Part 10 (1/2)

Jean-Paul was not amused. His face clouded but he made no complaint. ”Bon,” he said briskly. ”If that is what you want.”

”I do,” she replied. ”It's not all creative.”

”So I see.”

”You'll get very fit.”

”I'm already fit.” He spat the words, flas.h.i.+ng his eyes at her angrily from under his eyelashes. ”I'm going to light the bonfire. I was wondering whether the children are home. They might like to help me.”

”I'm going to pick them up now. They'd love to help.”

”Good. I will wait.”

”Have a cup of tea in the kitchen. You've worked hard all day. Have a rest.”

He shook his head. ”No. I have a few more loads to take to the fire.”

”I'll send the children up with marshmallows.”

”Marshmallows?”

”You don't know what they are?” He shook his head. ”Then it will be a surprise. They'll love showing you.” His features softened. She smiled at him, but he did not return the smile.

She drove to school, debating her actions, justifying the jobs she had made Jean-Paul do with Hector. He wasn't here on holiday. It wasn't meant to be a picnic. What did he expect? At least the weather was good. If he was sulky in suns.h.i.+ne, what in G.o.d's name was he going to be like in rain and snow? She consoled herself that he would soon be gone. He wouldn't last until winter. She'd never know what he was like in snow and he would never see the wonder of her garden in summer.

The children were thrilled at the prospect of showing Jean-Paul how to roast marshmallows. Poppy waved a picture of a sunflower in front of her face. ”Darling, not while I'm driving. I don't care whether you're Gauguin or Matisse. Let's get home alive, shall we?”

The boys compared stickers they had swapped in the playground. ”Robert told me that we can write to Asterix and they'll send us a whole box of stickers,” said Angus.

”A whole box?” replied Archie breathlessly, looking down at his handful of Esso tigers.

Ava listened to them in amus.e.m.e.nt. This week stickers, last week conkers, next week something else.

Back at home they ran to the vegetable garden where Hector and Jean-Paul were standing in front of an enormous mountain of leaves and cardboard boxes. The sky had clouded over and it was getting cold. Ava followed with the bag of marshmallows.

”I want to show him!” cried Poppy, skipping up to her mother. ”Please, can I!”

Ava opened the packet and handed her daughter a pink marshmallow and stick. ”All right, but let me help you,” she said, taking her hand.

Jean-Paul had regained his color. He no longer looked angry. He watched the boys take a handful of marshmallows each and give one to him.

”You have to put it on a stick,” said Archie importantly. ”Otherwise you'll burn your fingers.”

”Thank you,” said Jean-Paul. ”I would not want to burn my fingers.”

”I burned my finger once,” volunteered Angus, holding it up. ”But Mummy put a bandage on it and it got better.”

”Your mother is very clever,” said Jean-Paul seriously.

”Watch!” Poppy shouted, holding her marshmallow in a bright yellow flame until it caught a little flame of its own. ”See!” she hissed excitedly, standing stone still as if she held a poisonous snake on the end of her stick.

”Right, you can take it out now,” said Ava.

”Blow, Mummy!” Ava brought it to her mouth and blew. It had melted into a sticky sugary ball. ”Can I eat it now?” she asked. Ava tested it on her lips, blew again, then handed it to her daughter. Poppy pulled it off and popped the marshmallow into her mouth. She smiled in delight. ”Yummy!” she exclaimed.

”Have a go,” Ava said to Jean-Paul. ”Consider this your initiation into the garden. If you pa.s.s this, you can be a member of our club, can't he, Hector?”

Hector nodded. He leaned on his pitchfork, watching the children contentedly.

Jean-Paul held his marshmallow over the fire while the boys shouted instructions at him. The Frenchman indulged them, doing as he was told, asking questions to make them feel important. Ava noticed how sweet he was with the children and how much they enjoyed having him around, especially the boys. He was someone new to show off to. Inside him there was a boyishness they were drawn to.

The marshmallow event drew them all together. The sun went down behind the garden wall, setting the tops of the trees ablaze with a bright golden light. The sky darkened, the air grew moist, the wind turned cold. But they were hot in front of the fire. The mountain diminished into a low mound of embers, glowing like molten copper each time a gust of wind swept over them. They ate all the marshmallows.

