Chapter fifteen
Darcy tapped her fingers on the steering wheel as she drove, humming unselfconsciously if a tad tunelessly with the French pop song playing loudly on the car radio. Sometimes, she mused, not understanding the lyrics was an advantage, since half the stuff on commercial radio was pap anyway. She was enjoying herself immensely. What wasn’t there to enjoy? It was a sunny morning, both children were settled in school and here she was scooting along in her own little car off to explore old gardens in Normandy. She considered that today was her first real day of ‘work’ …if you could call trotting off to visit grand old gardens work. Oh, but she did love her job!
In celebration of the day she had dressed up in a pretty full-skirted daisy-print dress with a lace-trimmed cardigan, although the low-heeled primrose-toned leather pumps on her feet had more to do with the practical needs of garden visits than high-fashion. The jolly green giant had been returned and replaced with this much superior model, chosen on the weekend from a Rouen car dealer by herself and the children. Darcy squinted, -the sunshine bouncing off the road surface was a little too bright. She removed a pair of sunglasses from the specially-designed holder on the dash and perched them on her nose with a practiced single-handed flip, pushing the bridge with her finger until the temple tips caught her ears.
Today, even negotiating the busy traffic around Rouen to drive to the chateaux she planned to visit hadn’t phased her unduly. The new car was a joy to handle, small enough to avoid all those big hogs on the narrow country roads and peppy enough to zip past slower cars on the motorway. It hadn’t taken long for her to get out of Rouen and on the A151 to Dieppe, and now it wouldn’t be far to the N27 and her first stop.
A short while later Darcy pulled into the parking area of her first stop of the day. She set the car’s handbrake then grabbed her digital camera and shoulder bag off the passenger seat before hopping out. Pulling off her glasses, she looked around at the stark grey surface of the parking area, which was really just a wider unmarked section of the drive, thinking, hmmm, serviceable but not very pretty. The driveway was formed from wide grey concrete slabs that she knew had been put in place back in the last World War, when this chateau, along with the whole of Normandy, had been held under German-occupation.
Fortunately, the drive was saved from looking like an airport runway by the magnificent beech trees that lined either side. Craning her neck upwards, she shaded her eyes with one hand. The tall, regularly-spaced trunks were like elegant church pillars forming a living cathedral of luminous green, with the added benefit that they were swaying gently in the light morning breeze, creating a daytime ‘son et lumière’, a verdant sound and light show with their rustling leaves and the play of light and shadows. Wow, the trees more than made up for the mediocrity of the concrete …she loved old trees …this morning it appeared that she loved just about everything! And since her car was the only one parked here maybe she’d have the garden to herself … Oh happy day! A morning alone was just what she craved.
She consulted the guide book in her hand …this was the beginning of today’s self-guided tour, and she was here, specifically, to see the Chateau’s potager arc en ciel. Darcy had googled the translation but it sounded so much better in French than in the English, which translated as ‘rainbow vege garden’…somehow the anglicised version didn’t have quite the same romantic ring as the French. Whatever, she thought, shrugging her shoulders, then realizing what she’d just done, laughed self-consciously, glad that no one had seen her very Gallic gesture. It must be something in the water in France, because she certainly had never been a shoulder-shrugger before.
She sauntered along the drive, enjoying the feel of the sun after the damp dullness of the previous days and the peace and quiet of a country morning only interrupted by the tuneful chirp of birds singing in the trees. She headed for the chapel doorway that was signposted as the entrance to the chateau – a wall separated the drive and the grounds beyond, making the chapel the only entrance for visitors to the chateau proper.
Suddenly her quiet morning was rudely interrupted by a mower starting up somewhere to her right. Slightly irritated with the intrusive noise, she looked in that direction …to note that several hundred yards away someone on a tractor mower was beginning the massive job of trimming the long grassed allée that lay between the avenues of trees outside the wall. Shading her eyes with one hand, Darcy watched the machine working … they’d need something similar for Chateau de Belagnac. She made a mental note to mention it to Gabriel when next she saw him. Squinting her eyes against the bright sunlight, she could just make out two men standing in the shadows under the trees adjacent to where the tractor was working … they also seemed to be watching the tractor at work. But she had more important things to do than stand watching grass being mown so she moved on.
