The French Gardener

by Santa Montefiore

  “Love can be a terrible thing. It clouds one’s judgment. In the throes of passion it’s probably quite easy to forget one’s children.” No it isn’t, Ava thought to herself. Even Jean-Paul’s kisses couldn’t distract her from her love for Archie, Angus and Poppy. But she kept her thoughts to herself. “I don’t blame her running off with a dashing South African though. Michael’s a real old fart. Nice but very boring. You can tell just from his face that he’s never had a really good laugh.”

  “She chose him,” said Ava.

  “She made a mistake.”

  “But it was her choice. She should live with it.”

  Toddy looked at her friend in bewilderment. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  “I do,” she said emphatically. “She shouldn’t break up a family and five people’s lives for her own happiness. It’s selfish. Compromises have to be made. For the sake of her children she should have stayed.”

  “You sound like your mother.”

  “Do I?”

  “Yes. It’s not like you to be so judgmental. Surely, if the poor girl’s miserable it’s better for all of them if she leaves.”

  “She should make the best of it. Those children depend on her.”

  “They’ll get over it.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. They’ll never get over it. It’s no coincidence that the first question every therapist asks is ‘tell me about your childhood?’ The foundation blocks are deeply important. Crack those and you jeopardize their entire future.”

  “You’ve been spending too much time with Verity.”

  “I don’t always agree with my mother, but in this case, I think I do.” She looked up at Toddy and narrowed her eyes. “Could you leave your children for a man?”

  “He’d have to be one hell of a man.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think one can speculate. If I find myself in danger of doing a Daisy, I’ll call you and we can discuss it. Perhaps you’ll be a little kinder to me.”

  “I wouldn’t. I’d be thinking of the twins. Personally, I couldn’t. I can tell you that now. I really couldn’t, not even for one hell of a man.” She lowered her eyes and stared into her tea. “I couldn’t bear to hurt Phillip either. He’s so good to me.”

  “You’re really not yourself today, Ava,” said Toddy, drawing her chair closer. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  “No,” she replied hastily, shaking her head. “I’m feeling weepy for no reason. It’s the prettiest time of year and I feel low. Silly really. Not like me at all.”

  “Hormonal,” said Toddy knowingly.

  “Yes, that must be it.”

  “The monthly blues.”

  “Poor Daisy Hopeton and those dear children. It breaks my heart. She will never be happy. How can she be, out of the mess she has made? I wouldn’t want that on my conscience.”

  “Let’s go for a ride,” said Toddy, draining her coffee cup. “It’ll do us both good. The wind in your hair, the smell of spring in the air, galloping over the hills. Come on!”

  Ava borrowed a pair of boots and a hat and took to the hills with Toddy. Her friend was right, up there she could see for miles and the leaden feeling in her heart slowly grew lighter. As much as she pitied Daisy Hopeton and disapproved of her actions, she couldn’t help but feel jealous that she had done what Ava herself would never have the courage to do. Daisy would return to her lover in South Africa and no doubt she’d bring the children with her. Daisy would have her cake and eat it in great big mouthfuls. Ava would never know how such a cake tasted.

  The following weekend it snowed. The cold almost silenced the birds. Ava threw bread onto the lawn and broke the ice on the birdbath. The starlings and cock chaffinches looked so pretty in their new spring coats, flying down to eat the crumbs. By midmorning the sun had melted most of the snow away, except under the bushes and in the shadows of the trees where it still remained cold. The dogs rolled about in it and the children tried to make a snowman, but by lunchtime he was a sorry heap of sticks and slush. As the days progressed the weather grew warmer again. The garden burst into blossom, the bees awoke from their winter sleep, and Ava called Daisy Hopeton.

  To Ava’s surprise, Daisy sounded thrilled to hear from her and promptly asked her over for coffee. She seemed upbeat, not at all chastened by her appalling behavior. Ava wondered how she managed to look herself in the mirror after having hurt so many people. A hair shirt would be more appropriate. It wasn’t fair that she was happy after having made her husband and children so unhappy—holding the prize of a future with her lover that Ava denied herself.

  Daisy’s mother, Romie, lived the other side of Blandford, about half an hour away, in a pretty white house adorned with pink montana.

