Part 19 (2/2)

”Just to tell you how much I appreciate you. I've bought you a splendid present.” Miranda smiled, thinking of Theo Fennell.

”Have you?” she asked coyly. ”When are you going to give it to me?”

”I could give it to you now,” he said, kissing her again. ”You smell delicious. Why don't we sneak upstairs for ten minutes? I heard your mother running a bath, they're going to be a while.”

”I haven't had a bath either.”

”Good, I like you better before you go and cover yourself in oil. Come on!”

He took her hand and led her upstairs, both giggling like a couple of children afraid of being caught. Once in the bedroom he pushed her playfully onto the bed and settled himself beside her. He kissed her again. She forgot about the present as he pulled her s.h.i.+rt out of her jeans and ran his hand over her stomach. He undid her bra and cupped her breast, rubbing the nipple with his thumb. Then he buried his face in her neck, kissing the tender skin until she wriggled with pleasure. Aware that they could be disturbed at any moment they made love quickly. Miranda didn't think about Jean-Paul. It had been so long since David had looked at her in that way, his eyes sleepy with l.u.s.t, his mouth curled with admiration, that she remained in the moment with him.

When it was over they lay together, bound by the intimacy of their lovemaking. ”You were a feast, darling!” he exclaimed. ”Now I'll give you your reward.” He got up and wandered naked into his dressing room. Miranda covered herself with the sheet and prepared herself for her gift.

”I hope you haven't gone mad!” she said. It was impossible not to go mad in Theo Fennell.

”Don't you think you deserve it, darling? I leave you down here all week. This is to tell you how much I appreciate and love you.” He returned holding a red box. Miranda knew immediately that it couldn't be from Theo Fennell, whose boxes were pink and black. She felt a wave of disappointment but made an effort to dissemble. ”Happy Christmas, darling.”

”Thank you.” She hesitated a moment before opening it. ”What have you gone and bought me?”

”Go on,” he encouraged, smiling in antic.i.p.ation. Inside the box was a diamond heart pendant. If she hadn't had the call from Theo Fennell she would have been thrilled with it. What woman could be unhappy with diamonds? But all she could think of was the piece of jewelry David had had engraved. If it wasn't for her, who was it for?

Spring.

XXI.

The happy sight of p.u.s.s.y willow. The first glimpse of a daffodil shooting through the soil.

Hartington House, 1980.

The change of season brought on a change in me, a blossoming, like an unexpected flower bursting through snow. Outwardly, I continued as if nothing had been said, but inwardly I could not forget M. F.'s declaration of love. Suddenly, something I had never considered lingered at the forefront of my mind, like a carrot before a donkey who had always been content with gra.s.s. I should have sent him home and avoided the terrible anguish and pain that was to strike us both in the heart. But how could I have predicted what was to come when at the time I truly felt nothing but affection? As winter thawed I found myself thinking more and more about him. Moments when my mind was normally empty were filled with his laughter and that wide, infectious smile, so handsome my stomach flipped at the merest thought of it. The nights grew increasingly tormented, the days charged with electricity that continued to build between us like humidity in summer before a storm. Perhaps if Phillip had been at home more, it might not have happened. But he was away so much. I was lonely. His absences allowed me and M. F. to grow close. And I, starved of company, allowed it to happen. I fought with the guilt.

My moods swung from joy to despair, when I would sit alone on the bench in our cottage garden and ponder the hopelessness of this forbidden love. Every time I indulged those impossible dreams the faces of my children rose up before me, cutting them down before they could take root. I loved M. F., but I loved my children more.

Phillip continued in his merry way, disappearing to France and Spain for weeks on end, even traveling as far as Argentina and Chile in search of new wine. He was oblivious of the growing kernel in my heart. At first I pretended I had not seen it, then I concealed it, but as it grew I was unable to ignore it, that feisty seed of love that M. F. had planted that day in the woods.

Ava was plagued with confusion. How could she love two men at the same time? Her love for Phillip had not diminished, not even an inch, and yet, she found herself growing more and more attached to Jean-Paul. She had presumed affairs happened when there was already discord in the marriage. Yet, there was no discord in her marriage. Not even boredom. There was no reason why she should be attracted to Jean-Paul when everything in her life was as it should be.

At first she tried to distance herself from him. She sent him to the far corners of the garden, but even though he wasn't physically present he was constantly on her mind. Then she dismissed her feelings as sisterly fondness. After all, they had worked closely together in the garden now for six months-it was natural that she should feel like his big sister. But as winter thawed and the snowdrops and daffodils began to raise their heads, she could deny it no longer. Her feelings were s.e.xual and they weren't going away.

She had witnessed a transformation in Jean-Paul. He had arrived in autumn an arrogant, insouciant young man. Little by little the garden had changed him. She would not have imagined the part she had played in that change. That he had watched her with her plants and animals, with her children and her husband, and when she was alone with him. Ava had no knowledge of her own intrinsic magic. Whether it was Ava or the garden, Jean-Paul had undergone a definite change for the better. He had become more sensitive, more understanding. The root of that change, of course, was love. The more love he felt in his heart, the better a human being he became.

One day in March Jean-Paul suggested they drive to the beach for the morning. ”We can have lunch in a pub. I'd like to see a little more of Dorset.” He put his hands out and shrugged. ”It's drizzling. There is little we can do in drizzle.” His grin of entreaty made it impossible for her to refuse.

