Seventeen
E nthused by Charlotte’s words the day before, Emma spent most of Sunday working in the garden, stopping only for an hour over lunch. She’d started by digging over a bed in the cleared section and sowing the seeds she’d bought from Arielle. It felt surprisingly good, getting her hands into the damp soil as she carefully sprinkled in the fine seed. Then, following Charlotte’s advice about how to revive the rescued hydrangea, she’d carefully watered the plant and gave it a touch of liquid fertiliser from a bottle she’d found in the shed. She’d buy some compost, as well, to make sure the moisture stayed in the soil. After that, she set to work clearing more weeds, in the process uncovering two rosebushes, one of which, amazingly, had the tightly furled beginnings of three or four yellow buds.
Emma worked so hard that by four o’clock, when Mattie came out with a tray of tea and homemade madeleines and a firm order that work was to cease, Emma was exhausted but also happy with what she’d achieved. Almost the whole garden was cleared now, aside from one section near a stunted, gnarled old tree in a corner of the garden. As she sat on the grass with Mattie, Emma explained how she planned to leave that bit, weeds and all, because she was sure that was where Monsieur Leroux lived: there was a hollow some way up the tree trunk that was perfect for a small animal. She hadn’t seen the squirrel all day but felt that those bright dark eyes were watching her, discreetly, yet without fear.
Mattie thoroughly approved of everything. ‘I can hardly believe it, Emma. What you’ve done is wonderful—it’s like our garden’s come out of hiding and is beginning to show itself to us again!’
Shyly, Emma said, ‘Well, it was there all along, just a bit overgrown …’
‘Just a bit ,’ Mattie echoed, with heavy irony and a wave of her hand towards the tall piles of green waste. Some of it would be turned to compost but a lot of it would have to be taken away. ‘What’s next, my darling modest gardener?’
‘Planting,’ said Emma, and she and Mattie walked around the garden arm in arm, looking at what had survived, now the weed blanket had been ripped off. This included the wisteria, hydrangea and rosebushes, and the peonies, heliotrope and dahlia, but also a straggling honeysuckle against a section of wall, and a holly bush near another. There were the bulbs, too, which Charlotte had said might produce something even now, depending on what they were. But soon, hopefully, Emma told Mattie, there’d be much more—the seeds she’d planted and the plants she intended to put in, including more peonies. ‘And I’ll speak to Charlotte and to Arielle about other things they would recommend,’ she said.
Mattie smiled. ‘You sound as if you are getting rather hooked on this gardening thing.’
‘Maybe I am. And that’s as much a surprise to me as anyone!’
It was true—the work had been hard and, at times, had made her hot, sweaty and aching. When her skin had tingled from nettle stings, she’d cursed herself for even attempting it. But now the clearing was done, she felt a real sense of achievement and an absolute determination that those plants that had survived against the odds would now flourish, as well as a feeling of anticipation about what was to come.
Tired out by her long day, she only lasted halfway through another old episode of Inspecteur Barnaby , before admitting to Mattie that she really had to go to bed. It wasn’t quite 9 pm but she was sound asleep pretty much as soon as her head hit the pillow.
She woke early the following morning, Monday. After trying and failing to get back to sleep, she spent the next two hours at her laptop, finishing up a freelance job for Thornton’s. She’d been putting off completing it but this morning she felt infused with new energy, so it was easy to put the final touches to a series of teaser reels she’d created for a special auction event focused around items of French provenance. Her photos of Paris provided a useful background to the treasure hunt narrative she’d created, with mini episodes that could be posted over two or three weeks that would intrigue potential buyers into registering for the event. She sent it off to the man who’d been her immediate boss at Thornton’s, and who had wangled it so that she’d get the occasional bit of freelance work. ‘Just to keep your hand in,’ he’d said, though she knew he hoped she would come back to her old job. She was pretty sure she wouldn’t, but it was best to keep the door open. Plus the extra money would come in useful.
When she went into the kitchen, having showered and dressed, she found it empty, but she could hear Mattie talking to someone on the hall phone. She must have already gone to the boulangerie , judging by the fresh baguette and brioche sitting on the table. Emma fetched the rest—butter, jam, plates, cups—and started making coffee and tea, waiting for her grandmother to finish her conversation.