  Ava followed Romie into the tiled hall. The ceilings were low and beamed, the walls white, the rooms small and cozy. Ava remembered the times she had stayed there as a teenager for dances and dinner parties. Before she could dwell on the memory of a certain pink satin dress, Daisy was striding out of the kitchen to greet her. “I can’t tell you how nice it is to see you, Ava! Most of my friends have disowned me.” The two women kissed. Daisy smelled of Yves Saint Laurent’s Paris. “Come and have some coffee. I’ve opened a packet of biscuits.”

  “You’re just in time,” added Romie from the butcher’s table. “She’s off to South Africa on Friday.”

  “For good?” Ava asked.

  “Forever,” said Daisy, pouring coffee into the cups.

  “Oh, Daisy. You must have gone through hell.”

  “It’s been terribly hard. But I’ve done enough weeping and wailing. One has to look on the bright side or one would go mad.”

  “How did it happen?”

  Daisy smiled resignedly and shook her head. “I’m amazed you came to see me, Ava. I know your mother disapproves very strongly.”

  “Duty and all that,” said Ava, embarrassed that word had got back. “She’s a different generation.”

  “Listen, she’s not a lone voice, I assure you. What I did was unforgivable. I fell in love with another man. But I was so unhappy, Ava. I was a shadow of myself. Wasting my life with a man I no longer loved, loving a man I couldn’t have. My love consumed me. I was a terrible mother and a terrible wife, no good to anyone.” She swept her curly brown hair off her face and Ava glimpsed a hint of weariness in her eyes. “Michael and I weren’t like you and Phillip. If we had enjoyed a contented marriage it would never have happened. Unhappiness is the perfect breeding ground for infidelity.” Loneliness is, too, Ava wanted to add, but kept her thoughts to herself.

  “How did you meet him?”

  “We were in Cape Town for a wedding. It was love at first sight. I thought long and hard, Ava, but in the end I felt it would be better for the children to grow up in a house of joy rather than a house of sorrow.” She nibbled a biscuit reflectively. “You see, Ava, we never had the beautiful estate that you have. My children are going from an ordinary little suburban house to a stunning country house in the middle of mountains. It’s an idyll. They’ll love it. South Africa is beautiful.”

  “But what about Michael?”

  She lowered her eyes. “Don’t,” she groaned. “He’ll see them in the holidays. They’ll get the best of both worlds.” But she clearly knew that wasn’t true. Nothing could replace their father. She suddenly looked old and deflated. It was the first time that Ava had seen the true face she hid behind her smile.

  “You’re doing your best,” said Ava gently. “You can’t replace the eggs once the shells are broken. But you’re making the best omelette you can.”

  Daisy laughed. “Trust you to come up with something like that. I am doing my best. God, I’ve had every accusation thrown at me. From callously leaving my children to suing Michael for hundreds of thousands. First, I never left my children. I was always going to come back for them. Michael knew that. Second, poor old Michael doesn’t have any money, so I can hardly fleece him
of what he doesn’t have.”

  “So, what’s this South African like?”

  Ava and Daisy took their coffee cups and strolled around the garden. It was a beautiful morning, clear and bright, the freshly emerging leaves still glittering with dew. “How has your mother taken it all?”

  “She puts on a good show, but she’s ashamed, of course. But what can she do? She’s my mother, she has to support me. I’m running off to South Africa, she has to stick around and answer to all her friends. You wouldn’t believe the people who have turned their backs on us. The least expected.” She shrugged. “At least I now know who my friends are.” She turned to Ava. “I can count on you, can’t I?”

  Ava smiled. “You can,” she said firmly. “I understand. Love is never simple. It can turn the sanest mind mad with longing. It distorts everything. Once the dust settles, you’ll be happy out there with your Rupert. You’ve got courage. I don’t think I’d ever be as brave as you. I suppose one has to weigh it all up—do I live for me, or for others?”

  “And you never know how you’re going to act until it happens to you.”

  Ava drove away envying Daisy. She had got what she wanted, but at what cost to Michael? Ava loved Phillip too much ever to hurt him like that.

