Read Online The French Gardener by Santa Montefiore - Free Book Online Page A

obviously lived there. With an accelerating heart she tiptoed around to the window on the other side of the front door. Pulling away the long tentacles of ivy so she could see in, she thought perhaps this was Snow White’s house or Goldilocks’s and imagined the seven dwarves were out with their spades or the three bears were sleeping upstairs.
    Suddenly Gus appeared around the corner. “What are you doing here?” he demanded “This is my house!”
    “No it isn’t,” she retorted, withdrawing from the window.
    “I told you I wanted to play on my own.”
    “But I’ve got no one to play with.” Gus’s rejection was like a slap on the face. Storm’s cheeks burned and her eyes glittered with tears.
    “Tough!”
    “I want to go inside.”
    “You can’t.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because only boys can climb in and besides, you don’t know the password.”
    “What’s a password?”
    “You see, you don’t even know what it is.”
    “You’re mean.”
    “Go and cry to Mummy then.”
    Storm began to sob. Gus watched her impassively. “You’re not my brother!” she said. “I hate you!” And she turned and ran along the riverbank, ignoring the little stone bridge that would lead her home.

V
The little stone bridge at sunset. The amber light playing upon the smooth surface of the river.
    Gus watched her go then returned to the cottage. He was furious that she had discovered his secret but felt a niggling worry that she hadn’t returned over the bridge, but had continued up the river into unknown territory. In London their mother had never let them out of her sight. In the park, if they had so much as disappeared behind a bush she would have called them back, her voice tight with panic. Now Storm was wandering about on her own. Gus felt guilty. If anything happened it would be his fault. The worry didn’t niggle for long. He began to explore upstairs where two bedrooms and a bathroom nestled beneath the eaves. The sun shone in through the windows and caught the flakes of dust stirred up by his footsteps, making them sparkle like glitter. It was quiet and warm, the air charged with something magical. Gus forgot all about Storm and stepped inside the first bedroom.
    Storm hurried along the riverbank, sobbing loudly. She hated Gus, she hated the countryside, she hated her new school and she hated the new house. She wanted to go back to London, to her old bedroom, to her school where she had lots of friends, to all that was cozy and familiar. After a while she came to a fence. On the other side was a field full of cows. Afraid of the possible presence of a bull, she leanedon the gate and rested her head on her arms, her woolly coat soaking up her tears like a sponge.
    Suddenly she was aware of being watched. She heard the squelch of hooves in the mud and a gentle snorting as the shiny black cows warily approached her. If she were Gus she would have tried to frighten them, but Storm was frightened herself. She raised her eyes but dared not move. They formed a semicircle on the other side of the gate, jostling each other forward, their large eyes bright and curious. Storm was sure they could knock down the gate if they wanted to.
    “Put out your hand,” came a voice beside her. She was surprised to see a stranger lean on the fence and extend his hand towards the cows. He smiled at her and his weathered brown face creased about the eyes where the crows’-feet were already long and deep. He had the kind of smile that warmed a person from the inside and Storm immediately felt better, as if the lonely hole in her heart had been temporarily plugged. She remembered her mother telling her not to talk to strangers. But this man was nice, not at all like the horrid men she had been warned about.
    Storm copied the man and stuck out her hand. At first the cows didn’t move any closer, just observed the extended hands, snorting their hot steamy breath into the damp October air. Storm waited, excited now that she was no