The French Gardener Read Online Free PDF Page A

Prada label on yours, by the way, and I’m loving your leather boots, so this season.” He sniffed with admiration, drawing in the sugar-scented air through dilated nostrils, then added conspiratorially, “You’re beautiful as well. What’s your husband like?” Miranda nearly spat her coffee all over his suede jacket. “Is he gorgeous, too?”
    “God, I couldn’t say. Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder,” Miranda replied, laughing in astonishment. “ I think he’s handsome.”
    “You’re posh, too. I love posh. If you have a title I’ll give you a free haircut!”
    “I don’t, I’m afraid. Simple Mrs. Claybourne.”
    “But Mrs. Claybourne of Hartington House. That’s terribly grand. Beautiful and grand, that’s a heady combination. Enough to turn a gay man straight!”
    “She’s looking for help,” Henrietta informed him. “A cook…”
    “I can cook,” he volunteered, without taking his eyes off her.
    “And a gardener.”
    He dropped his shoulders playfully. “There I’m no help at all. Every green thing I touch dies. It’s a good job my cat’s not green or that would be the end of her! It would be a shame to kill off what were once the most beautiful gardens in Dorset.” Henrietta noticed Cate had gone very quiet. She was making the coffee, her back turned. She threw an anxious glance at Troy, who turned his attention to the counter. “How’s my coffee, sweetheart?”
    “Just coming,” Cate replied. The atmosphere had suddenly cooled, as it did according to Cate’s moods. It had been careless of them to ignore her.
    Miranda, sensing the shift, glanced at her watch. “Goodness, I must get going. It’s been very nice to meet you all.”
    “Likewise,” said Henrietta truthfully. “We’ll find you your gardener, don’t worry.”
    “Going already?” Troy gasped. “We’ve only just met. I’ve had all of ten minutes in your company. Don’t you like my cologne?”
    “I like it,” said Miranda, shaking her head in amusement. “It suits you.”
    “You mean it’s sweet.”
    “Yes, but nice sweet.”
    “The relief is overwhelming.” He shot her a devilish smile. “Do bring Mr. Claybourne in for a trim sometime. I’d love to meet him.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
    “I don’t know,” she replied. “I might not get him back.” She stood up and shrugged on her coat. The girls watched her enviously. It was black and fitted, with wide fur-lined lapels and shoulders sharp enough to graze the air she walked through. “Thank you for my coffee and cake,” she said to Cate. “I really haven’t tasted better. Not even in London.” Cate perked up. “May I stick this on your board?” She took a typed piece of paper out of her bag.
    “I’ll make sure they all read it,” said Cate, but she needn’t have bothered; the note was so big there was no way anyone could miss it.
     
    “Well,” gushed Troy when Miranda disappeared into the street. “She’s quite a looker. ‘Thank you for my coffee and cake,’” he said, imitating her accent. “I love it!”
    “She was rather cool to start with but she warmed up. Idon’t think she knows what to make of you, Troy,” Henrietta teased.
    “She’s perfectly nice but I think she’s a little stuck-up, don’t you? A typical Londoner, they always think they’re better than the rest of us,” said Cate silkily, bringing over Troy’s coffee and cake. “She’s one of those women used to lots of servants running around after her. She’s clearly lost without a housekeeper and a cook and a gardener and God knows what else. She bowled in here without any pleasantries as if this were the post office. It’s taken her, what? Two months to come and introduce herself. Too grand for Hartington. Probably thinks we’re all very provincial. She’s pretty though,” she added with a little sniff. “In a rather ordinary way.”
    “I think you’re being harsh,” said Troy. Everyone knew that Cate rarely had anything nice