Escape to the French Chateau

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

From the gravelled driveway, a crick began to form in Fran’s neck as she gazed up at the sheer height of the chateau building. She had to squint to see to the tips of its princess turrets, narrowing her eyes as she took a deep breath. Here we go again, she thought. Another week, another luxury hotel – this time Chateau les Champs d’Or, nestled in the early summer backdrop of Loire Valley vineyards and lavender fields bursting with life. All twenty-eight bedrooms of it. Corporate clients welcome. Exceptional service guaranteed.

And that was exactly why Fran was here. To check the hotel lived up to its lofty claims. An unplanned, unannounced visit – a spot check. A secret shopper, if you like.

Clearly there were worse jobs. Fran realised the bubble of privilege she currently inhabited, checking on the running of five-star hotels for Wilding Holdings, and it was a far cry from the life she’d been living only months previously. To say she was still adjusting would be an epic understatement.

Leaving her in the driveway, the taxi turned, showering gravel in a graceful arc as it headed away, over the bridge which spanned a narrow river, down the impressive length of the drive and out through the wrought-iron gates in the distance. Away from la-la land and out onto the tarmac of the real world.

Fran felt the heat from an unexpectedly strong June sun as she tugged and battled to pull her suitcase across the loose stones. She paused when it snagged, then threaded her satchel-bag across her chest and did her best to manhandle – or should that be woman-handle – her case across the remainder of the driveway.

About to bump the luggage up the curving stone steps to the front entrance, her attention was taken by a rapid volley of French swear words, and the appearance of a wiry, dark-haired man of indeterminable age, carrying a rake in one hand. The muttering gained in intensity as he kicked at the gravel the taxi had showered over the grass.

At the sight of her, he started, then did his best to package away his frown and smile instead. At least, Fran supposed that was what he was doing, although his face didn’t look altogether convinced about it.

‘Bonjour,Mademoiselle.’

‘Bonjour.’

Languages hadn’t ever been Fran’s forte, but she could just about manage the basics. Although it seemed her accent was fooling nobody as the man asked in halting English if she needed help with her case.

‘No, thanks. I’m fine. I’m looking for the manager.’ She gestured towards the main entrance.

‘You wish to check in? You are a guest?’

He sounded surprised by his own question, but she supposed he did have a point. She glanced down at her sweatpants and T-shirt, then back at his bemused expression. He was probably used to guests arriving cloaked from head to toe in Versace couture. Fran didn’t own any couture, no matter what the brand.

‘Or you are the new – how you say – the new chambermaid?’

About to contradict him, Fran paused, and before she could correct him, he took her silence as acquiescence and was explaining how she should enter the chateau via the staff entrance.

As he gestured around the side of the building, an idea began to formulate. Up until a few months previously, Fran had been working a combination of jobs, one of which was in hospitality. And although the powers that be at Wilding Holdings wanted a head-to-toe report on how efficiently the staff were running Chateau les Champs d’Or, there had been an assumption that she would make the report as a guest, nothing more. Nobody had said she must make her report from the point of view of a guest.

Fran supposed she should be looking forward to another week of luxury. She’d been given a company credit card with which to pay for anything and everything, could have whatever the hotel had to offer as frequently as she wanted. Had no need to lift so much as her little finger for the foreseeable.

Thing was, if she was being honest, she wasn’t looking forward to more relaxation. Fran had always been a busy person, and the thought of spending even more time lounging around in the sun had her shaking her head. Crazy, really – a few months ago she’d been desperate for a break.

Nobody here knew who she was or were even expecting her. The visit was purposefully unheralded, she was booked in as a regular guest so as not to give the chateau any time for preparation. She was here to see how the hotel worked from the point of view of a guest. But wouldn’t it be an even better way to find out what was going on if she looked behind the scenes, if she became a part of that team? Using her initiative would impress her new employer, wouldn’t it?

‘Here for the summer?’ the groundskeeper asked.

‘That’s right,’ she said. Partly true, although she was determined to take no longer than a matter of days to find out what she needed to know.

‘Bonne chance,’ he said, his eyebrows arching before he turned his attention to the gravel.

Good luck? She glanced up at the turrets of Chateau les Champs d’Or, soaring above her and framed by a perfect blue sky. Why would she need good luck?

