Part 8 (2/2)
”For certain.”
”What would human beings have done without trees, eh?” He stood back to take in its glorious height. ”No trees, no fuel. No fuel, no smelting. So, no bronze or iron age. No wood, no s.h.i.+ps, no travel overseas. No empires. Perhaps no civilization at all.”
”We'd still be living in caves,” said Ava with a smile.
”I think your children would be all right,” he chuckled, bending down to look in on them. They sat in the dark like three little pirates. ”Is there room for me?”
”No, go away!” they shouted, squealing with pleasure. ”Help! Help! It's Captain Hook!”
Ava left the children in the tree and took Jean-Paul to the orchard. There were plum trees, apple trees, pear trees and peach trees; a banqueting hall for wasps and bees. The sun hung low in the sky like a glowing ember, glinting through the trees, casting long shadows over the gra.s.s. A pigeon sat watching them from the rooftop, its feathers gold in the soft light, and a gray squirrel scampered across the branches. The gra.s.s was already glittering with dew, the air moist and cool. They wandered through the trees in silence, listening to the whispering sounds of nature.
”I love evening and morning the best,” said Jean-Paul, his expression settled once again into solemnity. ”I love the transience of it. The moment you appreciate it, it is gone.” He snapped his fingers.
”Come. Let me show you where I want to create the new garden. A special garden. A cottage garden full of roses and campanula and daisies. I want tulips and daffodils in spring. I want a magical garden full of color and scent. Somewhere I can sit in peace and quiet. An abundance of flowers.” Jean-Paul nodded as if he were qualified to advise her.
They arrived at an area of lawn enclosed on two sides by yew hedge. In the middle stood a solitary mountain ash. They stood at one end, watching the sun blinking through the branches of the yellow larches beyond, enflaming the tip of the dovecote. It was a large s.p.a.ce, big enough to create something dramatic. ”It has a good feeling in here,” said Jean-Paul.
”Doesn't it,” Ava agreed. ”I've been wanting to do something with this for so long. We never go in here. The children play on the other side of the house or on the lawn by the herbaceous border. This is hidden away, like a secret.”
”It will be a secret garden.”
”I hope so. A surprise garden. Come on,” she said with a smile. ”Time for tea, I think, don't you? The children will be getting hungry now.”
That night Ava lay in bed with her book, An Enchanted April. But while her eyes scanned the pages, her mind was not on the words. Phillip lay beside her, his reading gla.s.ses perched on the bridge of his nose. He always had at least four books on the go, placed in different parts of the house so he never found himself with nothing to read.
”Darling,” Ava began, allowing her book to rest against her knees. ”I can't make Jean-Paul out.”
Phillip replied without taking his eyes off the page. ”What is there to make out?”
”I don't know. Something isn't right. It's like the puzzle is missing one of its pieces.”
”I don't follow.”
”Well. This afternoon I showed him around the gardens. On the one hand he's not really interested in plants. Not as a gardener should be. But on the other he's moved by the beauty of it. He loved the silly old dovecote and the oak tree. He took real interest in them.”
”What's wrong with that?” He sighed, endeavoring to be patient.
”Oh, I don't know what makes him tick.”
”You've known him a day.”
”Go back to your book. You just don't see it, do you?”
”I don't think there is anything to see. He's not interested in plants but appreciates the beauty of the garden. I would say that is a point in the young man's favor, wouldn't you?”
She lifted her book off her knee. ”Don't worry, darling. I'm trying to find a missing piece to the puzzle. Go back to your book.” He smiled and began to read again. ”After all, I'm the one who's got to work with him and find him things to do. It's all very well paying Henri back for helping you with your research, but I'm the one with the responsibility. Henri's done nothing for me.” She looked at him but his face was impa.s.sive. ”Oh, I'll shut up. Just remember my reservations when it all goes up in smoke and Henri closes all those doors the length and breadth of France!”
IX.
The sweet smell of ripe apples. The last of the plums..
The following morning Toddy kept her word and took Jean-Paul riding, leaving the twins with Archie, Angus and Poppy, playing around the hollow tree. Mr. Frisby slept in the porch, curled up in an old jersey. Phillip had gone shooting for the weekend in Gloucesters.h.i.+re, taking Tarquin with him. Ava was left alone with Bernie and the children, baffled that anyone would want to kill for sport.
