Part 33 (1/2)
Miranda was surprised to read that Ava had had another child as she had contemplated before the affair with Jean-Paul began. It was another tie to keep herself from leaving. Peach tied her to the nursery and restrained her from bolting.
Peach is my consolation and my joy. Every day she fills me with wonder and appreciation. I am blessed. Out of the ashes this little soul rises to dry my tears and stroke my wounded heart with her gentle gaze and enchanting smile. I thought that part of me had died the day he left, but I was wrong. It was growing inside me as bright and beautiful as the man himself. Peach came with enough love to bind together the broken pieces of my spirit and mend my shattered world. If it hadn't been for her I would surely have shriveled like an early flower killed by frost. Peach is my everything and she doesn't even know it. One day I'll tell her. G.o.d give me that courage...G.o.d, give me the time...
Miranda was stunned. She reread the last paragraph through her tears and realized that Peach was Jean-Paul's child. The child he had longed for. The child he didn't know he had. She was overwhelmed by the gravity of the secret she now held in the palm of her hand. What am I to do? She shuddered at the prospect of telling him that she had had the sc.r.a.pbook all this time. Would he curse her for removing it from the cottage? Would he understand that she couldn't have known it was left there for him? How would he react when she told him of the table laid for two, frozen for twenty-six years, exactly as he had left it? Would he ever forgive her?
The following day Miranda telephoned Henrietta to explain the plans for the weekend. Henrietta was beside herself with excitement. She hadn't told Miranda about Jeremy. They had spent the evening together that Sat.u.r.day at the fund-raising party in the town hall. Since then he had frequently called in at her shop. Sometimes she had been with Troy, and Clare had reported his visit. ”It's him again,” she'd say with a wry smile. ”Why doesn't he just ask you out?” Henrietta didn't know why he didn't ask her for dinner. Perhaps he was shy. Perhaps he just wanted her friends.h.i.+p. She couldn't imagine someone like Jeremy falling in love with her. Maybe he just felt sorry for her. Clare rolled her eyes. ”No wonder you're still single,” she said, not intending to be unkind. ”You should have more confidence in yourself. Thanks to Susannah and Trinny you're actually looking rather hot these days!”
After Miranda had booked the Berkeley Hotel she set about finding out where Phillip and Ava Lightly had moved to. She contemplated asking Mrs. Underwood or the vicar, but then she was struck with a better idea. She'd call on the post office under the pretext of having received a package for Mrs. Lightly. Surely, when they moved they had left a forwarding address.
The excitement of unraveling the mystery of Jean-Paul and Ava Lightly's secret world distracted her from the ghastliness of her own marriage breakdown. Far from feeling rejected by Jean-Paul, she felt compa.s.sion. Her love for him paled beside the blaze of Ava's. She would recover. Ava never did. Her heart bled for them both. If she could bring them together again, after all this time, he would forgive her for having kept the sc.r.a.pbook.
She marched into the post office that was housed in the shop owned by Fatima's son Jamal.
”How are you, Jamal?” she asked breezily.
”Very well, thank you.”
”Your mother's a star.”
”I know. She's a good worker, like me.”
”I can see that. You run this place all on your own?”
”With a little help from my wife.”
”Of course. Get the whole family working. Cheap labor!”
”Indeed.” He chuckled. ”What can I do for you?”
”I've a favor to ask you.”
”Go on.”
Miranda tried not to look nervous. She wasn't used to being underhand. ”I have received a package for Mrs. Lightly. It has no return address on it and I don't want to open it.”
”Of course. Would you like me to send it to her?”
”I thought I'd telephone her, actually, and ask whether she'd like to see what I've done to her gardens. She can pick up the package. It's rather large, too large to post.”
”I see. Not a problem. Let me have a look for you.”
He turned and searched among a shelf of old gray files all neatly labeled alphabetically. When he found the right one, he pulled it down and opened it. Miranda's heart thudded at the antic.i.p.ation of getting closer to the woman whose love story had so fascinated her. At last he found it. ”She lives in Cornwall, somewhere called Pendrift. Shall I write it down for you?”
