Part 22 (2/2)
”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 chateau 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 s.h.i.+ny 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-fas.h.i.+oned 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 s.h.i.+mmered 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 suns.h.i.+ne. It was a majestic, neocla.s.sical 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 chateau. Ava climbed out of the car, her heart beating with antic.i.p.ation. 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 s.h.i.+rt 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 bal.u.s.trade. 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, Francoise?” she added. Ava's stomach flipped and she grew anxious that she wouldn't be able to hide her feelings.
”He is out,” she replied.
Antoinette sighed. ”And Henri?” Francoise shrugged. ”Well, go and find him and tell him our guests have arrived. I said they would be here by noon.”
”Yes, madame,” said Francoise obediently and left the room.
”Come, let us sit on the terrace. It is warm there in the sun. Francoise 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 c.o.c.k their legs against the bal.u.s.trade. 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 chateau 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 Francoise 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? Francoise!” he bellowed. Francoise appeared almost at once, struggling beneath the weight of a large tray heavy with bottles and gla.s.ses 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 rus.h.i.+ng 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 relations.h.i.+p 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 h.o.m.os.e.xual-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.
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