The French Gardener Part 27

"I've heard so much about you," said Blythe in French, gazing back at him coyly. "You've done wonderful things in this garden."

"Thank you," he replied, smiling again. "I commend your French."

"It's a little rusty."

"It sounds perfect to me."

"I'm so pleased. It's been a while since I've had a chance to practice it." She turned to Miranda. "You should speak to Jean-Paul in French."

"I don't speak French," Miranda replied.

"Oh, of course you don't. Silly me!" She settled her cat's eyes on Jean-Paul again and shrugged. "Tant pis!"

"I think I'll go and be a crocodile for a while," he said to Miranda.

"They'll love that," she replied, spotting the knowing twinkle in his eye as he departed. Blythe watched him walk away, her gaze lingering appreciatively on his slim hips and low-slung faded jeans.

"Christ, Miranda!" she exclaimed once he had gone. "No wonder you like it down here. He's delicious!"

"I know. Everyone fancies him." Miranda turned away so Blythe wouldn't see her blush.

"Are you f.u.c.king him?"

Miranda was appalled. "Of course not! I'm married."

"So? You said yourself, David's never here."

"What difference does that make? I love David. Why would I want to be unfaithful? There's more to life than s.e.x."

"Is there? Life would be very dull without it!" They continued to walk towards the field where Charlie the donkey stood chewing gra.s.s. "You'd want him if you weren't married," she added with a smirk.

"That's irrelevant."

"I'm not married and I want him. How did you find him?"

"He just turned up here one day with Storm. He found her in a field and brought her back."

"What was he doing in the field?"

"I don't know. Looking for a job!" On reflection it was all very bizarre.

"In a field?"

"He was on his way here. He'd seen my advert in town. Anyway, what does it matter? He's a good gardener and that's what counts."

"He's obviously not married. Divorced?"

"I don't think so."

"You don't know? Haven't you asked him? Has he any children?"

"No."

"What were his references like? Who was he working for before he came here? A grand English family no doubt."

"I have no idea."

"You didn't check him out?"

"I didn't need to. I sensed he was right."

Blythe raised her eyebrows. "You hired him because he's handsome. He could be a criminal on the run, for all you know."

"I doubt it." Miranda grew irritated. "Look, Blythe, I don't care if he's a criminal on the run or has three wives across different continents. He does a wonderful job here and he's good company. I enjoy being around him. I don't ask him about himself out of respect. I don't want to pry."

"You mean you don't want to look too interested."

"I don't fancy him, Blythe!"

"Of course you don't." She gave a little snort. "But I do."

"You're unavailable."

"I don't know. My lover is about to dump me. Once he showered me with gifts, now he rarely has time for me. You know, I turned up at his office the other day in nothing but a fur coat and suspenders. He couldn't resist me then."

"You've got a nerve."

"It was fun. I like taking risks."

"Do you think he'll leave his wife for you?"

"I don't know." She surveyed the estate and fantasized living here. It was an appealing thought. "At the beginning we couldn't get enough of each other. Now, I'm not so sure. I don't think I'm wife material anymore."

"Have you met the wife?"

"Yes." Blythe cast a sidelong glance at Miranda, relishing her secret.

"What's she like?"

Blythe chewed the inside of her cheek as she pondered the best way to answer without giving the game away. She knew she was taking a risk even discussing it with Miranda, but there was something about Miranda's perfect life-and perfect Frenchman-that made her want to burst one or two of her bubbles. "Nice," she replied carefully. "I'm a b.i.t.c.h!" She gave a throaty laugh, then pushed her wrist out of her sleeve. "Look, this is what he gave me for Christmas." Miranda looked at the Theo Fennell diamond watch and recalled the strange telephone call in December. Her stomach twisted with anxiety.

"It's from Theo's," she observed.

"Yes. Isn't it gorgeous? I'm loving the pink strap."

"Is it engraved?"

"Yes. It says Big p.u.s.s.ycat on the back. Private joke. But that was Christmas. He hasn't given me anything since," she pouted.

Miranda took a breath. No, it can't be. It's just a coincidence, she thought, suddenly feeling nauseous. We're not Theo's only clients. Anyone could have bought her that watch. But her mind began whirring with possibilities. Was David Blythe's lover? Is that why he spent so much time in London? Did Blythe, the friend she had known since school, have the malice to steal her husband? She glanced across at her, still watching the diamonds glitter in the sunshine, and concluded that it was impossible. If David were Blythe's lover, Blythe would have kept the affair secret.

Once, Miranda would have shared everything with Blythe. They had occupied the same bedroom at boarding school, exchanged stories about boyfriends and tales of family strife, fought and made up as good friends do. But they weren't schoolgirls anymore, and time had grown up between them, forming an invisible wall. The truth was that Miranda didn't know Blythe as she once had. Their lives were no longer joined by shared experience. Apart from their children, they had little in common. Instead of communicating her fears, Miranda kept them to herself. She no longer trusted her friend.

As they walked back to the house, Miranda tried to hide her anxiety by asking Blythe about herself and letting her rattle on, but she could not dispel the feeling that David was seeing someone else. She had become so involved in the garden and her children and her secret desire for Jean-Paul. But the more she thought about it, the more her suspicions were aroused.

They reached the hollow tree where Jean-Paul was playing with the children, pretending to be a crocodile. Gus was in his arms, wriggling about, trying to free himself, roaring with laughter. Miranda suddenly felt tearful. Jean-Paul was such a natural father. Her children adored him. He was full of inventiveness and enthusiasm. Why couldn't she be married to him?

