Part 34 (1/2)
”You're not in love with him, are you?”
”No, and that would make two of us,” said Miranda, grinning knowingly at her friend. ”You're not in love with Jean-Paul either, are you?” Henrietta shook her head. ”Who then? There's someone, I can tell by the look on your face.” Miranda needed to hear of someone else's happiness like a ray of light through the darkness that now enveloped her.
”I want to hear your story first,” said Henrietta.
”I'll only tell you, if you tell me who you're in love with.”
”Jeremy Fitzherbert. There, now I've said it.”
Miranda was surprised. She sat back in her chair and stared at Henrietta, suddenly seeing her in a completely different light. ”Jeremy Fitzherbert. I'd never have put you two together. But now you mention it, I can't believe I never did. How far has it gone?”
”Oh, not very far,” she mumbled, lowering her eyes and turning the color of the pepper she had foolishly consumed. ”We haven't even kissed. Maybe he doesn't want to.”
”Don't be silly. If you're not kissing, what are you doing?”
”We've spent some time together. He comes into my shop.”
”He must have a shop of his own by now,” said Miranda.
”He's sweet.”
”He's handsome. I remember the first time I met him, I noticed his eyes. They're very blue.”
”Yes, they are, aren't they?”
”Well, get on with it. Why don't you make the first move?”
”Oh, I couldn't.”
”Then you have to give him more encouragement.”
”I'm sure he knows.”
”Then why isn't he making a move?”
”Because he's shy.”
”No, he isn't. He's not sure you feel the same way.”
”Perhaps he just wants to be my friend.”
Miranda nearly choked on her wine. ”No man is going to go to all that trouble for friends.h.i.+p-unless he's gay.”
”Like Troy,” said Henrietta, her smile turning wistful. ”So, what's your secret?”
Miranda drained her gla.s.s and poured another. ”I'll begin at the very beginning...”
”That's always a good place,” giggled Henrietta, feeling deliciously light-headed.
”...with a sc.r.a.pbook I found in the little cottage on the estate...”
Henrietta listened while Miranda told her of Ava Lightly, her affair with a mystery man she called M. F. and the gardens they had planted together. ”The man Ava referred to as M. F. is Jean-Paul.”
”Oh my G.o.d!” Henrietta gasped. ”Are you sure?”
”Mr. Frenchman-I thought it was a coincidence when he just happened to saunter into my home and offer his services as gardener. You know, now I think about it, when I asked him what he did, he said 'I garden.' He never said he was a gardener. 'I garden, why not?' It's only now, with hindsight, that it sounds odd. He owns a beautiful vineyard in France. No wonder he never asked about money. He's a rich man. Only love could make a man of his means and status work as a lowly gardener and live in a little cottage! He said he'd bring the gardens back to life and he has. But he can't bring Ava back to life. She's dead.”
Henrietta paled. ”Dead?”
”I rang her up and spoke to her daughter.”
”Have you told Jean-Paul?”
”Not yet. I'm too frightened.”
”You have to tell him! You have to give him the sc.r.a.pbook. It's his by right.”
”At least he'll know how much she loved him.”
”You have to tell him that you found the cottage as a shrine to their love. The table laid for two, the teapot and cups. The house kept as if they had just gone out for a walk and never returned. It's the most romantic story I've ever heard.”
”But there's more, Etta.”
”You have to tell me. I can't stand it!”
”Peach, the daughter I spoke to, is his.”
”You're sure?”
”I'm certain. She writes it clearly in the book. After Jean-Paul returned to France, Ava realized she was pregnant. She writes that Phillip thought the baby looked just like her, but she saw Jean-Paul's smile. She called her Peach, which is what Jean-Paul called her-ma peche.” Miranda began to cry. ”Do you know what she said? She said that every smile her daughter gave her was a gift.”
The two women sat at the table, tears streaming down their cheeks. The waiter came to take the trolley away, took one look at them, apologized and withdrew like a scalded penguin.
”What must we look like?” said Henrietta, laughing through her tears.
”There's only one thing that doesn't add up. If Ava knew she was dying and wanted him to have the sc.r.a.pbook, why didn't she just send it?”
Henrietta looked as perplexed as Miranda. ”Maybe she only wanted him to have it if he kept his side of the bargain. She couldn't send it out of the blue, just in case he had married and forgotten about her. It had been over twenty years. But if he came back for her, as he promised he would, then he'd find it. He'd deserve it. Do you see?”
”You know, that's possible. I'm amazed you can think clearly with the amount of wine you've drunk.”
”It's made me more lucid.” Henrietta laughed. ”Do you think he'll be hurt that Ava never told him about Peach?”
”Yes, but the M. F. of the book would understand. She couldn't tell him. Can you imagine the complications? The only way she could protect her family was to keep it secret.”
”Do you think Phillip ever wondered?”