Chapter 17
When she awoke the next morning to the stunning room and Léo’s sleeping form on the bed beside her, Juliet couldn’t contain a shiver of pleasure. He had honoured her wishes without any attempt to persuade her otherwise, either through flattery, cajoling or irritated half-threats, and she felt that was one of the most heroically romantic things anyone had ever done for her. She raised a sardonic eyebrow as she wondered if maybe she had set the bar a bit low, but then remembered the overblown gestures she had been subjected to in the past from Toby. Flowers, a trip to Paris, even a hot air balloon ride – but never the gift of respect. All his offerings had come with a hefty price tag, and she had been the one to pay it. For the second time in recent months, she felt a sense of homecoming – this time to a person rather than a location. Still wrapped in her cosy bathrobe, she wriggled across the bed and snuggled into Léo’s chest, resting her head and feeling the rise and fall of his body as he breathed. He lifted his arm and closed it around her shoulders, pulling her closer into him.
‘Bonjour, ma chérie.’
‘Bonjour. Did you sleep well?’
‘I did, beautifully. And you?’
‘Very well. I’m hungry now, though.’
‘As am I.’ He twisted his arm around to look at his watch. ‘It is quite early still; shall we call down for breakfast and enjoy it on the roof terrace?’
Juliet agreed to this, and soon they were sitting in the morning sunshine enjoying coffee, pastries, yoghurt and fruit and grinning at each other.
‘I’d better turn my phone on,’ said Juliet. ‘I messaged Martha last night to let her know we were staying in London, but then I thought I’d better try to preserve the battery. Mind you, this amazing hotel would probably have lent me a charger.’
‘I’m sure, but it is also nice to be free of these things once in a while, non?’
Nodding her agreement, Juliet lit up her phone, then grimaced at the flurry of beeps.
‘Look, there’s Martha, oh, and bloody Frankie thinking she’s Britain’s next top comic with all her unfunny messages about us staying over. God, I forgot we’d have to run that gauntlet when we get back.’
‘Do you prefer to keep our friendship a secret?’
‘No, no, I don’t want to, but I don’t want them asking loads of questions and going on about it. What am I supposed to say?’
Léo shrugged.
‘The French do not stumble over these things as you do. We are happy to announce an affair, and people are often happy to hear it.’
‘An affair? Is that what this is?’
Léo looked confused.
‘Oui – I hope so? A love affair – une histoire d’amour.’
‘Oh!’ Juliet flushed. ‘Um, well… histoire is story, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, that’s right. Is affair the wrong word?’
‘Well, in English, it usually means something casual or illicit, like…’
She stopped abruptly, and Léo continued.
‘Like the one you saw in the magazine? Ah. No, I hope this is something very different – a story, yes, and not a cinq à sept, which is how we describe your “affair” – a relationship that happens between five and seven p.m.’
Juliet burst out laughing.
‘Is that really what it’s called in French? That’s so funny. I suppose it tells it like it is.’
‘Well, quite. But all this talk of love and affairs and stories has made me realise something very important.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Une histoire d’amour this may be, but I have not yet kissed you, and that is definitely not very French.’
‘Not very English either,’ said Juliet, smiling at him.
‘Perhaps not.’
Léo leant forward in his chair and slid one hand into Juliet’s hair; the other took her hand gently. She could feel her pulse pounding and, as she gazed into his eyes, realised that never in her life had she wanted anything more than to be kissed, now, by Léo. She leant forward fractionally, without meaning to, and he responded instantly, bringing his lips to meet hers. Their touch carried infinite tenderness, but also sent a shockwave throughout Juliet’s body and the combination of sensations was dizzying and compelling. Her arms sprang up to wind around his neck, and she yearned to feel his body against hers; impossible sitting in chairs, as they were. She pulled away a fraction.
‘When do we have to check out?’
‘Not for another three hours yet.’ A teasing tone came into Léo’s voice. ‘Aren’t you in a hurry to get back to Feywood?’
Juliet grinned at him.
‘Not anymore.’
She stood up and kissed him again, now pressing her body against his, feeling the shared heat and urgency. Together they stumbled back towards the bedroom, the view and the breakfast forgotten.
By the time they drifted back through the front gate of Feywood, it was three o’clock and the place seemed deserted. But if there had been a welcoming party of her entire family ready to quiz and josh her about her night in London with Léo, she wouldn’t have cared; in fact, she was more likely to start volunteering information to any passing neighbour, she felt so buoyant. They started walking up the drive, hand in hand, when Léo suddenly stopped.