She fished in her bag for her wallet to find the entrance fee for the garden and carried on her way to the chapel.
Three quarters of an hour later Darcy emerged from between the tall decorative wrought iron gates that opened to the potager and headed back across the lawn towards the chateau. Compared to the colourful richness of the planting inside the high walls of the garden she’d just left, the rest of the chateau grounds seemed quite austere, as if all the gardener’s energies were concentrated on that one patch of ground. Of course, it was a substantial patch of ground and much larger than the walled garden at Chateau de Belagnac would ever be, even with the extended area that she was now picturing in her head … she hoped Gabriel would agree to enlarge the space to include some of the ground behind the gardener’s cottage.
This chateau, Darcy now knew from her guide book, had required rebuilding on a massive scale after repeated bombing by the allies in the Second World War, having had the misfortune to have been chosen as a V1 bomb-launching site by the German occupying forces. Why anyone would want to nickname the bombs ‘doodlebugs’ –as the bombs had been dubbed colloquially, was beyond Darcy’s understanding –to her the name sounded far too affectionate to be used for such agents of death and destruction.
Looking at the chateau now, sitting staunchly in the wide grassed allée between its double avenues of towering European Linden and beech trees, it was impossible for Darcy to tell that it had ever been rebuilt. But then what did she know, she mused, she was no architectural restoration expert. The building was more stolid in appearance than Belagnac, lacking her chateau’s taller central tower and the turrets at either end. Darcy was immediately aware that she had used the personal pronoun in her musings about Chateau de Belagnac but was unsurprised –she had always been a sort of ‘wherever I lay my hat, that’s my home’ kind of girl, though usually it took a little longer for her to claim ownership. She placed the thought aside and continued pondering the chateau in front of her. It did have similarities to ‘hers’ in that it had a raised ground floor with the basement windows peeking half above ground level, similar alternating stone rybats surrounding the first and second floor windows and matching quoined corners to the walls. If Chateaux had a definable sex, Darcy thought, this one would be male, and might make a nice consort for Belagnac … she spent a few moments, imagining their progeny … cute little baby chateaux dotted about the Normandy countryside … but then that was France to a tee anyway, throw a stone in this part of the country and you’d quite likely hit a chateau of one sort of another, they were so thick on the ground.
Mentally shaking herself out of her silly daydream, she came back to reality to shoot more photos, meandering along the cobbled walk around the side of the chateau then back to the chapel, which she’d discovered on the way in, had been converted from its original purpose to serve as both entranceway and shop. But today was not a day for shopping, or stopping too long in any one place. Darcy had places to go and gardens to see, so couldn’t afford to tarry long in any one garden … after saying a polite ‘au revoir’ to the woman behind the counter she wandered out onto the driveway. She was in the act of framing a shot of the beech
avenue and her bright red car when she noticed another familiar looking black SUV parked on the far side of her vehicle. As she approached, the large shaggy dog crouched in the rear passenger seats gave a welcoming bark through the part-open window, confirming Darcy’s suspicions that Gabriel was somewhere nearby. Despite her outwardly calm demeanour Darcy felt her pulse speed up at this realisation.
“Hey there Frodo boy, what are you doing here?” she enquired as calmly as she was able, as she groped around in the bottom of her bag for her car keys. Frodo enthusiastically wagged his equally large hairy tail and attempted to stick his nose through the gap where the window had been left ajar. Whilst still searching for her lost keys, Darcy pushed her other hand through the narrow gap to give him a pat and was instantly rewarded with sloppy dog slobber all over her fingers. Ick, she thought, wishing she had a travel packet of tissues in her bag to wipe her fingers.
“He’s waiting for you. As were we.” a quietly assured voice that she recognized spoke from directly behind her. Startled, Darcy tried to turn around, but was hampered by her wrist still stuck through the car window. Craning her neck til it hurt, she had a limited view …sure enough there was Gabriel, looking dark and dangerous in black leather boots, black jeans and a midnight blue sweater that seemed to stick to his torso like a candy wrapper. The leather jacket that appeared to be something of a favourite was slung casually over one shoulder.
