"But we can't go back now," he said. "We have come too far for that."

"Then what can we do?"

"I don't know, Ava. All I know is what is in my heart. The more time I spend with you the more of my heart you take." She rested her head against his chest and gazed out over the sea. It was misty on the horizon. She listened to the sound of the waves and the plaintive cry of a gull and felt her spirit flood with sadness.

"It is not meant to be, Jean-Paul," she said at last. "I can't betray Phillip. I love him, too. And the children..." Her voice cracked for he suddenly grew tense with anguish. "There is nothing in the world that would make me leave them."

"Then I will go back to France."

"No!" she exclaimed fiercely, pulling away.

"I have no choice, Ava."

"But I want to share spring with you, and summer. I want to enjoy the gardens with you. No one understands them like you do." She swallowed hard and gazed at him, debilitated by his stricken face. "No one understands me like you do."

"No one loves you like I do," he retorted, holding her arms so tightly she winced. "But you are right," he said, letting go. "I cannot live without you, so I have only one choice-and hope."

"Hope?"

"Hope that the rain will last and the sun will break through and there will shine the most exquisite rainbow."

They tried to continue as if the kiss had never happened, but although they spoke of other things, the memory of it remained. Jean-Paul had been given a taste of paradise and was left wanting more, while Ava had been singed by her rashness and was relieved she had put a stop to it before it went too far.

Neither felt like eating. They drove home in silence. The mist had drifted inland. Ava turned on the fog lights, but it was hard to tell where she was. She drove slowly, anxious to return to Phillip and normality. Jean-Paul put on the radio. Mama Ca.s.s's voice sang out rich and low. At last they turned into the drive. It seemed as if they were waking from a dream; neither said a word. We can't have everything we want in life, Ava thought to herself. I must appreciate what I do have and not jeopardize it for my children's sake. For Phillip's sake. Jean-Paul had nothing to lose. He had arrived with nothing, he would leave with nothing, but his heart would be forever altered.

Jean-Paul returned to his cottage, where he lit a fire and began to express his sorrow with violent strokes of paint on canvas. Ava returned to her husband. She crept up to where he was standing in front of his bookcase, running his long fingers over the spines, and wrapped her arms around his waist. "So you're back," he said jovially.

"Have you eaten?" she asked.

"I found some crumbs in the fridge," he replied.

"I bet they were delicious crumbs."

"They were made by an expert." He turned around. "You've caught the wind," he remarked, noticing her red eyes and cheeks.

"It was blowing a gale down there."

"So I see." She sank into his arms. "Are you all right, Shrub?"

"I'm fine. Just a bit of a headache."

"Do you want me to pick up the children?"

"Would you?"

"Of course. Why don't you have a lie-down?"

"I will."

"Did you have fun?"

"It was okay. He's sweet," she replied, burying her face in his sweater. She shut her eyes. How close she had come to putting in danger the things she cherished the most. Phillip held her close. "That feels good," she murmured. But Phillip couldn't know just how good it felt.

XXII.

Snowdrops peeping through frost. The first signs of spring.

Ava awoke early. She hadn't slept well since that kiss on the beach. Her heart beat wildly, a confusing mixture of excitement and fear that sent the blood pumping through her veins. She lay listening to the cheerful clamor of birds in the trees and thought of the garden stirring to life with the warmer weather and longer days. The dawn light spilled into the room, flooding a slice of carpet with enthusiasm and yet, for Ava, it filled her with dread. The light signaled another day's struggle with Jean-Paul and her own, uncontrollable desires. They worked in each other's company like a couple of magnets fighting the force that pulled them together. They talked about anything but their true feelings; both suffered the same frustration inside, and the same struggle to dissemble.

Phillip lay on his back, his hand by his ear in carefree abandon. Ava turned on her side and watched the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed with the slow regularity of a man contented with his lot. He had done nothing to deserve her betrayal. They enjoyed a solid marriage in spite of his long and frequent trips abroad. He left her in no doubt that he loved her greatly. She, in turn, held him in the highest esteem; she respected his opinion about everything and admired his intellectual brilliance. She relished his lack of arrogance, his reliability, his strong moral code, his deep wisdom. So, why did she risk it all by loving a man she couldn't have? Was it worth losing everything for a moment's ride on a rainbow?

