The French Gardener (11 page)

To her surprise, Jean-Paul left straight after he had eaten. He said he was tired, and thanked her for a magical day. “I have already learned a lot,” he told her. Then with a smile that made Ava regret her churlishness, he added, “I have learned to look out for pink. Next time I see a rainbow I will look harder.” With that, he took her hand and brought it to his lips in the same formal way with which he had greeted her the day before.

The following day Ava took the children to church. Jean-Paul moved into the cottage. She didn’t see him all day. Hidden away on the other side of the river he kept to himself, though he did borrow her old Morris Minor to drive into town. He said he wanted to take a look around. Explore the neighborhood. Ava didn’t think he’d be too impressed. It was a universe away from Paris.

She didn’t have time to miss Phillip. Besides, she was used to his long absences. In an old pair of jeans and shirt, her hair piled on top of her head and held in place with a pen, she pottered about the garden while the children played on the lawn. It was a warm October day. Unusually warm. The sun shone brightly as if it were June, the temperature rising to sixty-eight degrees. Poppy discarded her clothes and ran about in her pants. The boys dragged all the terrace cushions out of the shed and made a castle on the grass, which they destroyed by jumping on it before rebuilding, only to do the same all over again. With her secateurs and wheelbarrow, Ava was as contented as a bee in summer, humming quietly to herself in the bushes.

Bernie lay under an apple tree, sleeping through the whoops of laughter echoing across the lawn. He awoke a few minutes before Phillip’s car could be heard coming up the drive. Ears
pricked, he sat up, then galloped down the lawn to the archway cut into the hedge and bounded to the front of the house. The children followed excitedly, pursued by Ava wielding a trowel.

By the time Ava reached him, Phillip was holding Poppy in his arms, patting Bernie and listening to his sons’ breathless chatter. He saw her standing in the archway, laughing at him. “Hello, Shrub!”

“Hello there, you!” she replied, looking at him coquettishly.

“I’ve brought back a brace of pheasants.”

“Wonderful. Jean-Paul has moved into the cottage.”

“Well, ask him to join us. More the merrier.” Ava was disappointed. She had hoped they could enjoy a quiet dinner together.

“I haven’t seen him all day. I think we should leave him in peace,” she replied. No sooner had she uttered those words than Jean-Paul came striding up the field in a pair of brand-new Wellington boots.

“Jean-Paul!” Phillip greeted him warmly. “I see you have moved into the château!”

Jean-Paul grinned. “I had to buy boots to get there. That little shop by the church has everything,” he replied. Ava’s heart sank. She knew Phillip would ask him for dinner and that he would accept.

“Would you like to join us for dinner?” he asked. “I’ve brought back a brace of pheasants. Ava’s a splendid cook.” Poppy wriggled down and followed her brothers back onto the lawn. “We could almost eat outside.”

“I would love to, thank you,” Jean-Paul replied.

Ava bit her tongue. Infuriated by her husband’s lack of sensitivity, she turned on her heel and followed the children, leaving Jean-Paul and Phillip talking like two old friends.

That night Phillip confronted her in the bedroom. “What’s wrong, Shrub? You’ve been in a sulk all evening.”

“I’m fine,” she replied, walking into the bathroom to run a bath. Phillip followed her.

“You barely said a word all dinner.”

“I’m just tired. I’ve been entertaining people all weekend.” She poured oil into the water, filling the room with the scent of gardenia.

“Jean-Paul?”

“Toddy came yesterday with the boys. I thought it would be nice for us to have dinner together. I didn’t want to see anyone else. I’m tired of performing. I just want to relax and not have to make an effort.”

He put his arms around her. “I’m sorry,” he said, breathing into her neck. He kissed the tender skin below her hairline. “I didn’t think.”

“Next time,” she replied with a sigh.

He swung her around and curled a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “Is he very hard work?”

“Jean-Paul? No. He’s perfectly nice. He’s even nicer when he’s in the cottage and out of my hair.”

“You’re doing me a huge favor having him here. I really appreciate it. Henri will be grateful.”

“I know. Grateful and helpful. You’d better reward me.”

“I’ll reward you in plants.”

“I showed Jean-Paul the place I want to plant a cottage garden. He was interested.”

“Really?” Phillip wasn’t sure whether or not she was being sarcastic.

“Oh yes, he took it all in. If he had had a pen and pad he would have taken notes.”

“Good.”

She looked at him askance. “He doesn’t have a clue, Phillip. I’m going to be dragging him around like an unwanted sack.”