”That's a good idea,” she replied, trying to mask her anxiety. It was all very well being alone with him in her garden, but somehow the idea of spending the day together on the beach felt improper. ”I'll tell Phillip. Perhaps he'd like to come.” Jean-Paul's face fell at the suggestion. ”He's probably too busy, but I know he'd appreciate being asked,” she added hastily, making off towards the house.

Phillip sat in his study in a worn leather armchair, the dogs lying on the rug beside the fire, cla.s.sical music resounding from the tape recorder in the cupboard. He was so deeply engrossed in a book that he did not hear his wife enter. ”Darling,” she said, drawing near. He raised his eyes, startled a moment, then smiled at the sight of her. ”Sorry to interrupt.”

”You never interrupt, Shrub,” he replied, putting the book on his knee.

”Jean-Paul has suggested we go for a walk on the beach. It's a miserable day. We'd have lunch in the pub. He wants to see more of the countryside. Why don't you join us? It'll be fun.”

”As much as the thought of strolling in drizzle with my wife appeals to me, I will decline,” he replied and Ava was horrified that she felt such relief. In an effort to a.s.suage her guilt she managed to look suitably disappointed, planting a lingering kiss on his cheek. ”You're very transparent, Shrub,” he said with a chuckle.

”Transparent?” she repeated, blus.h.i.+ng.

”Yes.” He scrutinized her face. ”You think you'll be bored with Jean-Paul on your own, don't you?”

”No.”

”I know you, Shrub. I can read you like a book. You're my number one bestseller.” He laughed. ”I'm afraid you'll have to go alone. I'm sure you'll survive.”

”You're a beast!” she exclaimed. ”You leave him to me all the time. You owe me for this. You know that, don't you?”

”Whatever you want is yours,” he replied.

”I'll hold you to that.”

He pulled her down and kissed her on her forehead. ”I hope you do,” he said. With a bounce in her step she left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Jean-Paul and Ava drove down the narrow winding lanes towards the coast. Ava felt unusually nervous, like a teenager on her first date. Jean-Paul looked relaxed, clearly enjoying her company and the sight of the newly budding countryside. The windscreen wipers swept the rain off the gla.s.s with the regularity of a ticking clock. Ava sensed more keenly than ever the swift pa.s.sing of time. At the end of the summer he would return to France, having picked her up and dropped her like a tornado. They would both recover from their infatuation. She would reflect on what might have been, certain that as a married woman she had had no choice but to refuse him.

She parked the car in a lay-by and led him down a snake path to a secluded beach. ”No one comes here,” she told him. ”It's stony. But I love the roughness of it and the sound of pebbles under my feet.” It was drizzling steadily, but she was dry under the cowboy hat Toddy had bought her in Texas some years before, a poncho she had acquired in Chile as a teenager, jeans and gumboots. Her hair was stuffed into the hat, escaping in a few curly tendrils down her neck. She had never considered herself good-looking, but the way Jean-Paul looked at her told her she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

On the beach, Jean-Paul walked beside her. He wasn't towering like Phillip, but next to Ava, who was a little over five feet six, he walked tall. The sea was benign, sliding smoothly up the stones, polis.h.i.+ng them with surf before withdrawing in a flirtatious dance. The wind tasted of salt, bl.u.s.tering one moment, dropping the next, reflecting the awkward exchange between Ava and Jean-Paul. He wanted so much to hold her in his arms, to release the words locked inside his heart and tell her how deeply he loved her. He thrust his hands into his pockets and walked, commenting inanely on the flight of a seagull or the remains of a crab washed up on the beach, anything that came to mind to prevent him from spilling his soul. She in turn burned with the desire to be held by him, if only for a moment, a forbidden second on which she could feed during those interminable nights when she longed for him. She was reminded of the tragedy of sunset and without warning, she began to cry.

Jean-Paul stopped and held her shoulders, anxiously searching her face. ”I'm sorry,” she whispered.

”For what?” he asked and his voice was so soft that it made her cry all the more.

She shook her head. ”It's no use, Jean-Paul.”

”I don't understand.”

”It's like a sunset. Something so beautiful I want to hold on to it. But then it's gone.”

”Ava...”

”Or a rainbow,” she sobbed. ”Loved from a distance, but impossible...”

He didn't wait for her to finish, but pulled her into his arms and kissed her ardently. She didn't have the strength to resist. She let him hold her and closed her eyes, relinquis.h.i.+ng control. His kiss was urgent yet gentle and she wound her arms around his neck, letting him take her, willing the moment to last. But like all beautiful things the end was but a breath away and the antic.i.p.ation of it made the kiss even sweeter. The high was followed by a terrible low, like falling off the arc of a magnificent rainbow into gray clouds. She thought of her children and Phillip and was flooded with guilt. She pulled away.

”I can't,” she gasped, touching her lips still warm from his kiss. He stared at her in mortification, as if she had just pulled the earth away from under his feet. ”Don't look at me like that. I can't bear it.” She placed her fingers on his cheek, cold from the wind and wet from the drizzle. ”We shouldn't have come. In the garden everything is as it should be. We each have our place. Out here, there are no boundaries to keep us apart.”

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