  Just when Ava was beginning to tolerate life without Jean-Paul, Phillip announced he’d had a telephone call from Jean-Paul’s father, Henri. Ava was in the vegetable garden planting seeds with Hector. When she heard the news she stood up, trowel in hand, her face and hands grubby with mud. “You’ve heard from Henri?” she repeated, anxious to hear more. “What did he say?” Is Jean-Paul coming back?

  A smile played around Phillip’s mouth, for he knew the news would please his wife. “He’s asked us to stay at the beginning of May.”

  “To stay?” she repeated, incredulous.

  “Yes. I thought you’d be pleased. We could take our holiday there. You’ll love Henri, he’s a real character and Antoinette, his wife, is a keen gardener like you.”

  “What about Jean-Paul?”

  “What about him?”

  “When is he coming back?”

  “I don’t know. Didn’t he tell you how long he was going to be away?”

  “No,” she replied quickly, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “So he’ll be there?”

  “I’m sure he will. I told him we’re very pleased with Jean-Paul’s work. That he’s learning a great deal. I told him he’s indispensable to us now—thought a little exaggeration wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Didn’t he think it odd that he had gone home?”

  “Clearly not. Why is it odd?”

  “He’s been away three weeks.”

  “You’re not missing him, are you, Shrub—the woman who said she wouldn’t last more than a week with him?”

  She turned away, pretending to be keeping an eye on Hector. “Well, we could do with his help. There’s an awful lot to do around here.”

  “So, what should I tell Henri?”

  Ava lost her focus among the greenhouses, aware that she was standing at a crossroads and that her fate and perhaps the fate of her whole family depended on the choice she made now. She thought of Daisy Hopeton. How she had disapproved. But was she any better? Then something pulled at her. An invisible cord attached to her heart, pulling her across an unseen threshold. “Tell him yes,” she said slowly, knowing that she should have taken the other path. “Tell him we’d love to.”

  “Good. I knew you’d be pleased. Don’t I always come up with the goods?” He chuckled and wandered through the gate in the wall back to the house. Ava felt the familiar tingle of excitement and the rising of her spirits out of the smog that had been her unhappiness. Suddenly she was able to see the sunshine and feel its warm rays on her face. She looked around at the budding trees and bushes and breathed in the fertile scents of flowering shrubs and new grass, allowing spring to uplift her as it always did.

  She knelt down and continued to plant the marrow seeds for Poppy. Inside, her stomach was filled with bubbles. Then she felt the guilt, pricking each bubble one by one, spoiling her joy. She told herself that her desire to see Jean-Paul again was innocent. That all she wanted to do was to be in his company and convince him to return with them to Hartington. They would be dear friends. That was all.

  That night Phillip made love to her. She was so overwhelmed with happiness that she received him enthusiastically, pulling him into her arms, kissing him passionately, savoring his attention, telling him how much she loved him. Masking the secret feelings she had for Jean-Paul.

  “You’re back, Shrub,” he said afterward, scrunching her tousled hair in his hand. “You haven’t been yourself.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize, darling. I don’t like to see you unhappy, that’s all.”

  “You’re very sweet to put up with the potato face.”

  “It wasn’t a potato face, Shrub. More like a weeping willow. I want you to be a sunflower all year round.”

  “So do I.”

  He paused a moment. She began to plan what she would pack. “You’re not unhappy with Jean-Paul, are you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know you and he haven’t exactly gelled. Is it going to ruin your holiday if he’s there?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  “He might have returned by then anyway.”

  “Exactly. But I don’t mind. I like him. I really do. He’s pleasant to have around and he’s changed a lot since he arrived. It would be nice if he were there. He can show us around the château gardens himself.”

  “Good. I want you to have a good rest, Shrub. We don’t have to hang around with them all day. We can venture off on our own and explore. I know you want us to spend time together.”

  “That’s okay. I’m sure they’re charming.”

  “Yes, but I promised you we’d have time alone. You know I always keep my promises.”

  This time she wouldn’t mind if he didn’t.

  XXIV

  Raindrops on bluebells. The eccentric sound of a cuckoo. The uplifting sight of flirtatious mallards in flight.

