly on his head and went to collect the ladders from the vegetable garden where they lay against the side of the greenhouse. Mr. Ben and Wolfgang trotted along beside him. Life with Jeremy was always an adventure. The house dated back to the sixteenth century and was in constant need of repair, which Jeremy took upon himself to carry out. He was practical and innovative, though most would say eccentric. Replacing cracked roof tiles was a dangerous procedure requiring two ladders and a great deal of daring. The job took his mind off Henrietta Moon and the way she had blushed when Jean-Paul had kissed her hand. The Frenchman had charm, there was no doubt about that. If he started kissing hands everyone would fall about laughing. But Jean-Paul with his thick accent and deep-set brown eyes could carry off any outdated ritual of chivalry and everyone would think him the most romantic man to set foot in Hartington. Jeremy didn't stand a chance. He unhooked the cracked tile and tried to think of something else.

Henrietta managed to overcome her shyness in the company of Jean-Paul. The children took her off to the cottage garden to help with the planting. Mr. Underwood was there with his s.h.i.+rtsleeves rolled to his elbows, cap on his head, eyes bright with enthusiasm. He enjoyed having the children around. They reminded him of his own boys who used to sit on the tractor as he ploughed old Fitzherbert's fields. Now they were grown up, driving tractors with their own sons. If there was one thing he knew about children, it was that they liked to be included. Storm and Gus dug the holes and, together with Jean-Paul, placed the bulbs inside with great care as if they were hibernating animals. The weather was uncharacteristically mild so the earth was still soft and warm. Henrietta got into the spirit of it, too. She listened to Jean-Paul teaching the children about plants, patiently answering their questions. Then, every now and then he'd let out a roar of laughter at something one of them said and they'd all laugh together in blissful abandonment. It occurred to Henrietta that perhaps Jean-Paul was more comfortable with children than with adults and she wanted to ask him why he had never had any of his own.

Miranda had arrived in London early, hitting Peter Jones as it opened at 9:30. She inhaled the smell of carbon monoxide and felt a s.h.i.+ver of happiness. She was back where she belonged. The traffic rumbled, horns hooted, sirens screamed, people shouted, the pavements were crowded with jostling bodies. No one looked anyone in the eye, everyone went about their own business anonymously. She noticed no one smiled. But she did, from ear to ear.

She spent all morning buying presents. She went to Daisy & Tom for the children, where laughing toddlers rode the carousel and upstairs sat enthralled by the Peter and the Wolf puppet show. She bought David a couple of sweaters from Yves Saint Laurent on Sloane Street and a pair of shoes from Tod's. Finally, inside the temple that was Harvey Nichols, she wandered about slowly, relis.h.i.+ng the familiar smell of perfume, gazing at the counters laden with boxed gifts and glittering pots of creams promising eternal youth. It was her wonderland. She bought some Trish McEvoy makeup in celebration of her return.

By lunchtime she had ticked almost everything off her list, except for the children's stocking fillers, the majority of which she'd buy in Hartington. She made her way to the fifth floor to meet Blythe and Anoushka for lunch. Catching herself in the mirror as she stood on the escalator, she was satisfied that although she lived in the countryside, she still retained her urban glamour. In jeans tucked into leather boots, a gold, fur-trimmed Prada ski jacket and Anya Hindmarch handbag, she felt confident that her girlfriends would be impressed.

She found them already sitting at the table, heads close together, gossiping. "h.e.l.lo, girls," she said, standing before them. They sprang apart, clocking the jacket and bag almost before they greeted her.

"Darling, you look gorgeous," said Blythe, her green cat's eyes sliding silkily up and down Miranda's body in appreciation. "No one can say the country isn't doing you good!"

"Thank you," she replied, sitting down. She kissed them both, almost tasting their perfume on her lips.

"Oh, it's so good to see you," said Anoushka in her Anglo-American drawl. "Where are the boots from?" She tossed her wavy blond hair, aware of the man at the next-door table appraising her.

"Tod's," she replied.

"This season?" Anoushka's voice had an edge to it.

"Yes."

"They look great. I wonder if they've got any left. You don't mind if I just call them quickly, do you?" She pulled out her mobile telephone and pressed the numbers with blood-red fingernails.

"So," said Blythe. "How's it all going down there?"

"It's taken a while, but I'm beginning to settle in now. You'll have to come and stay after Christmas."

"I'd love to, when I'm back. We're off to Mauritius for ten days. I've rented the private villa at the Saint Geran. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d has made me so miserable I have no qualms about spending his money. You know he's dragging the whole thing on and on and on. I bet he won't give me a divorce for the full two years. Even if it costs him more in the long run, he just wants to drag it out to torment me."

