“He is out,” she replied.
Antoinette sighed. “And Henri?” Françoise shrugged. “Well, go and find him and tell him our guests have arrived. I said they would be here by noon.”
“Yes, madame,” said Françoise obediently and left the room.
“Come, let us sit on the terrace. It is warm there in the sun. Françoise will bring us some wine.” She opened the French doors wide and stepped outside. The dogs followed her, trotting off to sniff the borders and cock their legs against the balustrade. Below, the gardens stretched out to an old wall covered in climbing roses and pink bougainvillea, where ancient trees watched over the grounds and, beyond, the domed roof of a dovecote silhouetted against the sky. Ava could see at once why the château was so special to Jean-Paul and why he did what his father asked of him in order not to lose it.
“Ah, my friends, you have arrived!” exclaimed Henri, approaching the terrace from around the side of the house. His voice was loud and booming, like a trombone. “You should have sent Françoise to find me,” he added to his wife.
“I did,” she replied coolly. He embraced Phillip with the warmth of an old friend and kissed Ava’s hand as his son had done. He smiled broadly, dark eyes appraising her beneath a thick head of rich brown curls. Ava remembered Jean-Paul telling her that he had a mistress in Paris. It didn’t surprise her. He was devilishly handsome, like his son. “Where’s the wine? Françoise!” he bellowed. Françoise appeared almost at once, struggling beneath the weight of a large tray heavy with bottles and glasses as well as a jug of iced water. Henri made no move to help her. “Good! We were in danger of dying of thirst,” he said in English so that the maid couldn’t understand. He sat down and pulled out a cigar. “So, Phillip, my friend, how is the book?”
Antoinette turned to Ava. “Would you like to see the dovecote? Jean-Paul tells me you have one in your garden.”
“I would love to. Is that its dome over there?”
“Yes.”
“It’s far more magnificent than ours.”
“Jean-Paul says you have the most beautiful estate.”
“I wish he were there now. Everything is bursting into flower—and the smells, it’s never smelled more delicious.”
“Come, I need to talk with you.”
Ava followed her down the wide steps to the garden, leaving the men talking and drinking on the terrace. Once again she felt the blood rushing through her veins with panic. Had Jean-Paul told his mother that he was in love with her? Was she going to warn her off? Say he needed to marry a young woman from his own country and have a son to inherit as he would do? She began to feel nauseous and rubbed her forehead in agitation. The sun was very hot, in spite of the cool breeze, and the twittering birds were drowned by her own pulse thumping in her ears.
“May I speak with you plainly?” Antoinette asked as they walked across the lawn towards an iron gate built into the wall.
“Of course,” Ava replied.
“It’s about Jean-Paul.” Antoinette glanced across at her. “He is my only child, you know, and I love him deeply.”
“I know, he’s told me a lot about you.”
“I’m sure. The trouble is that he has a terrible relationship with his father. Henri is insensitive to his needs. Jean-Paul is a talented artist but Henri does not like him to paint. He writes beautiful poetry but Henri thinks nothing of poetry. Henri had an uncle who wasted his life painting unremarkable paintings. He does not want Jean-Paul to waste his life like him. It’s not just the painting. Jean-Paul spent months in Paris doing nothing but dating inappropriate girls, which was a good thing on one hand—Henri was afraid he was homosexual—but on the other hand it is no life for a young man who will one day inherit an estate such as this. Henri wants him to help run the vineyard here, but he was never interested, until now.”
“Now?” Ava wondered where the conversation was leading.
“He wants to stay here and learn about the vineyard, but Ava, he needs to go back with you.” Ava was unable to reply, her throat was so tight with emotion. “I think he wants to stay for me. You see, I’m alone here most of the time. Henri lives in Paris. I’m sure he told you. He speaks about you with such affection, Ava. It makes me so happy to know that he is understood. He told me he painted a garden for you.”
“It is the most beautiful painting, Antoinette. We have planted it just as he painted it. He has such imagination and flair.”
“I know.” She smiled again and shrugged. “I understand him, of course.” She opened the iron gate, which whined on its hinges like an old dog, and led her into a wild meadow in the midst of which stood the round stone dovecote. “He is not ready to come home, Ava. I can tell he is unhappy. If he comes home now he will not be free of his father. Not for a moment. With you he is able to enjoy freedom to be himself. I couldn’t bear it if he sacrificed that for me. This is an opportunity of a lifetime and I want him to enjoy it. I will still be here in the autumn. Tell him, for me, that he has to return. I know you can persuade him. His father thinks he has come home for a break. He will never forgive Jean-Paul if he thinks he has let you down, after all your kindness. You see, he has to return with you. There is no other way. Do it, please, for me.”
“I’ll try,” Ava replied huskily.
Suddenly, from around the back of the dovecote Jean-Paul appeared. He stood with his hands in his pockets, looking up at them from behind his fringe. He watched them warily. “Jean-Paul, show Ava the dovecote. I must check on lunch.” She looked at her watch. “Goodness, it is nearly time. Don’t be long.” She turned and slipped through the gate, leaving them alone.
