Free The French Gardener by Santa Montefiore Page B

it’s an idyll in the summertime.”
    “It will do,” he replied. He stood up and walked over to the window. “It would be a shame to let it go,” he said gravely. “After all the work that has gone into it.” After all the love that has gone into it .
    He drained his cup. “I must go,” he said. “I have some things to sort out in France. I will return at the end of the month and I will give you a year.”
    “That gives us enough time to prepare your cottage.”
    “You never told me your name,” he said, walking into the corridor.
    “Miranda Claybourne.”
    “I ask of you one thing, Mrs. Claybourne.” His gaze was so intense she felt her stomach lurch.
    “Yes, what is it?”
    “That you take my advice without question. I promise, you will be more than satisfied.”
    “Of course,” she replied, blushing again. His charisma was alarming.
    “You don’t trust me now, but you will.” He turned to Storm, who was following them into the hall. “There is magic in the garden,” he said, crouching to her level.
    “Magic?” she gasped, eyes wide with excitement.
    His voice was a whisper. “Magic, and I am the only one who knows how to use it.”
    “Can I help you?” she whispered back.
    “I cannot do it without you.” He grinned at her. Miranda caught her breath at the sight of his smile. It transformed his entire face, giving it an air of mischief. “You will see what happens to the garden when we look after it. The more love we put into it, the more love it gives back.”
    “Mummy, Mummy, I want to help find the magic!”
    Miranda laughed. “I’d like to find the magic, too,” she said, shaking his hand. He took hers and raised it to his lips. Her stomach flipped over like a pancake. She watched him disappear into the darkness. That was the oddest job interview she had ever conducted. They hadn’t even discussed his wages. She bit her lip, feeling excited but uneasy; she hadn’t found him, he had found her.
    With a light step she returned to the kitchen to make the children’s tea.
    “He’s nice,” said Storm, jumping after her with excitement.
    “Yes, he is,” Miranda replied, picking up his empty coffee cup. “He’s very nice. Although, God knows how I’m going to break this to your father. I know nothing about him. I have no references. He could be…” She shook her head. “No, I’ve got good gut instinct. He’s honest. After all, he brought you home, didn’t he?”
    “I was frightened of the cows,” said Storm.
    “Were you, darling? Is that why you had been crying?”
    “He taught me how to put my hand out.”
    “Where did you find him?”
    “By the river.”
    “What was he doing there?” Miranda loaded their cups into the dishwasher.
    “I don’t know.”
    “What were you doing there?”
    “Gus wouldn’t play with me.”
    “You mustn’t run off on your own.”
    “When will I see Jean-Paul again?”
    “Well, he’s going to be our gardener. We have to clean out the little cottage.” Miranda frowned at her daughter. “Why did he say it was Gus’s secret house?”
    “Because Gus says it’s his.”
    “Ah, so that’s where he’s been running off to.”
    “He won’t play with me.”
    “That’s because you’re smaller than him and you’re a girl. Little boys don’t like playing with girls.”
    “He doesn’t play with boys either.”
    “He should.”
    “No one likes him.”
    Miranda pulled out a loaf of bread. “You can have sandwiches for tea,” she said, ignoring Storm’s comment. Miranda didn’t like to think of Gus being unpopular. Not only because it hurt her, but because it highlighted the fact that her son had a problem. A problem she was too frightened to deal with.
    At that moment Gus burst in. He was relieved to see his sister alive.
    “Mummy’s going to clean out the cottage,” said Storm triumphantly.
    “What cottage?” said Gus, making furious eyes at his sister.
    “ Your cottage,” Storm replied.
    “The little cottage by the