”Yes, please.”
”There's a telephone number, too. They were a very charming couple. We didn't see much of Mr. Lightly after he fell ill, but Mrs. Lightly came in regularly to send letters and buy the odd thing she'd forgotten at the supermarket.”
”I look forward to meeting her,” said Miranda, taking the piece of paper.
”Oh, you'll enjoy her, she's very funny.”
Miranda couldn't wait to telephone Ava. Suddenly the sc.r.a.pbook was coming to life, the characters materializing before her like resurrected ghosts, the love story leaping off the page. Once at home she listened to her messages. There was one from Lottie confirming that David was coming down for the weekend to see the children. She wondered what he was going to do with them for two days and decided to book Mrs. Underwood to cook and put Jean-Paul on standby in case he slunk off to watch telly and left them on their own. Fatima was in the hall, cleaning the floor; Mr. Underwood stood in the doorway enjoying a long coffee break, telling her about the sudden plague of moles that was ruining the lawn. The suns.h.i.+ne lit up the terrace and thyme walk like a beautiful stage and Miranda stopped for a moment to admire it as she walked through the hall to her study.
She closed the door and sat at her desk, deliberating what she was going to say. She decided to introduce herself and invite Ava to see the gardens. The plan was to get her to Hartington where she would find Jean-Paul. She would give him the sc.r.a.pbook and admit that she had taken it without knowing why it had been put there in the first place. Confidently she dialed the number. It rang for a while. Just before she hung up in disappointment, a woman's voice came on the line. ”h.e.l.lo?” Miranda plunged in.
”h.e.l.lo, am I speaking to Mrs. Lightly?”
There was a long pause. Miranda looked down at the piece of paper and wondered whether, in her excitement, she had dialed the wrong number. ”Who's speaking?”
”My name is Miranda Claybourne, I live at Hartington House...”
The woman's voice softened. ”I'm afraid my mother died two years ago.”
Miranda was shocked. ”Ava Lightly is dead?”
”Yes.”
”And Mr. Lightly?”
”My father's getting on a bit, but he's well, thank you.”
”Am I speaking to Poppy?”
”No, I'm her sister, Peach.”
Miranda's mouth went dry and she frantically tried to think of something to say. ”I'm so sorry about your mother, Peach. I've heard so much about her, I feel I know her. She was so popular here in Hartington. When we moved all anyone could talk about were her incredible gardens.”
”They were her pa.s.sion. It was very hard for her to leave.”
”Forgive me for asking, but I've been so curious. Why did she go?”
”Dad had a stroke and couldn't cope with the stairs. She looked after him single-handedly. She had no choice. I think it broke her heart.”
”I'm sure it did. You see, I've brought the gardens back to life. I wanted to do that for her. When we moved in they had gone to seed. They needed a lot of work. I felt it was my duty to bring them back to their former glory, for her.”
”That's so sweet of you. She'd have loved that.”
”I didn't do it on my own. I enlisted the help of this wonderful Frenchman called Jean-Paul de la Grandiere.” As Ava expected, there was a long pause. ”He seemed to know what I wanted. I rather left it to him, actually. Anyway, they're really wonderful now. If you're able I'd love you to see them. You can always come and stay. After all, it was your home.”
”It was my home for twenty-three years,” she said hesitantly. ”I loved it, too.”
”Please come.”
”I don't know...” Miranda heard a man's voice in the background. ”That's my dad. I'll tell him you called. He'll be grateful. We all loved Hartington House.”
Miranda put down the telephone and sat back in her chair. So, Ava Lightly was dead. She felt as sad as if she had really known Ava. The disappointment was overwhelming. For almost a year she had lived Ava's story while her own had unraveled around her. Ava had kept her going. Now there was nothing left but ashes. Her heart bled for Jean-Paul, blindly groping through those ashes, wondering why they felt so cold.