“Why have you come?” he demanded, his tone aggressive. He stared at her impassively, awaiting her response, expecting rejection. Ava ran a hand through her hair, feeling awkward. It had been a terrible mistake. Then he shifted his gaze, suddenly looking as vulnerable as a boy. Her heart buckled. He looked so sad.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, slowly approaching him. “I’m miserable, too.”
His face softened. “You look radiant,” he replied, a small smile curling the corners of his lips.
“That is because I knew I was going to see you.”
“Then you have missed me, too?”
“Yes.”
He slipped his hand around the back of her neck, beneath her hair, and pulled her to him, pressing his lips to hers. She didn’t push him away. She didn’t think of her children or Phillip. She existed in the moment, riding the arc of the rainbow, although, in her heart, she knew it would never last. His mouth was soft, his kiss ardent. She parted her lips and let him in, winding her arms around his waist, feeling the muscles tense beneath his shirt as she touched him. His breathing grew heavy, his body hot and taut. He pulled her around the building so they could not be seen from the gate. Ava felt reckless. She was so far from home. She felt like a different person. Intoxicated by the feel of his body in her arms, combined with the scents of France, she forgot that her husband sat on the terrace with Henri and that lunch was a few minutes away in the dining room of the château. She dwelt in a fantasy world where only she and Jean-Paul resided. A limbo where anything was possible.
He took her hand and led her to the door of the dovecote. Inside it was warm and sweet smelling. He closed it behind him and lay down with her on the straw. She caught her breath as he moved on top of her, parting her legs with his knees. He buried his face in her neck, breathing in her familiar, forbidden scent. Her stomach swam with pleasure as he ran his tongue over her skin. Then he was kissing her chest and unfastening the buttons on the front of her dress. He slipped his hand inside and felt the warm softness of her breast, caressing it with his thumb. Her head fell back as he took it in his mouth. She could feel his bristles against the tender flesh and the wet sensation of his tongue as he toyed with her nipple, and her body shivered with the guilty pleasure of enjoying what she had dreamed of for so long in the secret recesses of her imagination.
She let out a deep moan as he
lifted her dress over her stomach and helped her wiggle out of her panties. She felt hot and wanton like a teenager, and smiled at her brazenness. When she opened her eyes she saw that he was looking at her as if she were the most beautiful girl in the world. He smiled at her appreciatively and she smiled back, parting her thighs to let him inside her. As they made love he took her hand and entwined his fingers through hers. She didn’t regret her adultery, not for a moment. If she had taken a second to reflect on Daisy Hopeton she would have realized that there wasn’t such a great difference between them, after all.
“Will you come back to Hartington?” she asked when they lay together, bathed in a pool of light dropped from a little window above them.
“Yes,” he said. “You know I would move mountains for you.”
“You don’t have to, my darling,” she replied, lovingly caressing his face. “I’m here now.”
Hastily, they tidied themselves in preparation for lunch. Ava fastened the front of her dress and smoothed it down, brushing off any telltale wisps of straw. Jean-Paul made for the door, then turned and kissed her again. She laughed and kissed him back. “You look beautiful,” he said, stroking her face with his eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dress.”
“I wore it for you.”
“It suits you. And your hair is down. I like it down. What happened to the pencil?”
She laughed at his teasing. “Seriously now, how do I look?” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Flushed.” He took her hand. “Come, we’ll walk the long way around, that way any evidence will be blown away by the wind.”
When they reached the terrace, Antoinette, Henri and Phillip were just getting up to go in for lunch.
“Perhaps you’d like to freshen up in your room,” said Antoinette to Ava. “I’m sorry, I should have offered when you arrived. Françoise will show you.”
Ava followed the older woman up the stone staircase and along a corridor until they reached a door at the end. Françoise opened it to reveal a large bedroom with a four-poster iron bed draped in white linen. A window was wide open, giving on to the dovecote and the fields of vines beyond, and a pair of white curtains billowed on the breeze that blew in from the garden. Françoise was surprised that she spoke French. “Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked, grateful to be understood.
“No, thank you. I’ll be down in a minute.” She noticed that her suitcase was on a stand, open and ready to be unpacked. She delved inside for her sponge bag and hurried into the bathroom to wash away the evidence of adultery. Catching herself in the mirror she paused to see if there was anything in her appearance that might give her away. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes shining, her hair tousled and tumbling over her shoulders. She pulled out a piece of straw that had gone unnoticed. Instead of throwing it in the bin she put it in the pocket of her sponge bag. Something to treasure. It would always remind her of the first time they made love.
She leaned out the window and surveyed the gardens. The sky was clear blue, the scent of newly cut grass and sweet-smelling shrubs rose up on the air and, beyond it all, stood the dovecote, their secret place, half hidden behind the wall. She smiled to herself and thought of Jean-Paul, recalling his kiss and his touch. She closed her eyes and wished the week would last forever.
XXV
The sweet scent of unfurling leaves. The tremor of my childlike excitement at the sight of spring.