‘What was that?’
‘What?’
‘Listen.’ He pressed a finger to his lips and there came the sound of a pathetic, whining cry.
‘It sounds like an animal or something that’s been hurt,’ said Juliet. ‘It came from back here.’
They turned back towards the road, stopping again to listen for the noise, then Léo darted into the hedges next to the road, agile for such a large man. Juliet peered through but couldn’t see anything, just heard him speaking gently and cajolingly to whatever he had found. In a minute or two, he emerged, his jumper wrapped around a small form that he cradled in his hands.
‘What is it?’ asked Juliet.
He pulled down the jumper to show her.
‘Oh, it’s a puppy! God, Léo, it’s tiny, what on earth was it doing there?’
She looked up to see his normally friendly face looking grim.
‘Abandoned. It was not alone – the mother and another puppy are there also, but I’m afraid they have not survived. It was obvious that the mother had been mistreated.’
Tears sprang to Juliet’s eyes.
‘How awful. Let’s get it up to the house and call the vet.’
They dashed inside, smack into Frankie, who was coming down the stairs. She drew breath, doubtless to start a barrage of fun, when she saw their faces.
‘What’s happened? I thought you two would be sickeningly lovey-dovey, but you just look sick.’
‘Frankie, can you call the vet? We’ve found a puppy.’
She took one look at the pathetic bundle and whipped out her phone.
‘I’ll call now and get him up to the house. Take it into the kitchen, it’s warmest in there.’
In the space of a few minutes, the sleepy teatime house was alive with action. All the Carlisles were ardent animal lovers, and Juliet was touched by their collective determination to save the little dog. By the time the vet, Henry, had arrived there were six people clustered around, plus a concerned-looking Moriarty, the family’s own small dog. Léo was still holding the puppy, wrapped now in a soft towel that Rousseau had seized from the downstairs bathroom. Martha was warming milk in a pan and Sylvia and Frankie were hunched over a phone, frantically Googling ‘how to save a new-born puppy’.
‘Right, let’s have a look,’ said Henry, putting down his bag. He took the little bundle from Léo and placed it gently on the table, then unwrapped the towel and gave a sharp intake of breath. ‘This is a very young dog, not even twenty-four hours old. There, there, poor little thing, let’s see how you’re doing.’ After a few minutes’ examination, Henry wrapped the puppy up again and turned to the assembly of concerned faces. ‘Okay, so you have a little girl puppy. She’s in pretty good shape, considering, but she’ll need a lot of care for the next few weeks. Are you able to do that here, or should I take her with me?’
An immediate chorus of replies came back: oh no, we’ll look after her, we’ll do it here.
Henry smiled and nodded.
‘All right then. I’m going to leave you with strict instructions for her care as well as some powdered puppy milk and a special whelping box for her to sleep in, with a heat lamp. She’ll need feeding every three hours or so, but it looks like you’ll be willing to do that in shifts, so it shouldn’t be too much of a problem.’
Twenty minutes later, with the vet gone, having promised to remove the bodies of the other dogs, the family sat around the kitchen table.
‘I don’t mind doing the night-time feeds,’ said Juliet, stroking the puppy’s head tenderly with one finger. ‘I’m often up working into the early hours, so it won’t be a shock to the system.’
‘Looks like your motherly side has been brought out recently,’ said Frankie with a sly smile. ‘Look out, Léo, she might get a taste for this.’
Juliet opened her mouth to tell Frankie, as usual, to shut up, but Léo was too fast for her.
‘I think Juliet is a wonderfully nurturing person and that this puppy is just one of us in this room who is lucky to have her.’
She beamed at him, and he gazed back at her, while the rest of the family stared in astonishment. Even Frankie didn’t have a quick reply. It was Martha who recovered herself first.
‘Well, I think it’s great. Good for you, Juliet. I’m willing to do anything that’s needed to help – shall I write up a rota of when she needs feeding and who’s going to do it? And we ought to think of a name for her.’
‘I think that honour should go to Léo,’ put in Rousseau. ‘After all, it is he who found her.’
‘Merci. I have been thinking about this. I wondered whether her name should reference that she was lost and orphaned, but we do not want this to be her legacy. It is more important to look forward than back in life. So then I wondered about the future – the word for this in French is l’avenir. That does not make much of a name, but what about Ava?’
‘Perfect,’ said Rousseau, and there was a murmur of assent around the table. ‘Ava it is, well done, Léo. And now, I must attend to my own future and return to my work. Put me down for a feeding shift, I am best in the early morning.’