She was about to object to being crept up on, ninja-style, but held her tongue when she saw that Gabriel wasn’t alone. Bertrand, whom Darcy knew from a weekend email from Mlle PA-BA had been newly appointed as head-gardener and jack-of-all-trades for Chateau de Belagnac, was standing a few steps behind Gabriel. He smiled and raised an eyebrow at Darcy, doing nothing to hide his intrigue at the situation. He’d wondered at his new boss’s instruction that they stand quietly among the trees to the opposite side of the driveway but now he was beginning to comprehend.
Without turning back Darcy tried to extricate the hand that Frodo was still licking but it caught in the tight space between the window and door frame. She tugged. “Ow,” it was stuck.
“Hold still,” Gabriel commanded, closing his big hand on her wrist and carefully twisting her hand to release it. “See, dog drool makes a good lubricant,” he joked. Then, without warning, while still holding her wrist in his grasp he bent his head to hers, “Bonjour Darcy,” he murmured, as he used the opportunity to kiss her on both cheeks, lingering ever so slightly longer than might be considered polite but not long enough to be offensive. “You are looking like a summer garden today. Trés jolie.” Darcy responded to his polite compliment with the beginnings of a blush and started to pull her wrist from his grasp. He tightened his grip sufficiently so that she couldn’t pull free and he could feel her pulse beating strong and fast under his fingers. Good, he’d got a reaction. He was pleased that the previous week’s absence hadn’t made her immune to him.
“Let me go,” she hissed quietly. She didn’t want Bertrand to hear the exchange.
“Don’t be so impatient,” Gabriel didn’t bother to moderate his voice. Unlike Darcy he didn’t care if Bertrand heard or not. He held her wrist aloft as he used his key’s auto function to unlock the doors of the SUV. “I’m only getting you something to wipe that goop off before it gets all over your pretty dress,” he said mildly, while opening the front door and picking up a small towel that had been lying in the passenger well. But instead of handing it to her he wiped her fingers clean himself, taking his time about it. “You object to me touching you but I see you let Frodo kiss your hand,” he smiled knowingly, staring directly into her eyes … “A man could get jealous.” She blushed even more. He laughed. “Frodo has a bad habit of drooling over all of his friends, not just you, so I keep a towel for emergencies.” He added, “And I have disinfectant wipes in the glove compartment if you’re scared of catching anything.”
“No thank you. That’s good enough,” finally, she managed to pull her hand free from his. Darcy turned away from Gabriel purposely, saying good morning to Bertrand, whose cheeks she kissed quite unselfconsciously.
“So what brings you here?” she asked Bertrand, ignoring Gabriel, then realising that she was asking in English. Bertrand shrugged, smiled and looked at Gabriel for a translation of her question.
Gabriel spoke briefly in rapid French to Bertrand before answering Darcy, “We came to check out the tractor mower …”–Ahh, Well, that explained the two men she’d seen watching the mower at work on her arrival …
“I’m intending to buy a tractor that’s identical to the one they use here, and I wanted to see it in action,” Gabriel continued by way of explanation. Bertrand looked on somewhat bemusedly while stroking the stubble of his chin. He might not understand every word of the conversation but the sexual chemistry between these two was something any decent Frenchman could catch on to. It made for fun viewing and was becoming an added bonus to the morning’s journey. He was going to enjoy telling his wife when he got home.
Gabriel omitted to mention that when he’d been told of the bright pink post-it note that she’d stuck to the chateau door the evening before, via a phone call from Bertrand, that had outlined her plans for the next day, he’d engineered, after a hurried phone call to the head gardener of the chateau she’d said she was visiting first, a legitimate if somewhat flimsy excuse for Bertrand and himself to travel to the chateau that morning … at a time that would coincide with her own visit. Sort of like the wolf getting to the fair before the three little pigs …or the one little pig, he thought smugly. That it had meant a long, bordering on all-night, session around a boardroom table and a hurried completion of his business affairs in Paris followed by a fast drive to Belagnac in the early hours of the morning was, he thought, information that was on a need-to-know basis. And she didn’t, at this stage, need to know.