Ava sat through lunch exuding a radiance that affected them all. Phillip delighted in his wife’s happiness and silently congratulated himself on arranging this break away from home. It was obviously what she needed; she was back on sparkling form, looking lovelier than ever. Henri smelt Ava’s sexuality like a dog sensing a bitch on heat and flirted with her in his coarse, bombastic manner. Jean-Paul watched her with dreamy eyes, holding her gaze a little longer than was prudent, throwing his head back and laughing in a way he hadn’t laughed for weeks, certainly in a way he never behaved in the presence of his father. Antoinette reveled in his joy and knew that Ava had done as she had asked and persuaded him to return to England. Ava slipped back to her normal, ebullient self, holding the table with her stories and making them all laugh with her impeccable timing and witty repartee. She felt electrified by Jean-Paul’s presence in the room, as if he were spring incarnate, coaxing her winter branches into blossom.
After lunch, Henri insisted on showing them around the vineyard. Antoinette declined gracefully, floating off for a siesta. She kissed her son, leaving him with an affectionate look, then smiled conspiratorially at Ava. Ava panicked. A mother’s instinct perhaps? Then she shook off any feeling of unease. She couldn’t possibly know. Her complicit look must refer to the fact that Ava had succeeded in getting her son to change his mind and return with them to England.
Ava walked behind Phillip and Henri with a bounce in her step, her shoulder almost touching Jean-Paul’s arm. She was unable to hide her exhilaration, taking pleasure from every stolen moment. Henri led them down the garden to the dovecote. “Thank goodness doves can’t talk,” Jean-Paul commented under his breath as they slipped through the gate.
“Les Lucioles has been in my family for five hundred years,” said Henri, puffing his chest out with pride. “This dovecote was built in the time of Louis the Thirteenth.” He patted Jean-Paul on the back, feigning fatherly affection. “One day my son will take over from me. Once he has found a wife and produced an heir. Am I right?” He pulled a face and gave a few exaggerated nods, appraising his son like an old king. “Yes, one day you will inherit all that is mine. It has lasted five hundred years; there is no reason why it won’t last another five hundred. Eh?”
Ava winced as he flung open the door so that it crashed against the wall, sending the doves shooting into the air like bullets. “It’s beautiful,” she commented, stepping inside.
“It is very special to me,” said Jean-Paul without looking at her. Then he put his hand on his heart. “Very special.”
Phillip glanced at his wife. “Slightly more charming than ours, don’t you think, Shrub?”
“Oh, I think ours has a lot to recommend it.”
“No doves,” he added.
“We should buy some. We can’t have a dovecote without doves.”
“And give it a lick of paint,” Phillip continued.
“No, no. Don’t paint it. You will ruin it if you paint it,” said Jean-Paul. “I like it just the way it is. It has a secret magic.” Ava pretended to be distracted by something in order not to have to look at him.
“So, when are you planning on returning to Hartington?” Phillip said to Jean-Paul.
“Next week,” he replied coolly. “I needed to spend some time with my mother.”
“Can’t you find him a suitable English girl?” Henri interrupted. “Don’t they make them like you anymore?” he added to Ava with a wink.
Ava smiled sweetly to hide her embarrassment. “You flatter me,” she replied, shrugging off his comment with a laugh.
“Come, let me show you Antoinette’s garden.” He put his hand in the small of her back and escorted her out of the dovecote. Jean-Paul walked behind with Phillip, but she felt his eyes upon her and the frisson of excitement they caused. “We need to find him a girl,” he said, lowering his voice.
“He’s young,” Ava replied in his defense.
“It is time he settled down. Between you and me, I had to get him out of Paris. He was living the life of a playboy, dating the most unsuitable girls. I will not hand over the estate to a woman of that sort, who will piss it all away on frivolity.”
“Don’t you find him changed?” she asked, suddenly realizing that she was in a position to help him. “When he arrived in England, I’ll be honest, I didn’t think he’d last a week. He had never done a day’s work in his life and it showed. He was completely ill equipped to work in a garden and arrogant with it. But he’s changed. Can’t you see it?”
“He looked as miserable as a dog!” said Henri
unsympathetically. “I said to Antoinette, ‘That boy’s in love.’”
“With the garden,” replied Ava deliberately. “He’s in love with my garden. You wouldn’t believe it unless you saw it with your own eyes, but he’s put his heart and soul into it. He’s worked so hard to create something really beautiful and he’s never too proud to learn. When he comes back he’ll enjoy the fruits of his labor.”
“I am pleased.” Henri shrugged. “I wouldn’t believe it had anyone else told me but you.”
“I think he worries about Antoinette,” she added carefully.
“She’s stronger than she looks.”
“I’m sure. He’s a dutiful son.”
“He’s her only son. That makes her very anxious. You understand, you’re a mother. She’s overprotective and over-indulgent. If he came back from Paris with one of his strays she’d accept her. Anything to make him happy.”
“And you’re tougher, to compensate?”
“Perhaps.” He looked at her with narrowed eyes. “You’re very perceptive, Ava Lightly.”
“It’s easier to see if one’s not involved.”
“I can see the bigger picture. Life is not a fairy tale. I need a son who is a man. I entertain on a grand scale. Some of the most important men in the land walk through my gates. I cannot hand the business over to a man who does not accept his responsibility with a grubby tart for a wife.”
The French Gardener Page 25