“That’s rather harsh. Get him to do all the dirty work for you. Like digging and clearing up.”

“I will. He won’t like it and he’ll leave to the sound of doors slamming the length and breadth of France.” She laughed.

“That’s better. You were horribly sullen.”

“You’d better treat me a little better then, or I’ll have a permanent potato face.”

“I will. I hate the potato face.” He went back into the bedroom. “Everyone sends their love, by the way. They all missed you.” Ava ignored him and sank into the bath, feeling her irritation ebb away.

The following day Ava introduced Jean-Paul to Hector. She was relieved to see he was dressed appropriately in a pair of faded jeans and country shirt in muted colors. He had rolled up the sleeves to reveal brown arms glistening with a light covering of hair. On his feet were his new Wellington boots.

Hector was in his sixties, dressed in the same tweed cap and waistcoat he had worn for as long as Ava had known him. His face was gnarled like an old tree, his eyes bright as new conkers. He spoke with a strong Dorset drawl, curling his Rs as tight as pigs’ tails. “Could do with a little help in the garden,” he said, unsmiling. Hector rarely smiled. “Especially as them leaves are coming down quicker than I can rake them up.” Jean-Paul was dismayed to be handed a rake and taken off to sweep. By the look on his face Ava was certain he had been expecting to do more interesting things. His obvious disappointment made her feel bad in spite of her happiness at being left alone to do the herbaceous border. It amused her to think of those two endeavoring to hold a conversation. She couldn’t imagine what they had in common. If Jean-Paul managed to understand half of what Hector said it would be a miracle.

Jean-Paul spent all day clearing the grounds. Raking leaves, mowing the grass with the old Dennis mower,
cutting down a dead pear tree, generally clearing away the debris of a plentiful summer. He had stopped only to eat the sandwiches he had made himself and drink a can of beer from Ava’s fridge. He looked done in.

“I think it would be a good idea to work with Hector this week. Get to know the place a bit,” Ava suggested.

Jean-Paul was not amused. His face clouded but he made no complaint. “
Bon
,” he said briskly. “If that is what you want.”

“I do,” she replied. “It’s not all creative.”

“So I see.”

“You’ll get very fit.”

“I’m already fit.” He spat the words, flashing his eyes at her angrily from under his eyelashes. “I’m going to light the bonfire. I was wondering whether the children are home. They might like to help me.”

“I’m going to pick them up now. They’d love to help.”

“Good. I will wait.”

“Have a cup of tea in the kitchen. You’ve worked hard all day. Have a rest.”

He shook his head. “No. I have a few more loads to take to the fire.”

“I’ll send the children up with marshmallows.”

“Marshmallows?”

“You don’t know what they are?” He shook his head. “Then it will be a surprise. They’ll love showing you.” His features softened. She smiled at him, but he did not return the smile.

She drove to school, debating her actions, justifying the jobs she had made Jean-Paul do with Hector. He wasn’t here on holiday. It wasn’t meant to be a picnic. What did he expect? At least the weather was good. If he was sulky in sunshine, what in God’s name was he going to be like in rain and snow? She consoled herself that he would soon be gone. He wouldn’t last until winter. She’d never know what he was like in snow and he would never see the wonder of her garden in summer.

The children were thrilled at the prospect of showing Jean-Paul how to roast marshmallows. Poppy waved a picture of a sunflower in front of her face. “Darling, not while I’m driving. I don’t care whether you’re Gauguin or Matisse. Let’s get home alive, shall we?”

The boys compared stickers they had swapped in the playground. “Robert told me that we can write to Asterix and they’ll send us a whole box of stickers,” said Angus.

“A whole box?” replied Archie breathlessly, looking down at his handful of Esso tigers.

Ava listened to them in amusement. This week stickers, last week conkers, next week something else.

Back at home they ran to the vegetable garden where Hector and Jean-Paul were standing in front of an enormous mountain of leaves and cardboard boxes. The sky had clouded over and it was getting cold. Ava followed with the bag of marshmallows.

“I want to show him!” cried Poppy, skipping up to her mother. “Please, can I!”

Ava opened the packet and handed her daughter a pink marshmallow and stick. “All right, but let me help you,” she said, taking her hand.

Jean-Paul had regained his color. He no longer looked angry. He watched the boys take a handful of marshmallows each and give one to him.

“You have to put it on a stick,” said Archie importantly. “Otherwise you’ll burn your fingers.”

