Thirty-two
T he procedure to implant Mattie’s pacemaker had gone very well, and by the time Marc-Antoine arrived at the hospital, she was back in her room, cheerfully joking with Emma about being able to run marathons in the future.
If felt like the right moment for Emma to speak about the idea for the garden tours. ‘It started off as Liz’s suggestion after I took her around the gardens,’ she explained, ‘but it’s really grown on me.’ She took her grandmother’s hand. ‘It’s something we can do together, Mattie. To start out, we could have our secret garden tour, and plot out another two, each with their own unique map and theme, but with the common thread of a stop at the flower market, at Arielle’s stand. And maybe,’ she looked at Marc-Antoine, ‘if you don’t mind, we can walk the tours together first to check they work.’
‘I’ll be in for that, definitely, in fact I can’t wait to help with your market research.’ The look in his eyes made Emma catch her breath.
Turning quickly to her grandmother, Emma said, ‘I know there’ll be a fair bit of work to do, but what do you think, Mattie?’
Mattie’s whole face was alight. ‘It’s a marvellous idea! But are you sure that my maps are good enough to—’
‘Your maps are essential,’ interrupted Emma firmly, ‘the tours won’t work without them.’
Mattie shook her head, her eyes sparkling. ‘Then it doesn’t sound like I can refuse, does it?’
They stayed with her for another hour, until the doctor came on his rounds and confirmed that Mattie could go home the next day. After the doctor left, Mattie turned to Marc-Antoine and told him that he should cancel his hotel booking and stay at the house instead. That is, she added with a smile, as long as Emma was okay with that. Emma, refusing to blush, but with her heart beating fast, said tartly that she didn’t mind how long he stayed as long as he did his share of the chores. Marc-Antoine laughed and took Emma’s hand, saying he didn’t think he’d have any problem keeping to that, as long as she did her share. And Mattie shook her head, saying sadly but with a twinkle in her eye that romance really wasn’t what it used to be if lovers just wanted to talk about household chores.
Back at the house, Emma and Marc-Antoine took a glass of wine and some olives out into the garden and sat on the grass in the mellow golden light of early evening, talking softly.
‘How about you give me a little tour right here?’ Marc-Antoine said, suddenly.
The laughter bubbled up in her. ‘Why not?’ So they got up and she took him around, pointing out the peony plants and the hydrangea, the bed where she’d found the pendant, and the hollow tree where Monsieur Leroux lived. What started as a bit of silly fun soon turned into something else as she began weaving stories and images of what it might become, with a wooden bench under the wisteria—she’d seen a very nice one, painted a faded blue, in the online catalogue of a local store—some dwarf fruit trees in pots along the southern wall, with tomatoes and herbs in a small bed at their feet, and a winding path leading from the back of the house.
Occasionally, Marc-Antoine made an observation, but mostly he was quiet, listening to her. When she drew to a halt, he put an arm around her. ‘No wonder Liz wouldn’t stop raving about your tour! You have taken this little bit of land and turned it into a whole world.’
Emma couldn’t speak for a moment, her heart swelling with happiness and astonishment. Somehow the words had flowed out of her, creating a rich tapestry of stories she had never known were in her. ‘It’s this place,’ she said. ‘It has its own special magic.’ She looked up at him, and in a different tone said, ‘Maybe we should have a surprise ready to welcome Mattie home tomorrow. Not a party, but a homecoming. Something to do with the garden. What do you think?’
‘I think that’s perfect,’ he said, eyes shining. ‘And I suggest we start with your bench idea.’
‘And maybe a small table to go with it.’
‘With champagne,’ he added.
‘And strawberries. And the finest macarons, like those fancy ones you brought the first day we met.’ Emma gave him a mischievous look.
‘Sounds like a plan,’ he said, drawing her to him, ‘but perhaps before we start hitting the stores, there’s something else we might want to do?’
‘I’m sure I don’t know what you are talking about, Monsieur,’ Emma said, then promptly spoiled the prim and proper effect by reaching for the zipper of his jeans.