When Rafael saw his mother he clambered down from the tree house and ran up to her excitedly. "Mummy, J-P's a crocodile, quick, up the tree. You mustn't be eaten." Blythe thought how much she'd adore to be eaten, and lingered on the gra.s.s hoping the handsome Frenchman would play with her as well. She rather fancied being swept up into his arms. Jean-Paul put Gus down and laughed as he scampered back up the ladder, gloating happily that he had outwitted the crocodile.

Miranda went inside to make the children tea, leaving Blythe with Jean-Paul. She was relieved to be alone. If David was having an affair, what then? Was their marriage over? Was it worth saving? Did she still love him? She wasn't sure. Could Jean-Paul ever love her?

David had originally planned to be away on business for Blythe's weekend, but his desire to spend more time with Miranda and the children overrode his wish to distance himself from his mistress. When he arrived the children were watching a video in their pajamas. Madeleine, Joe and Fred had been taken home. The day had been a great success. Gus had played alongside his friends without picking a fight. He was proud of his home and wanted to show it off. Hartington House had given him a sense of security and belonging and a source of continual entertainment. Since Jean-Paul had arrived he had grown in confidence. Mr. Marlow had praised him for good behavior. He seemed to be enjoying school. Storm's friends were no longer afraid of coming home and she had little girls with whom to share her playhouse. Miranda read them bedtime stories and helped them with their homework. She delighted in these quiet moments together. Life at Hartington had become a joy. Yet, David wasn't part of it.

Miranda watched him greet Blythe with the scrutiny of a scientist observing an organism beneath a microscope. She didn't miss a thing.

XXIX.

The battle to keep those naughty rabbits out of the garden. We lost to Mr. Badger, but oh, what a character he was!

David met Miranda warmly, sliding a hand around her waist and kissing her affectionately on her cheek. Miranda flushed with pleasure and surprise. Blythe's reaction to seeing him was not dissimilar to the way she had reacted to Jean-Paul. There was nothing in her body language to indicate she was intimate with him. Besides, she was a natural flirt. Despite having been irritated when Miranda had mentioned she had invited Blythe for the weekend, David seemed pleased enough to see her. He was tired from the week in the office and the train journey from London. He looked strained around the eyes. Miranda poured him a gla.s.s of wine and, after saying h.e.l.lo to the children in the playroom, he disappeared upstairs to have a bath.

Blythe sat with Miranda in the kitchen, watching her prepare the roast chicken for dinner. She sipped her wine and nibbled on a carrot. "David's looking very tired," she said. "Is he always this exhausted on a Friday night?"

"Every weekend it's the same. By the time he's recovered he's back on that train to start the whole process again. A banker's life isn't a life. It's just money. Frankly, I'd rather have a husband."

"I didn't know things weren't good between you." Blythe looked genuinely concerned. Her sympathy was rea.s.suring and Miranda hastily dismissed her suspicions as irrational. After basting the chicken she picked up her winegla.s.s and joined Blythe at the table.

"I just don't see much of him, that's all. It's hard to have a marriage when you spend so little time together."

"Perhaps this move out to the country wasn't such a good idea. I mean, for Gus and Storm it's been fantastic, anyone can see that. Gus especially. He's a changed boy. He was once so angry. Now he's charming."

Miranda's spirits rose at the compliment. "He has more of a relationship with Jean-Paul than he does with his own father," Miranda confided.

"Doesn't that sadden David?"

"I don't think he's noticed." Miranda laughed bitterly. "I have more of a marriage with Jean-Paul than I do with him. And no, I'm not sleeping with him. But I spend more time with him. We share more than David and I do."

"Can't he work at home, at least a day or two a week?"

"You know he can't."

"Does he know how you feel?"

"We never have time to talk. I've changed, too. You know something, Blythe, I don't think he knows me anymore."

"Darling, this is so sad. You and David are two of my dearest friends. I thought you had the best marriage in London." Blythe's reaction to her troubled marriage dispelled any fears of duplicity; she seemed genuinely saddened. If not, she was playing the role of her life.

"What should I do?" Miranda asked.

"Talk to him. Work it out. I would hate for you two to have to go through what I'm going through. It's h.e.l.l. You'd lose this beautiful house for a start. You're so happy here, I'd hate for it to be washed down the drain in those s.h.i.tty divorce courts."

Miranda and Blythe put the children to bed. Gus was sharing his room with Rafael, but they fell asleep immediately, exhausted by their games in the fresh country air. David came out of his bedroom, dressed in a pair of slacks and a clean, open-necked shirt. He saw the women hovering outside Gus's room and went to join them. "Are they asleep?" he asked.

"Why don't you go and kiss them good night," said Miranda. "Even if they're half asleep, they'll like it." David nodded and disappeared into Gus's room. Blythe gave Miranda an empathetic look. Miranda turned away and began to walk downstairs.

Gus felt his father's p.r.i.c.kly face as he kissed him on his cheek. He opened his eyes.

"I wasn't really asleep," he hissed.

"Just pretending?" said his father.

"Yes."

"Well, be a good boy and go to sleep."

"Rafael's asleep."

"What did you do today?"

"We played pirates. Jean-Paul was the crocodile," he said with a giggle.

"Was he?" David bristled with jealousy. "Didn't Captain Hook kill the crocodile?"

"No! I was Captain Hook and the crocodile ate me."

"You look in pretty good shape for someone who's been in the belly of a crocodile."

"I escaped."

"Clever you!"

"Will you play with us tomorrow?"

"What, be a crocodile?"

"You can be Smee."

David considered his proposal. "I'll think of a more exciting game," he said.

"Okay," Gus replied. But he knew his father would forget and find something better to do. Gus rolled over and closed his eyes. It didn't matter if his father didn't play with him: he had Jean-Paul.