Peaches
Marguerite watched Percy as he peeled the first of the hothouse peaches, deftly parting the fine, fuzzy skin from the tender flesh; she reflected that this was another of the many advantages of Percy's wealth and taste, that even in cool, damp England, they could enjoy fruit like those from the warm south of her native France. The fragrance of the peach filled the little breakfast parlour and took her back – why were scents always so evocative? – to the time during their courtship when Percy had invited Armand and herself to accompany him on a trip to Toulouse, where he was going to visit his ailing boyhood tutor. Paris had been dull for what seemed like weeks and she had been glad to accept the invitation.
The journey, though long, had been pleasant; Percy's command both of French and of ready money had smoothed their way; the coach had been comfortable and the roads not dust-dry. They had halted one evening at a picturesque auberge behind which Armand had discovered an orchard full of peach trees weighed down with ripening fruit. The sun had set but the air was still warm, and scented with the fruit. As the twilight deepened the three of them had wandered arm-in-arm through the grass under the trees and a huge, golden, full moon had swung up over the horizon. Marguerite had realised later that it was on that evening she had decided that if Sir Percy were to propose to her, as seemed increasingly likely, she would accept him…
When they left the auberge the next morning Percy had bought a basket of peaches for the journey; but he had overestimated how many peaches they would want to eat, and underestimated how quickly the fruit would become over-ripe in the warmth of the coach; and he ended up throwing the entire basket into the ditch the next day. The incident afforded them all much amusement, and – to the consternation of Armand, who despite his Republican principles had been somewhat in awe of his sister's elegant, aristocratic suitor – Marguerite had teased Percy about his miscalculation. He, however, with his usual good nature, had thoroughly enjoyed the joke against himself, while Armand had concluded that he would never understand the English or their sense of humour…
Percy looked up from the peach and realised that Marguerite was far away – but she was smiling, too. "A penny for your thoughts, my dear?"
"Oh, I was thinking of that time we went to Toulouse together, and you bought the peaches!"
He laughed; "Do you still remember that, Margot? It was a beautiful place, wasn't it, though, and a magical evening – that moon!" He paused, and now his gaze told Marguerite that he was far away too: "You looked so lovely in the moonlight. I think it was that evening when I realised there was a chance, if I were to ask for your hand, that you might accept me… What a long time ago all of that seems, sweetheart; how much has happened since – and if I was happy then, I could not be happier now!"
The End.