She thought of her children. Those three trusting people whose lives depended on the solidity of the foundations she built for them with Phillip. If she were to shake those foundations, what future did they have? But even while she held their futures in her hands like fragile feathers she was still distracted by the irresistible draw of Jean-Paul. There was only one thing to do.

She didn't wait for Phillip to wake up but maneuvered herself on top of him, nuzzling her face in his neck. He stirred as he felt her warm body on his and wrapped his arms around her dreamily. "I want another baby," she whispered into his ear. Phillip awoke with a jolt.

"What?" he mumbled, struggling to consciousness.

"I want another baby," she repeated.

"Shrub, darling. Another baby? Right now?"

She held him tightly, frightened of losing him. "Yes."

"I think we should think this through sensibly."

"I've thought it through. I can think of nothing else." Nothing else to tie me to home so I don't run away...I can't trust myself anymore.

"I don't think I could give you a baby right now even if I wanted to," he said, pushing her gently off him. "That's not the s.e.xiest way to wake a man."

"I'm sorry," she said, rolling onto her back and throwing an arm over her face. "You know how I am. If I have an idea I have to act upon it immediately."

"Usually one of your most endearing qualities," he said drily, stumbling into the bathroom.

"I'm getting on for forty. If I don't have another now I'll miss my chance."

"Aren't three enough?" Her reply was drowned by the sound of water gushing out of the tap as Phillip brushed his teeth and splashed his face with cold water.

"Then let's go away for a few days," she suggested when he emerged. "Just the two of us."

He looked at her and frowned. "Are you all right, Shrub?"

"Yes, of course."

"I didn't think wild horses could drag you from your children and gardens."

"It's been so long. I never see you. You're in your study working, or abroad. I need to see more of you." There was an edge to her voice he hadn't heard before. He sat on the bed beside her.

"If that's what you want. I'm sorry, darling. I had no idea."

"I want to spend some time with you without the children. I want you to look on me as a woman and not just a mother."

"You're all woman to me, Shrub." He tried to smile, but her sudden, uncharacteristic outburst worried him.

"Marriage has to be worked at. If there are c.h.i.n.ks, things can get in. There can't be any c.h.i.n.ks. Do you see?"

"I'm trying very hard to see. It's a little early in the morning to see much."

"Let's go abroad. Somewhere warm. We can lie in the sun and read. Walk hand in hand on a beach somewhere. Do you remember before Archie was born?"

"Tuscany. Of course I remember. We were young and in love." He laughed.

"We made love all afternoon after big gla.s.ses of rose and big plates of pasta. It was warm and balmy. I remember the smell of eucalyptus that scented the air. At night we wandered the streets of Siena and Florence without a care in the world. Let's do it again." Her eyes blazed with enthusiasm and Phillip's anxiety ebbed away.

"I remember you in that black and white polka-dot sundress. You were the most lovely creature I had ever seen." He kissed her forehead. "You still are, you know."

"We can make a baby in Tuscany. A celebration of our marriage and our love. Oh Phillip, it'll be so romantic."

"I'm not sure sleepless nights and nappies are very romantic. Think about it, Shrub. You're talking about another human being. Another member of our family. A child too small to play with his siblings. I'm old, don't forget. And I'm not going to get any younger. If you really yearn for another child I won't deny you. But I want you to think about it very carefully and to consider the sacrifices. Are you ready for them?"

With those thoughts she prepared to face Jean-Paul. Having suffered guilt that morning in the arms of her husband, she now suffered it all over again as she stepped into the garden in search of Jean-Paul. She was considering bringing another child into the world solely to prevent herself from yielding to him. Suddenly that felt like a betrayal, too. I should send you away, she thought unhappily, but I couldn't bear never to see you again.

She wandered into the wildflower garden and stood in the sea of daffodils. The sky was clear and fresh, the air sweet with the earthy scent of fertility. All around her the gardens were stirring with life, the trees vibrating with hundreds of nesting birds jostling each other for position. Instead of uplifting her, they made her sad. A vital part of her would never flower but remain stunted, like a bud killed off by frost. She would always wonder what life would have been like beside Jean-Paul. In her heart she knew she would die not knowing, for the sake of Phillip and their children. My life does not belong only to me, she concluded. I'm bound to my family by love and nothing will ever change that. I have chosen my life and the lives of four others depend on me. I must be content with his friendship. Friendship is better than nothing.