She took the opportunity to tidy the cottage. The last resident had been Phillip's bachelor brother who had used it as a weekend home. He had finally married and bought a house near Sherborne and Phillip had tried to rent it out. He put in a new kitchen and gave it a fresh coat of paint, but it proved unpopular as there was no driveway. People had to park their car up at the house, walk across the field and over the bridge, which was a big inconvenience for both parties. None of the potential residents had been suitable, until now.
Despite that, Ava had always liked the cottage. It was picturesque, nestling in isolation beneath leafy chestnut trees. Symmetrical with a big mossy roof and small windows, it was like a house in a fairy tale. To Ava it was a secret cottage, shrouded in romance and so pretty, with pink and white roses that scaled the walls and tumbled over the front door in summer. Outside, the river flowed slowly beneath the stone bridge and on to the sea.
She made the iron bed with clean sheets and threw the bedspread into a corner to take back to the house to wash. She hoovered the carpets and polished the furniture, scrubbed the floor in the kitchen and hall. She threw open the windows to let autumn imbue the rooms with the sweet scent of damp gra.s.s. Satisfied with a job well done she stood awhile to admire it. A few logs in the grate, a boisterous fire, a good book and some cla.s.sical music and it would feel just like home. She smiled with pleasure, then left with the bedspread.
Toddy returned with Jean-Paul in time for lunch. The children had played all morning in the tree, running into the hall with muddy boots and red cheeks. Jean-Paul disappeared upstairs to change. Toddy rummaged about in the boot of her Land Rover for a pair of slippers. Mr. Frisby awoke and scampered over the gravel to take up position around her neck like a pretty white stole. She let out a bellow of laughter as he nibbled her earlobe. ”Did you miss me?” she asked, nuzzling him fondly.
Ava had roasted a couple of chickens. She stood by the Aga making gravy while the children jostled each other over the sink, fighting to wash their hands. Toddy returned and helped herself to a gla.s.s of apple juice from the fridge. Her black hair was short and spiky from having been trapped under her riding hat, her face flushed from the wind, her eyes s.h.i.+ning from her morning with Jean-Paul. She sidled up to Ava. ”He's rather dishy!” she whispered with a smirk. ”Fine figure of a man on a horse! He reminds me of a polo player I had in the Argentine before I married. He'd be fun to roll around with in the hay.”
”Curb your excitement. The last thing his ego needs is someone like you fancying him. Though, I dare say he's probably worked it out already.”
”There's no harm in a little window-shopping. I'm not intending to buy. That said, I wouldn't mind taking him on approval.” She leaned back against the Aga to warm her bottom.
”Why don't you introduce him to one of your cousins?”
”Not a bad idea. He's going to be bored stiff in Hartington.”
”He can always spend the weekends in London. Cruise the King's Road, go to the Feathers Ball at the Hammersmith Palais. Isn't that what young people do these days?”
”He's a bit old for the Feathers Ball, Ava!”
”Well, Tramp then, or Annabel's. I wouldn't know, I don't like London.”
”He doesn't look like your average gardener, does he?”
”Do you see what I mean? He's too neat and tidy.”
”I never trust a man who's neat and tidy. I once had a Spaniard who folded his clothes on the chair before making love. By the time he'd finished piling them up like a Benetton shop a.s.sistant I'd gone off the boil.”
”You do pick them, Toddy!”
”Jean-Paul better be a closet mess or I'll stop fancying him!” She chuckled throatily.
At that moment Jean-Paul appeared in the doorway. He had changed into jeans and loafers, a pale blue s.h.i.+rt neatly tucked in to show off a leather cowboy belt. Toddy gave Ava a look, which she chose to ignore. ”Right, children, to the table, please. Lunch is up.” The children clambered onto the banquette. ”Jean-Paul, help yourself to a drink. You'd better get to know your way around if you're going to be here for a while. Drinks are in the fridge or in the larder out there,” she instructed, pointing to a door leading off the kitchen. ”Gla.s.ses up there, in the cupboard. Did you have a good morning?”
”Fantastic!” he exclaimed. ”We rode up on the hill, so high we could see the sea.”
”We galloped over Planchett's plateau,” Toddy added, putting down her gla.s.s so she could help dish up. ”Big Red went like the clappers!”
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