“Thank you,” said Jean-Paul. “I would not want to burn my fingers.”

“I burned my finger once,” volunteered Angus, holding it up. “But Mummy put a bandage on it and it got better.”

“Your mother is very clever,” said Jean-Paul seriously.

“Watch!” Poppy shouted, holding her marshmallow in a bright yellow flame until it caught a little flame of its own.
“See!” she hissed excitedly, standing stone still as if she held a poisonous snake on the end of her stick.

“Right, you can take it out now,” said Ava.

“Blow, Mummy!” Ava brought it to her mouth and blew. It had melted into a sticky sugary ball. “Can I eat it now?” she asked. Ava tested it on her lips, blew again, then handed it to her daughter. Poppy pulled it off and popped the marshmallow into her mouth. She smiled in delight. “Yummy!” she exclaimed.

“Have a go,” Ava said to Jean-Paul. “Consider this your initiation into the garden. If you pass this, you can be a member of our club, can’t he, Hector?”

Hector nodded. He leaned on his pitchfork, watching the children contentedly.

Jean-Paul held his marshmallow over the fire while the boys shouted instructions at him. The Frenchman indulged them, doing as he was told, asking questions to make them feel important. Ava noticed how sweet he was with the children and how much they enjoyed having him around, especially the boys. He was someone new to show off to. Inside him there was a boyishness they were drawn to.

The marshmallow event drew them all together. The sun went down behind the garden wall, setting the tops of the trees ablaze with a bright golden light. The sky darkened, the air grew moist, the wind turned cold. But they were hot in front of the fire. The mountain diminished into a low mound of embers, glowing like molten copper each time a gust of wind swept over them. They ate all the marshmallows.

Then Jean-Paul suggested they play a game. “If this is my initiation into
your
club, then you have to be initiated into mine,” he said seriously.

Ava watched in astonishment as he began to dance around the fire making whooping noises with his hand over his mouth. His unbuttoned shirt blew about his body illuminating his
skin in the firelight. He lifted his feet and jumped about, pretending to be a Red Indian. The children joined in, following Jean-Paul closely, copying his erratic movements, their small figures casting eerie shadows on the garden wall. Ava roared with laughter, and even Hector smiled, revealing small yellow teeth and gaping black holes where there were none. Inspired by the exhibition, Ava clapped her hands, wishing she had a drum so she could join in.

That evening, Ava was sorry Jean-Paul did not come for dinner. She had seen an unexpected side of him. They had parted in the vegetable garden. She with the children, he alone. She thought of him in the cottage, beside the fire, eating in front of the television then going to bed, and wondered whether he would be lonely. She resolved to lend him her car any time he wanted so he could go into town, and she’d remind Toddy to introduce him to her cousins. He’d appreciate the company of girls his age.

“How did it go today with Jean-Paul?” Phillip asked over dinner. Ava had made a special effort to cook partridges with breadcrumbs, bread sauce and gravy. She had steamed red cabbage to which she had added a little ginger, and had boiled carrots with honey. She had lit a candle on the table and dimmed the lights. Phillip opened a bottle of Bordeaux and poured two glasses. “Was he helpful?”

Ava smiled contentedly. “He was. In fact, he was a pleasure to have around. We roasted marshmallows in the bonfire and they all danced around it like Red Indians.”

“Not Hector, I hope. Wouldn’t do his heart any good at all.”

“Certainly not! Jean-Paul led the children. It was very funny. Poppy following as best she could, the boys thinking they were incredibly clever, kicking their legs out and spinning around. No wonder they’re quiet upstairs, I should imagine they’re exhausted!”

“Was he any good in the garden?”

“He helped Hector. I didn’t see much of him all day. I think he was pretty pissed off he had to rake leaves, but it’s not all about planting roses.”

“He’ll get used to it. He’ll reap the rewards of his labor in spring.”

“If he’s still here.”

The next few days she saw little of Jean-Paul. He worked with Hector while she busied herself in the borders. She asked him for dinner, but he refused, claiming he was having dinner at the pub. She dared not ask who with. It was none of her business. She wandered around the garden, trying to work out how she was going to plant her cottage garden, trying to imagine it, but nothing came. Perhaps the project was simply too ambitious. She should concentrate on the wild garden around the hollow tree instead. On Wednesday, when he had declined her third invitation for dinner, she realized she was being unfair. He had come to help her, she couldn’t send him off to work with Hector all day. That wasn’t keeping her side of the bargain. He had proved he was willing to work hard.