She lifted her eyes to see Jean-Paul striding purposefully up the meadow towards her just as Phillip's car disappeared down the drive. The sleeves of his blue shirt were rolled up, his forearms brown and strong, his shoulders wide, even his gait had changed in the months he had been at Hartington. He was no longer a precious city boy used to long lunches on the rue Saint Germain but a man of the land, who loved it as she did. Her spirits rose and her resolve weakened. As he approached he seemed to transform the gardens around him into something magical. The sight of those daffodils and the almost phosph.o.r.escent green of the newly emerging leaves on the trees caused her intense happiness.

His face was drawn. Before she could speak he took her hand and pulled her behind the hollow tree, wound his fingers through her hair and kissed her on the mouth. Finally, he pulled away.

"I can't go on like this," he said at last. "Every day I love you more. Don't you see how you torment me? What began as a pleasure simply to be with you is now a curse. I am permitted to look but not touch and that, my beautiful Ava, is slowly killing me. So, I have decided to go back to France."

His words winded her as violently as if he had struck her. "You're leaving?" she gasped.

"Don't look so sad. You'll make it harder for me."

"I don't want you to leave."

"Then be with me!" he argued roughly, taking her by the shoulders. "Be with me!"

"I can't," she replied hoa.r.s.ely. "I want to, but I can't."

"Then what is there for me here?"

"I don't know. At least we're together."

"But at what price?"

"I can't live without you, Jean-Paul. Please don't make me live without you."

"I can't live with you if I'm not able to hold you," he replied gruffly. "I'm a man, Ava. Un homme qui t'aime."

"Et je suis une femme qui t'aime."

He stared at her in astonishment. "You speak French? My G.o.d, I thought I knew everything about you." He traced a finger down her cheek and across her chin as if willing himself to remember every contour.

"Will I never see you again?"

He wiped the tears with his thumbs. "I don't know."

"Jean-Paul, you can't leave me like this. Just when the garden is bursting into flower. All that we've created together..."

"Will remind you of me." He laughed cynically. "Maybe it will convince you to come and join me." He drew her close. She heard the frantic beating of his heart and inhaled the spicy scent of him she hoped she'd never forget. She closed her eyes but the tears escaped, soaking his shirt.

"What will I say to Phillip?" she asked.

"Tell him I have had enough."

"I don't want him to think badly of you."

"Then tell him I had to leave on account of a woman. It is always easier to add a little truth to a lie."

"Oh, Jean-Paul, please stay, I beg you." But she knew it was useless. "What will your father say?"

"I don't care."

"But your inheritance?"

"I'll transform his gardens at the chateau and show him what I am capable of."

"But we've only just begun. There is so much more to learn."

"Then I will have to teach myself."

"You won't see your cottage garden in full bloom."

"I don't care about the cottage garden. I care only about you. I will never see you in full bloom and for that I am heartbroken." He lowered his head and kissed her again.

This time she shut her eyes and parted her lips and let him kiss her deeply. She didn't think about her children or Phillip. Jean-Paul was walking out of her life forever and while he kissed her, nothing in the world could distract her from him.

Ava ran to the house and threw herself on her bed where she cried like a child. She focused on that final kiss under the tree and tried to hold him there where she could still feel him. It seemed unreal that she would never see him again. He had become so much a part of Hartington that the place would feel empty without him. She thought of the cottage garden exploding into flower and cried all the more. It was his dream. His creation for her. It was wrong that she should enjoy it alone.

What would she tell the children? They loved Jean-Paul, too. He was part of the family. She was more determined than ever to have a baby, to hold her here and concentrate her mind. A child to stand between her and the door to remind her where her place was. Archie, Angus and Poppy were at school all day. How was she to fill the hours except in the gardens they had tended together? Every plant would remind her of him. What if her longing grew too much? What if it corroded her reasoning and her judgment? What if it drove her crazy like Daisy Hopeton and she was unable to stop herself? A new baby would stop her more surely than anything.