"I'm sorry. It's such a mess. I wish he'd give you a divorce and b.u.g.g.e.r off, then you can both get on with your lives. David tells me he's been giving you advice."

"David," she repeated, smiling tenderly. "Your husband has been a real support. I don't know what I'd have done without him. With you tucked away in the country I had no one to turn to. Then in he rides like a knight in s.h.i.+ning armor. He's so patient and thoughtful."

"Oh good," Miranda replied, wis.h.i.+ng he was as patient and thoughtful with her.

"He's given me invaluable advice. Thanks to him I'm going to fleece the b.a.s.t.a.r.d. He's going to wish he had treated me better. David is my secret weapon."

"Isn't he begging you to come home?"

"Only because he doesn't want to part with fifteen million."

"I can't say I blame him. That's not exactly pocket money."

"I deserve it for having put up with his infidelities for the last ten years. I might embark on some infidelity myself."

"Have you found someone?"

"Maybe." She looked coy.

"You have!" Miranda exclaimed. "Do I know him?"

"No," said Blythe quickly. "No one knows him. It's not big love, but it is big s.e.x. He's delicious in the sack. Makes me hit the ceiling every time."

"Is he married?"

Blythe pulled a face.

"Oh, Blythe!" Miranda exclaimed. "Be careful. Remember how it feels. Don't put some poor wife through the h.e.l.l you went through."

"It won't last," she said dismissively. "It's only a bit of fun. I promise you, no one will get hurt. It's not like I'm his mistress."

"Then what are you?"

"A friend who f.u.c.ks," she replied with a self-satisfied smile. "Let's order some champagne. We're celebrating your return to the big smoke." She called over the waiter with a brisk click of her fingers. Anoushka came off the phone having succeeded in reserving a pair of boots in a size seven.

"Such a relief," she exclaimed. "I'd have died had they not had them. Now, let's fill you in on the gossip," she said. "There's so much, I barely know where to start."

Miranda listened while they recounted the scandals and misadventures that had kept London gossips busy in her absence. They drank champagne, picked at grilled fish with salad and hadn't a nice word to say about anyone. Miranda felt oddly remote, as if a pane of gla.s.s separated her from the two of them. Once she had had news to contribute; now she had nothing to add. She would have liked to share Ava Lightly's sc.r.a.pbook and Jean-Paul, but Hartington was a world away from Knightsbridge. Small town news wouldn't interest these big town girls.

There were plenty of affairs and divorces going on in London to keep those two vultures happy, pecking with relish at the exposed flesh of the hurt and vulnerable. Miranda sat back and listened with a mixture of intrigue and disgust. Having been away for a few months she was able to observe them with an objectivity she hadn't had before. As the lunch progressed, her two friends became somewhat grotesque. Their collagen-enhanced lips grew swollen with champagne, their botoxed foreheads took on an alien quality, robbing them of humanity. The more they rummaged about the lives of London's broken, the less compa.s.sionate they became. Miranda left to resume her Christmas shopping with a sour taste in her mouth. Suddenly London didn't hold so great an appeal. The traffic was too loud, the pavements too crowded, the people unfriendly, even the smell of perfume on the ground floor of Harvey Nichols had become unbearable. She longed to return to the peace of Hartington.

When she reached home, Miranda was a little surprised to see that Henrietta had put the children to bed and was sitting in the kitchen having supper with Jean-Paul. "I hope you don't mind," said Henrietta. "We've been in the garden all day planting things. The children are done in; they fell asleep the moment Jean-Paul finished telling them the story of the velveteen rabbit. We thought we'd celebrate the end of a hard day's work."

"I'm delighted," Miranda replied, drawing up a chair. "I can't thank you enough for looking after them for me."

"You look exhausted," said Jean-Paul. "Let me pour you a gla.s.s of wine. There was a time when I thought the city was the only place to live. Then I discovered how shallow and empty it was. Like icing on a rotten cake. Underneath it was all bad."

"G.o.d, that's just how I feel. I was so excited to get up there, walking those pavements again, but by the end of the day all I wanted was to come home."

"I've never liked the city," said Henrietta. "Much too unfriendly. Here in Hartington there's a sense of community. I like belonging."

"So, have you finished my little garden?" Miranda asked, already feeling better for their company.

Jean-Paul's smile poured warm honey over the sour taste that had been with her since lunch. "We have completed the planting. With a little magic, it will flower in spring."

"Why do you always say magic, Jean-Paul?" Miranda asked. "Do you mean nature?"