‘I’d better go as well,’ said Sylvia. ‘I’ve got to get something in the oven. I can do any time, but maybe not the middle of the night.’
‘And I’m going out,’ said Frankie, looking at her phone. ‘Is that the time? I’m going out now. Look, I’d love to help with Ava, but a regular shift might be asking a bit much. Maybe I could help on a more ad hoc basis. Ciao for now.’
And giving a wave, she slipped out of the room before anyone could argue. Martha also returned to her work, leaving Léo and Juliet to nurse the little scrap, while Moriarty bustled around their legs.
‘I think he wishes he could help too,’ said Juliet, patting his head.
‘Yes, your family is very kind,’ said Léo, ‘even your dog. Come, let us find a comfortable place to put Ava’s box, and I will make coffee. These first few hours will be the most important.’
Juliet carried the box through to the small, cosy library which got little use, as the family generally preferred gathering in the large sitting room. She switched on the heat lamp and settled herself into the sofa to wait for Léo to come in with the coffee, thinking how dramatically and unexpectedly her life had changed in just a few weeks, but how comfortable she felt with that. Maybe – just maybe – she had changed, too, and was ready to leave the past firmly behind her and look to her own future.
Léo brought in the coffee and some biscuits he had found, checked on little Ava and then joined Juliet on the sofa.
‘She seems comfortable,’ he said. ‘We just have time to drink this before her next feed is due. She is lucky to be nursed in such lovely surroundings.’
‘This is probably my favourite room in the whole house,’ said Juliet, looking around her at the deep green walls, lined with mahogany bookcases. ‘Nobody ever comes in here much, other than me. I loved it when I was a teenager. I used to sit at the desk to do my homework and imagine it was four hundred years ago.’
‘Why did the rest of your family not like this room?’
‘Martha likes more of a view – I think it makes her feel claustrophobic with its tiny window. Frankie is far too big for a small, quiet room like this. And my parents – I don’t know. They liked to be on show rather than tucked away here, amongst the books. I was always glad, I thought of it as my room.’
‘Have you ever read any of the books?’
‘Some of them. There are copies of Dickens and Austen, and some hilarious housewives’ compendiums from the 1920s, all about how to mend your husband’s shirts and dress “daintily” to do the cleaning.’
‘Advice you have taken seriously, I hope?’ said Léo teasingly.
‘Ha ha,’ replied Juliet, sticking her tongue out at him. ‘I’m just glad this is one of the few parts of the house that hasn’t deteriorated too badly; it would be such a shame to lose these books.’
‘Talking of books,’ said Léo, peeping in at Ava for the thousandth time, ‘there is something else I wanted to discuss with you.’
She dunked a biscuit in her coffee.
‘What’s that?’
‘I told you all previously about the cookery book I am writing, and how I wanted your contributions – you said you would give me some cocktail recipes.’
Juliet laughed.
‘So I did! Do you need them?’
‘Well, there is no hurry for those, and I may not need them at all, as Sylvia and I have decided to expand the focus of the book from simply recipes. Now it will also include sections based around the items one can easily cultivate in a garden, and which are enjoyable to do. Not so much your potatoes and carrots, which can be hard work digging, but more herbs and edible flowers. There would also be a strong emphasis on sourcing locally produced food, with a guide on what to look for, depending on where you live. I want recipes people can adapt, depending on what is available to them – so if you live in Dorset, you can use Blue Vinney cheese; if you live in Derbyshire, you will choose Stilton.’
Juliet stroked Ava, sleeping under the heat lamp.
‘That sounds like a great idea.’
‘Thank you. We were also wondering if you would take the photographs for the book, and perhaps do some illustrations as well – of the flowers, maybe?’
Juliet looked up at Léo in delighted surprise.
‘I would love to!’
‘You are sure you’re not too busy?’
‘I am busy, but this sounds like a wonderful project. And…’ she said with a shy smile, ‘I’d love to work on it together.’
‘Bon, then it is decided. Maybe once little Ava is thriving, we can start pulling some ideas together.’
‘I’d like that. And speaking of Ava, I think I’d better go and prepare her milk.’
She was back shortly and soon cradling the puppy and speaking softly to her as she encouraged her to drink. Léo watched her, his heart full, and wondered if maybe at the end of the book he would include a section on romantic meals for two – or maybe even wedding breakfasts. Although, at this moment, he never wanted to leave the cosy room where the three of them were so content together.