Here he was, presented with the only woman he’d met for a long time, (he didn’t like to remind himself just how long) that he actually wanted to spend time with and she was going out of her way to avoid him. In the days before he had left for Paris the preceding week she had succeeded in frustrating him to the point where he had stopped sleeping. It was not in his nature to let things eat at him for long before searching for a remedy and when she’d resorted to communicating with him via ‘post-its’ stuck to his door he’d decided it was high time to do something about the situation.
He had phoned mid-week from Paris in the hope that distance might have softened her rather glacial attitude towards him, but the only useful result from speaking with her had been that she had given permission for him to begin archery lessons with Connor when he returned, -with the proviso that all lessons must be conducted out in the open field to the south of the chateau, where she could keep an eye on her son. From this icy exchange, he’d concluded that it was his, perhaps, he conceded, ill-timed kiss during their encounter in the woods and not the fact that he’d come close to shooting her with an arrow that was the cause of her reluctance to spend any time in his company.
Well, now he was going to fix it so they’d spend the rest of the day together … whether she liked it or not. He would back off, be the perfect gentleman and give her time to get to know him. It was the best plan he could come up with on short notice. After all, if global warming could melt the poles, surely he could manage one small iceberg.
He spoke, “Now that we’re here, you can travel with me and Frodo to see these other gardens and perhaps expand upon your ideas of last week of what you plan for Chateau de Belagnac,” he paused, nodding towards her car, “and Bertrand will drive your tiny car back to the chateau.” He gave the little red car a sideways glance, then turned to Darcy with mock seriousness, “Because there’s no way I’m going to get into that bright red baby buggy.” Unable to resist needling a little, he added, “what’s it going to be when it grows up, do you know?”
On cue as he’d expected, Darcy rose to the bait, stoutly defending her choice of car. She raised the hand he’d on
ly just wiped clean in a fist, unfurling her fingers one by one and counting them off with her opposite index finger for emphasis, “Its everything I need and more,” she expounded tersely, “daytime running lights so crazy French drivers can see me, traction control so I can avoid said crazy French drivers, seven air bags and a five star Euro ANCAP safety rating in case I can’t avoid the aforementioned crazy French drivers, four-door hatch with enough space for me and the children –and,” she said glaring pointedly at him, “no one else. Drives like an automatic, great visibility, MP3 and iPod connectivity …and it’s got six speaker audio,” she’d run out of fingers on the first hand and had moved to her other … And, she thought but didn’t say, its shiny new and cherry red, which is my all-time favourite colour … other than most shades of green that was. “And to top all that off,” she’d saved the best for last, “it’s a hybrid so I’m not contributing towards polluting the atmosphere so much, not like your great behemoth of a big black dinosaur over there. She pointed a derisive finger at his SUV.
Gabriel plucked the car keys from the hand that was waving around in front of his face. “And now Bertrand’s driving it home,” he said pleasantly, tossing the keys to Bertrand, who caught them neatly, giving Darcy a small salute before he unlocked her car. “Come on, the day’s wasting and we’ve got places to go, gardens to see.” He opened the front passenger door of the SUV with a flourish and stood to attention beside it expectantly. Wordlessly, Darcy stalked past him and clambered in. Gabriel, the soul of politeness, closed the door like some well-trained chauffeur before walking around the back to open the rear door to fix Frodo’s safety harness. After speaking briefly, in French, with Bertrand, Gabriel climbed in the driver’s seat of his own vehicle and started the motor, reversing out of the parking space.
As they drove along the long tree-lined avenue away from the chateau he could see Darcy sneaking peeks in the side mirror, watching her brand-spanking-new car immediately behind them being piloted by Bertrand. “You needn’t fret,” he said, “he is an excellent and experienced driver, despite being French. Your very tiny car will be quite safe and will waiting for you in the garage when you return this evening.” He glanced at the pink post-it that he’d stuck on the dashboard, “next stop, Château de Miromesnil, right?”
A drawn out, “Hmmm,” was all the reply she gave.