Then Jean-Paul suggested they play a game. ”If this is my initiation into your club, then you have to be initiated into mine,” he said seriously.

Ava watched in astonishment as he began to dance around the fire making whooping noises with his hand over his mouth. His unb.u.t.toned s.h.i.+rt blew about his body illuminating his skin in the firelight. He lifted his feet and jumped about, pretending to be a Red Indian. The children joined in, following Jean-Paul closely, copying his erratic movements, their small figures casting eerie shadows on the garden wall. Ava roared with laughter, and even Hector smiled, revealing small yellow teeth and gaping black holes where there were none. Inspired by the exhibition, Ava clapped her hands, wis.h.i.+ng she had a drum so she could join in.

That evening, Ava was sorry Jean-Paul did not come for dinner. She had seen an unexpected side of him. They had parted in the vegetable garden. She with the children, he alone. She thought of him in the cottage, beside the fire, eating in front of the television then going to bed, and wondered whether he would be lonely. She resolved to lend him her car any time he wanted so he could go into town, and she'd remind Toddy to introduce him to her cousins. He'd appreciate the company of girls his age.

”How did it go today with Jean-Paul?” Phillip asked over dinner. Ava had made a special effort to cook partridges with breadcrumbs, bread sauce and gravy. She had steamed red cabbage to which she had added a little ginger, and had boiled carrots with honey. She had lit a candle on the table and dimmed the lights. Phillip opened a bottle of Bordeaux and poured two gla.s.ses. ”Was he helpful?”

Ava smiled contentedly. ”He was. In fact, he was a pleasure to have around. We roasted marshmallows in the bonfire and they all danced around it like Red Indians.”

”Not Hector, I hope. Wouldn't do his heart any good at all.”

”Certainly not! Jean-Paul led the children. It was very funny. Poppy following as best she could, the boys thinking they were incredibly clever, kicking their legs out and spinning around. No wonder they're quiet upstairs, I should imagine they're exhausted!”

”Was he any good in the garden?”

”He helped Hector. I didn't see much of him all day. I think he was pretty p.i.s.sed off he had to rake leaves, but it's not all about planting roses.”

”He'll get used to it. He'll reap the rewards of his labor in spring.”

”If he's still here.”

The next few days she saw little of Jean-Paul. He worked with Hector while she busied herself in the borders. She asked him for dinner, but he refused, claiming he was having dinner at the pub. She dared not ask who with. It was none of her business. She wandered around the garden, trying to work out how she was going to plant her cottage garden, trying to imagine it, but nothing came. Perhaps the project was simply too ambitious. She should concentrate on the wild garden around the hollow tree instead. On Wednesday, when he had declined her third invitation for dinner, she realized she was being unfair. He had come to help her, she couldn't send him off to work with Hector all day. That wasn't keeping her side of the bargain. He had proved he was willing to work hard.

It was late. The sun had set, the sky was a deep navy studded with stars and there was a misty moon. She walked across the field towards the river. She wasn't going to apologize, but she was going to ask his advice on the cottage garden. Perhaps he did have ideas. She hadn't given him a chance.

The bridge looked silver in the moonlight, straddling the river that trickled gently in the silence. She loved the night. It was like being wrapped in velvet. Her spirits rose as she approached the cottage and she walked with a bounce in her step. The lights were on, the smell of smoke scenting the damp air with nostalgia. She stood a moment gazing at the little house, lit up as if by spotlight, enjoying the romance of it. Then she knocked on the door.

Jean-Paul's face blanched with surprise when he saw her. She wore a T-s.h.i.+rt under her purple dungarees and seemed not to feel the cold. He s.h.i.+vered as the wind swept into the hall. ”Come in,” he said, standing aside. She took off her boots and walked into the sitting room. There was a fire in the grate, a box of paints and gla.s.s of murky water on the coffee table. Jean-Michel Jarre resounded from the tape recorder. She hadn't imagined he could paint.

He didn't offer her a drink, but stood in the doorway waiting for her to speak. She walked over to the fire. ”I've come to ask your advice,” she said, suddenly losing confidence. He had bathed, his hair was still wet. His blue s.h.i.+rt, the sleeves rolled up, hung over his Levis.

”Advice?” He looked unconvinced. ”Why would you want to do that? You clearly don't think I have anything to offer.”