The drinks were almost ready when Mattie came into the kitchen. She smiled at Emma, but in a rather distracted fashion. ‘Good morning. Did you sleep well?’
‘Very well,’ said Emma, kissing her on the cheek. ‘I woke up a bit early. Still, I used that to good effect, I—’
‘Emma,’ broke in her grandmother, who rarely interrupted, ‘I’ve just been speaking to Marc-Antoine.’
Emma stilled. ‘Oh,’ was all she said.
‘And I wondered—well, it was my suggestion he speak with you.’ She looked at Emma.
Emma remembered his offer the other day to help her clear up the garden. That must be why he was calling. She hadn’t wanted his help then, and she didn’t want it now. ‘What is this about?’ she said, realising too late her voice sounded more peremptory than she’d meant it to be.
‘Well, it’s a little complicated,’ Mattie said. ‘But will you please speak to him? He will explain it better than I can.’
Emma saw the anxiety in her grandmother’s face and quickly agreed.
In the hall, she waited a beat of time, took a deep breath then picked up the receiver. ‘Bonjour, Marc-Antoine.’
‘Bonjour, Emma,’ he said, a hint of surprise in his voice. Maybe he hadn’t expected her to actually come to the phone. Exactly how rude and immature did he think she was? Probably very, she thought, wincing.
‘Mattie said you wanted to speak to me,’ she said.
There was amusement in his voice now as he answered, ‘Well, actually, she wanted me to speak with you .’
‘Okay, I’m listening.’
‘I know a rather lovely Australian lady called Elizabeth Flynn,’ he began in English. He had a slight American accent when he spoke, not surprising given he’d lived for some years in the States. ‘Liz, as she prefers to be called, has recently retired from a stellar career as a project manager for a big healthcare company in London. She’s Australian like I said, but she lives in Ireland—her husband, Martin, is an Irish philanthropist and a potential collaborator in one of our community projects.’
‘By our projects , you mean something for the company you work for, I assume. But why should that concern me?’ Emma said, somewhat tartly.
‘Let me finish,’ he said. ‘Please.’
‘Go ahead then.’
‘Martin is in meetings all day with us,’ he said, ‘and Liz is at a bit of a loose end. She has been to Paris years ago and seen the obvious sights. She doesn’t want to do that again. She’s not interested in shopping either.’ His tone was wry, and Emma’s hackles rose.
‘Not all women adore shopping,’ she snapped.
‘I know,’ he said, unruffled, ‘but I do believe Paris shopping is pretty special, and not just for women either.’
Emma had to admit he was right, but she wasn’t going to say so.
‘At dinner last night Liz talked about her garden back home, and I said she should visit the gardens of Paris, and the flower market, but she said she would feel intimidated on her own.’
Emma snorted. ‘Hasn’t she heard of Google Maps?’ She could see where this was going, but to her surprise, found it rather intriguing.
Marc-Antoine laughed. It was a nice laugh, she thought, surprised. ‘She says they send you in the wrong direction or disappear right when you need them. Look, Emma, I didn’t mention this to her, but I wondered if …’ He hesitated, and she realised it was the first time she’d heard him sound unsure.
‘You wondered if someone could hold her hand and take her around, which would make her happy and make her husband happy too. Which would also make for a good business atmosphere. Am I right?’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘but Liz is also a genuinely nice woman, and it would be a pity if she spent her time in Paris sitting in a hotel room watching gardening shows on TV.’
It was Emma’s turn to laugh. ‘That sounds like an exaggeration. But surely you must have access to someone more qualified than me in your vast network of contacts?’
‘I’ve been living abroad a long time,’ he said. ‘My network, as you call it, is not vast at all. Certainly not in this field.’
‘But I don’t know much about gardens!’ she protested.
‘What matters is interest, and you have plenty of that,’ Marc-Antoine said. His tone changed as he went on, ‘Mattie told me just now what wonders you’ve worked in Alain’s garden already, and I’ve seen for myself how passionate you are about restoring it. That’s what Liz will respond to.’ A pause before he continued again, ‘Plus you speak perfect French, but you’re Australian. She would feel comfortable with you in a way she wouldn’t with a French guide, no matter how knowledgeable they were. Look, Emma, to be honest it was Mattie who suggested asking you. But the more I think about it, the more I agree with her.’