  They were met at Bordeaux airport by Henri’s driver. He held up a sign saying phillip lightly, welcome! He spoke no English and Ava was thrilled to speak French to him. Phillip listened with pride as she chatted easily. He had never seen her look more beautiful. Her hair was loose and falling down her back in shiny curls. Her cheeks were pink which accentuated the sparkling green of her eyes, and her face had tanned the color of warm honey. She wore glittery pink velvet slippers on her feet and a rather old-fashioned black dress printed with small pink flowers, and a short olive green cardigan. He noticed that she walked with a bounce in her step and was pleased that he had gone ahead and organized this break away from home. It was just what she needed.

  Ava was as taut as a tightly strung violin. Outwardly she put on a good show of simply being excited by the holiday, but inside she was quivering with nerves. What would Jean-Paul think of her appearing at his home? What if he had chosen to spend the week in Paris in order to avoid her? Or worse, what if he interpreted this trip as an indication of her readiness to give herself to him body and soul? She stared out of the window and pondered the wisdom of her decision.

  France was in the full throes of spring. The trees were all in leaf, tall white candles adorned the horse chestnuts, and undulating fields of vines shimmered with their first leaves. Roses grew in abundance. The driver told Ava that they were planted at the ends of the rows to stop the ploughing oxen from nibbling the vines as they turned around to start the next row. To her delight she spotted a pair of swallows on the wing and a pretty brown thrush.

  Finally, the car swept up a long curved drive, beneath an ancient avenue of towering trees that plunged them into shadow. At the end, the house stood bathed in sunshine. It was a majestic, neoclassical building on a grand scale. Built in pale, sand-colored stone, symmetrical, with tall windows framed by blue shutters and ornate
black balconies, its beauty distracted Ava from her fears and filled her with wonder. Virginia creeper scaled the walls with honeysuckle and wisteria. As they approached, she could see the steep roof of slate tiles and charming dormer windows, each one capped by a curving pediment like a graceful eyebrow. Narrow stone chimneys reached into the sky with fanciful, cone-topped towers, decorated by a sudden spray of small birds.

  The car drew up on the gravel outside the house. A pair of Great Danes charged out of the open door, their deep barks biting into the still air and echoing off the walls of the château. Ava climbed out of the car, her heart beating with anticipation. She raised her eyes to see an elegant, olive-skinned woman standing at the door. With her black hair pulled into a chignon that showed off her beautiful bone structure and deep-set brown eyes, she was obviously Antoinette, Jean-Paul’s mother.

  Antoinette smiled serenely. “Welcome,” she said, stepping onto the gravel. “I hope you had a pleasant journey.”

  “Splendid,” said Phillip, striding over to her. She gave him her hand and he leaned forward to kiss her. She was tall and willowy in flowing white trousers held at the waist with a brown crocodile belt. She wore a man’s striped shirt beneath a cream waistcoat lined with black-striped ticking. Ava thought she was the chicest woman she had ever laid eyes on. “This is my wife, Ava,” Phillip added, introducing her.

  “I have heard so much about you,” she said warmly. “Jean-Paul is so fond of you.” Ava shook her hand, thin and surprisingly cold to touch, and wondered how much he had told her.

  “Please come inside. I hope you don’t mind the dogs, they are rather large but very friendly.”

  “We adore dogs,” said Ava, trying to hide her nervousness behind a veneer of enthusiasm. “We have two of our own.”

  “Of course you do. Well, you will feel quite at home then.”

  They walked across the hall dominated by a sweeping stone staircase and a giant fireplace full of neatly cut logs piled one on top of the other. On the mantelpiece were ancient bottles of wine lined up on display. The floor was of big square flag-stones that shone, except along the middle where they were worn away by centuries of treading feet. Antoinette took them through to the drawing room, a grand red salon with high ceilings and long crimson curtains framing French doors that opened onto a wide terrace, surrounded by a stone balustrade. Faded tapestries of hunting scenes hung on the walls, flanked by gilded portraits of the family ancestors. Ava ran her eyes over them, seeking out any similarities with Jean-Paul. A maid entered the room and Antoinette asked her to bring a tray of drinks to the terrace. “And where is my son, Françoise?” she added. Ava’s stomach flipped and she grew anxious that she wouldn’t be able to hide her feelings.