"Magic is love, Miranda. If you love someone they grow in beauty and confidence. They flower before your eyes. A woman who isn't beautiful becomes beautiful in the warmth of love. The garden is the same. With love it will grow better and brighter and more abundant. There is no secret to love or magic, just the limitations of our own courage and self-belief."

"I don't understand."

"Love requires effort, exertion and will. True love begins with loving ourselves. Love is not purely a feeling but an act of will. The man in a bar who neglects his family will tell you with tears in his eyes that he loves his wife and children. Love is as love does. A very exceptional woman taught me that a long time ago."

Henrietta and Miranda sat in silence. The more he spoke, the less they knew him and the deeper the pool of his experience and wisdom seemed. Both recognized the terrible sadness in his eyes but neither had the courage to ask him its cause. Henrietta dreamed of being loved by him; Miranda knew loving him was only a dream. Both hearts reached out to the man who would only ever love one woman. The woman he was slowly bringing to life in the tender planting of their garden.

XX.

The wistful light of dusk turning the dovecote pink, but only for an instant like the soft outward breath of heaven.

Jean-Paul returned to the Chateau les Lucioles for Christmas. He drove through the large iron gates, up the drive that swept in a magnificent curve around an ancient cedar tree and parked the car on the gravel in front of the impressive facade. The pale blue shutters were open, the windowsills covered with a thin sprinkling of frost. He gazed up at the tall roof where small dormer windows peeped out sleepily and towering chimneys stretched into the crisp blue sky. Francoise unlocked the door with much rattling of keys, complaining bitterly of the cold even before she saw him. "Monsieur, come inside quickly before you catch your death. Gerard has lit fires in the hall and drawing room. Are you hungry? Armandine has left a daube in the oven and there is a fresh loaf of bread. She was not sure whether or not you would have eaten. She will come back tonight to cook your dinner. Don't waste time outside. Come come, it is cold." The housekeeper beckoned him inside, closing the door behind him with a loud clank. "These big houses are hard to keep warm," she muttered, shuffling into the hall.

"Is Hubert here?" he asked, thinking only of the garden.

"Yes. Why don't you eat first, see him later? He is outside."

"Has there been much frost?"

"Only in the last week. It has suddenly got very cold after a mild autumn."

He glanced about the hall, at the blazing fire in the grate, the s.h.i.+ny flagstone floor and faded Persian rugs, and sighed with pleasure. It was good to be home. He took off his coat, handing it to Francoise. "I will see him now in the drawing room," he said. "You can bring the daube in on a tray. I'll eat in there."

"Shall I let the dogs in?" she asked. "They have been restless all morning. They knew you were coming home."

"Yes. I've missed them."

"Are you here to stay?"

"No. I'll leave in ten days."

She pushed out her bottom lip. "Such a short visit?"

"Yes."

"If your mother were alive..."

"But she is not," he retorted briskly.

"Why do you stay away? The animals miss you." She lowered her eyes. "So do we."

He looked at her tenderly. "Ah, Francoise, you are a sentimental woman underneath that efficient exterior."

"And what of you, monsieur? Why don't you find a nice young woman and settle down and have a family? This is a large chateau. It is not right that it is empty all year. It echoes with the voices of ghosts because it is not inhabited."

He shook his head. "Things don't always end up the way they were planned."

"What plans did you have?" He caught her looking at him with a mother's concern.

"Those I cannot speak of to anyone," he replied grimly. "Now bring me my food, I'm ravenous. And tell Hubert I want to see him."

Two Great Danes bounded into the drawing room, rus.h.i.+ng up to him excitedly. He fell to his knees and embraced them both, allowing them to lick his face. "I've missed you, too!" he told them, gently pulling their ears and patting their backs. There had always been Great Danes at Les Lucioles. A house of that size needed big animals to fill it. He sat on the club fender, the fire warming his back, looking out through the French doors that led into the garden, now hidden beneath frost. He had hoped to return with Ava. To show her the gardens he had created for her. To live out the rest of their lives together. She had promised. He had promised, too. Promises sealed with love. He had kept his side of the bargain, but what of hers?

Francoise entered with his lunch on a tray. "Are you going to spend Christmas on your own?" she asked.

"I have no choice."

"What a shame. A handsome young man like you."

"Don't pity me, woman," he growled.

"If your mother were alive..."

"But she is not," he repeated. "If she were alive she would spend it with me. As it is, I am alone."

"Of all the men worthy of love it is you, monsieur. I have known you since you were a little boy. It causes me pain to see you live alone. Yes, it is all very well taking lovers, but I want more than that for you. I want a good, honest girl and a brood of healthy children."