Emma’s thoughts were in a whirl. She should be annoyed with Mattie for dropping her in it, but she wasn’t. She was unexpectedly touched by his obvious consideration for this Liz lady. She had not thought him capable of such thoughtfulness. But now she was struck by the unreasonableness of that. He had known Mattie a long time, he cared about her, that went without saying. But he’d also not put a foot wrong with Charlotte and Elise. He’d listened, not just talked, and he’d never tried to dominate the conversation as she’d imagined he would. Uncomfortably, she thought, I may have been unfair to him . And he had obviously sensed her hostility—how could he not?—but hadn’t responded in kind. Recovering her composure, she said, ‘What about Charlotte? She’s away in Normandy with her daughter till tonight, but she speaks good English, she knows heaps about gardens, and loves them too. She would be better than me.’
‘Martin and Liz are leaving Paris first thing tomorrow morning,’ he said quietly. ‘So, you see, we can’t wait for Charlotte.’
Emma’s voice rose. ‘Hang on. Do you mean to say you want me to do this today ?’
‘I don’t want—that is—’ he sounded flustered, ‘I am asking you. Humbly requesting. If it’s possible. I know it’s very short notice, but if you would do it, I would greatly appreciate it. And we’ll pay you.’ He named a figure that had Emma’s eyes widening. A day jaunting around gardens with Liz would bring in three times more than she’d be paid for the freelance job she’d just finished. And it would be considerably more fun than the Thornton’s stuff. Unless …
Warily, she said, ‘Is that danger money you’re offering me?’
Sounding startled, he said, ‘What do you … Oh, you mean, is Liz a tartar?’
Such an old-fashioned word, she couldn’t help smiling. ‘A pain in the bum, yes.’
‘Not at all! I told you, she’s a really nice woman. You’ll like her.’
Emma took a deep breath. ‘Okay.’
‘Really? You’ll do it?’ There was relief in his voice.
‘It might even be fun.’
‘I think it might be too,’ he said, and again she could hear the smile in his voice. ‘Shame I have to be in meetings all day.’
Emma felt an unexpected catch in her throat. ‘That’s kind of the point, though, isn’t it?’
‘I suppose it is,’ he said.
She gave him her mobile number so they could set up the details, and when Emma put down the receiver, she realised something very surprising: she’d actually enjoyed the give-and-take of their conversation. Shaking her head ruefully, she headed back to the kitchen where Mattie was waiting, her expression carefully non-committal.
‘You don’t need to worry, I said yes to him,’ Emma said, without thinking, then blushed. ‘I mean …’
Mattie laughed. ‘I know what you mean, sweetheart. Now sit down, let me reheat that cold coffee, and you have some breakfast and tell me all about it. Sorry I couldn’t wait, I got too hungry.’
‘I’m glad you didn’t,’ said Emma, pulling apart the remaining brioche and buttering each half. ‘So I’m going to take this lady on a Paris garden tour. Will you help me decide on the best gardens to see? And will you come with us?’
‘Yes to the first, no to the second,’ Mattie said, as she heated up the coffee. ‘One garden is enough for me, a whole day tour of them, a bit too much. Now, if you’ll wait a moment, I’m just going to fetch something.’
As Mattie left the room, Emma’s phone pinged with a text from Marc-Antoine. Liz is absolutely delighted , he’d written, in English. Meet her at 10 am in the lobby of the Cours des Vosges hotel, in the 4th . She’ll be wearing a white hat. Thank you again, Emma .
All good , Emma texted back. I’ll look for the white hat . Then she added, Have a good meeting with Martin .
Thanks You have a good day too, à bient?t .
Emma found she was smiling as she looked up the hotel location. Maybe it was that unexpected emoji.
Mattie came back into the room, carrying an A4 sketchbook, pencils, a sharpener, and a battered little red book that Emma already knew was full of maps of Paris—it had been the Google Maps of its day.
‘I’ve been thinking of the more unusual gardens you could go to,’ Mattie said, ‘but a list is confusing, so instead I thought I might draw you a special map that you could take with you, with all the gardens marked on it. And we’ll start with one close to this lady’s hotel.’