The French Gardener by Santa Montefiore Page B

through, I should imagine. He was delicious, though. His eyes were the softest brown I’ve ever seen. He gave me quite a look when he left.” Cate always had to bring the conversation around to herself. “You know that lazy, bedroom look.”
    “How old was he?”
    “Early fifties,” said Cate. “He might come back.” She nodded knowingly. “A man like that appreciates good coffee.”
    They all turned as the door opened, letting in another gust of cold air. “Told you,” said Cate triumphantly. “They always come back.” She stood up and greeted Miranda as if she were an old friend. “What can I get you?”
    “A coffee with hot milk on the side, please,” said Miranda. She turned to the notice board and ripped off the piece of paper advertising the two job vacancies.
    “Found someone, have you?” said Cate.
    “Yes,” replied Miranda cagily. “As a matter of fact, I have.”
    “A cook and a gardener? That’s quick,” said Troy.
    “Not in this town. Everyone passes through my cake shop.”
    Miranda didn’t have the heart to tell her that neither Mrs. Underwood nor Jean-Paul had seen her notice board.
    She greeted Troy and Henrietta with a polite smile—she didn’t want to encourage them—and went to sit by the window beside the Reverend Beeley’s table. No sooner had her bottom touched the wood than the vicar leaned over, heaving her large bosom across the gap between their chairs. A pair of spectacles on a beaded chain swung over the ledge like a helpless mountaineer. “Hello,” she said in a fruity voice. “I’m Rev. Beeley, your vicar. I gather you’re new in town.”
    “Yes.” Miranda realized that she had been stupid to think there was such a thing as a quiet coffee in Cate’s Cake Shop.
    “As the vicar of Hartington I’d like to welcome you. I’d be delighted to welcome you to church, too, if you feel the desire to attend our services. You should have received the parish magazine. It lists all our services and special events. I do hope you’ll come.”
    “Thank you,” Miranda replied, pulling a tight smile and wondering if she could claim to be Jewish. Admitting she was agnostic wouldn’t be good enough for the zealous Rev. Beeley.
    “It is a pleasure. The Lightlys were very devout. They attended every Sunday. The church really came to life when Mrs. Lightly arranged the flowers. She had a magic touch. Her gardens were the most beautiful…”
    “So I’ve been told,” Miranda interjected briskly. She was fed up hearing about the Lightlys’ beautiful gardens. If it weren’t for the miraculous arrival of Jean-Paul she would shout at them all to shut up. In fact, she felt quite smug, as if she were guarding a delicious secret. “If they had the most beautiful gardens in England, why did they move?”
    “I suppose they didn’t want to rattle about in a big house. The children had grown up and moved away, except the youngest who inherited her mother’s green thumb. Then,what with Phillip’s illness…” The vicar broke off with a sigh and shook her head mournfully.
    “Phillip?”
    “Mr. Lightly. He’s much older than his wife. He suffered a stroke.” She hissed the phrase as if it were a heavily guarded secret. “She looks after him herself. She’s a good woman.”
    “Where did they move to?”
    “I don’t know. They left quietly. They didn’t want a fuss.” The vicar inhaled, lowering her lids over bulging brown eyes. “A most respectable couple. An example to us all.”
    Cate brought Miranda her coffee. “I met your husband on Saturday,” she said, watching Miranda pour hot milk into the cup.
    “He enjoyed your coffee.”
    “Of course. He was very friendly, talking to everyone in here, making lots of new friends. He’s very charming.” Miranda half-expected her to finish with the words: not like you. Cate hovered a moment, waiting for Miranda to continue the conversation, then moved away with a little sniff. Miranda didn’t mind if she was offended: