Part 31 (1/2)
She stared at the rainbow, willing it to last. ”Can you see pink between the green and the blue?”
”You tease me. There is no pink there. It is next to red, no?”
”Look harder.”
”I'm looking as hard as I can.”
”That is not hard enough.”
”I don't believe it exists.”
”Of course it does. I can see it. My eyes don't lie.”
”Then you have a sense that I lack.”
”Look, the rain has stopped.”
”We will lose the rainbow.”
”But we have one of our own, right here, inside us.” She pressed her hand to her heart. ”It'll last as long as we want it to.”
In August the weather was hot and dry. The children played with Toddy's twins and other friends from school who joined their pack and roamed the gardens like excitable dogs. Toddy noticed Ava's radiance but didn't imagine for a moment it was because of Jean-Paul. Ava wasn't the sort to have an affair. Her marriage to Phillip was the strongest she knew. She watched her friend walk with a bounce in her step, a grin that remained even when her face was in repose and a bubbling laugh that came from deep inside her, like a secret underground spring. She envied Ava's inner contentment. Her life was like a gentle summer breeze.
Phillip congratulated himself on having taken her to France. Ever since that short break Ava had been transformed. He cursed his book, the fact that it took him away from her. Yet, the sound of her voice singing in the bushes outside, humming in the hall as she arranged flowers, playing in the garden with their children, filled him with joy. They held weekend house parties, cramming the house with friends from London: writers, historians, journalists and painters. Mrs. Marley's eyes bulged at the names, having seen them in the papers or heard them on the radio. They stayed up late at night, the men smoking cigars and drinking port, the women chatting in the drawing room, gossiping about their husbands. They were an older crowd of Phillip's friends, but Ava found them stimulating. Phillip knew that she sneaked off to be alone. He loved that about her-one moment vivacious, the next as solitary as a sandpiper. He never suspected that she took herself off to the little cottage to make love to Jean-Paul. He was confident of her devotion.
At the end of August, Jean-Paul received a telephone call from his mother. It was time to come home. ”Your father wants you to take over the vineyard,” she said. ”He is getting older and his health is not as good as it was.”
”Is he ill?”
”No, but he's tired and wants to hand it over to you. The truth is, Jean-Paul, he spends so much time in Paris...” Her voice trailed off.
”I see.”
”He wants you home early September. He insists.”
Jean-Paul was winded with panic. He couldn't bear to face the end of their affair. A giant crack was splitting his heart in two. He had to tell someone. ”Maman, I am in love,” he confessed. The tone of his voice told her that the situation wasn't a happy one.
”I am so pleased, darling. Who is she?”
”You know her.”
She hesitated, uncomfortable. ”I do?”
”She came to Les Lucioles. It is Ava.”
There was a long pause while Antoinette struggled with the terrible revelation. ”Not Ava Lightly, surely?”
”Yes, maman. We are in love.”
”But she is married, Jean-Paul.”
”I know.” His voice wavered, but Antoinette's gained an edge of steel.
”Does Phillip know?”
”No.”
”Does anyone know?”
”Just us.”
”It must end,” she instructed firmly. ”It must end at once!”
”I can't.”
”You must. She is not available to you, Jean-Paul. She has a husband and children. Not to mention the fact that Phillip is a close friend of your father. You have no idea what you're getting yourself into. It can only bring unhappiness to everyone, including you. You must come home immediately.”
”I thought you'd understand.”
”Understand? Yes, I understand. I have suffered years as a consequence of your father's continuing adultery. Let's speak no more about it. I don't want to hear her name mentioned ever again.”
”But maman!”
Her voice softened. ”It is because I love you, Jean-Paul. You are my only son. I have high hopes for you; a good marriage, children, a life here at Les Lucioles. Ava Lightly is a dead end.”
”Ava Lightly is my life.”
”You are young enough to start a new one. You will recover. She is irresponsible to have led you astray.”
”I will not hear a word against her. It was I who was irresponsible. I am the guilty one. She would not have yielded had I not pushed and pushed. Be certain of this, maman, if I have to leave her, I will never recover.”
His mother tut-tutted down the line. ”This is nonsense. But it is over. As far as I am concerned, it is in the past. You will come home the first week of September. Let's speak no more about it.”
Jean-Paul fumed alone in the cottage. Of course, his mother was right. Ava Lightly was not his to have. He couldn't convince her to leave her children; love and loyalty were two of the qualities he most admired in her. Would she be the Ava he adored if she were capable of leaving her young family for him, if she were capable of such selfishness?
He couldn't remember the last time he had cried. Certainly not since childhood. Yet the thought of leaving her reduced him to sobs. He buried his face in a pillow. He had ridden the rainbow knowing that in the end he'd pay for it with his own blood. For all the pain, he was certain of one thing: it had been worth it-a lifetime of suffering for a summer of joy.
x.x.xIII.
The amber light of dusk, the smell of burning fields, the shortening days of September.
As if to reflect their misery, the skies were gray, the rain heavy and unrelenting on the roof of the cottage, and there was not a glimmer of a rainbow in sight. Ava made tea in his small kitchen, trying to retain a sense of normality while her world was collapsing about her. She laid the table. Two teacups, two saucers, a plate of coffee cake and a jug of milk. They sat opposite each other, barely daring to speak, knowing words were superfluous when saying good-bye.
They held hands across the table like prisoners through bars and gazed at each other in despair. They both felt the same pain in their hearts, the same tearing of nerves and flesh, the same irreparable damage to their souls. Ava poured tea and sliced two pieces of cake, but its delicious taste was little consolation.
”It is September. I have to return to France. Even though I would sacrifice the vineyard and my inheritance for you, living here in secret is no life.”