As she headed around the side of the building, she caught sight of a grey Mercedes shooting along the driveway in the haze of gravelly dust which had barely settled since the departure of her taxi. New guests, she presumed. More gravel displacement for the groundskeeper to be annoyed by.

Stepping through the open doorway, Fran’s mind whirred over her spur-of-the-moment plan as she allowed the chateau to swallow her up.

‘Will you take a look at that.’

Noel’s voice resonated a little too loudly as he stood, hands on hips, staring at the chateau. He’d been out of the car within seconds of their arrival, had already turned a full 360 degrees as he took in their surroundings.

Johnny didn’t reply, instead he pulled Noel’s Samsonite case from the boot space of the S-Class and stood it on the gravel, then reached in for his own bag.

‘Not too shabby, is it Johno?’ Raising a hand and flattening it above his eyes, Noel stared at the exterior of the hotel.

Johnny paused, dropping his bag onto the chips of granite as he, too, took a longer look at the impressive building. An old chateau, according to the website, utterly derelict until Wilding Holdings bought and completely renovated the property a decade previously, converting it into the dream destination hotel.

To his eye, the granite cornerstones, creamy plasterwork and turreted roof reminded him a little too much of Disney’s fairy-tale castle; it resembled the one on some of Estelle’s treasured DVDs. He remembered how he attempted to prise apart the discs she’d glued together with a stray pot of PVA. Her wails as he’d tried to explain that the movies wouldn’t work with glue all over them. The look in Natalie’s eye when he’d gone out and bought replacement copies. Estelle was thrilled, but his wife had asked him when he was going to realise that throwing money at a problem didn’t always solve it.

With his back to the castle, Noel had his mobile pressed to an ear.

‘How far out are you, mate?’ Larger than life, as always, he was still shouting, this time at the phone. ‘We’re already here, been here for like, ten minutes? Put your foot down and get a bloody wiggle on, will you? It’s wine o’clock and my poor tongue’s drier than a nun’s—’

‘Noel, for Christ’s sake. We’re in public …’

Johnny had no idea whether his brother heard him or not, but thankfully Noel didn’t complete the punchline, instead he laughed at whatever was said at the other end of the call.

‘Yes. First round is on me. Too bloody right. This is a celebration as well as a holiday, mate. And what happens in the Dordogne stays in the Dordogne.’ Another laugh. ‘Yeah. See you in five.’ Noel glanced at Johnny as he pocketed his phone. ‘They’ll be here in five.’

‘Excellent.’ Johnny paused, then said, ‘We’re not actually in the Dordogne, Noel. You do realise that?’

‘Just sounds better than wherever the heck we actually are, don’t you think?’

‘What does that even mean? You chose this place; you were the one who wanted to visit the vineyards of the Loire Valley and “drink as much Sancerre as humanly possible”. Fantastic wine within a couple of hours of a decent airport – wasn’t that the brief?’

‘Lighten up, for Christ’s sake. I just like the sound of the word, that’s all. I googled it and it sounds like a ball bouncing on tarmac – Dordogne …’ Noel bounced up and down on the spot to emphasise his point, then grinned.

Johnny shook his head, then shouldered his bag and made for the curving stone steps up to reception. Noel might have sold this trip as a holiday, a way to celebrate fifteen years of their business – Taylor Made Wine – but they both knew he hadn’t taken any significant time off work in years. It wouldn’t surprise Johnny if Noel struggled to wind down. It would be more like his brother to spend this trip doing his best to establish new contacts, finding new wine producers to add to their ever-growing portfolio of suppliers. He was relentless, told everyone that’s what it took when you started with nothing, and he expected the same level of dedication from Johnny.

‘Where are you going?’ Noel said. ‘The others will be here in a few minutes.’

‘Unless they’re heading for the Dordogne,’ Johnny said, under his breath. He turned. ‘I’m sure even Ricardo and Ed can find their way from the driveway into the building on their own.’

Noel laughed, brushing aside Johnny’s irritation. ‘Ricky struggles to locate his own arse most of the time, I’m not so sure he’ll be able to manage steps and a door.’

Truth be told, Johnny wanted a moment to himself. He had been under no illusion about what spending a week in a wine-producing region of France was going to be like with this group of blokes, had been in two minds about coming on this trip at all. But he couldn’t let Noel down. However messy this holiday became – and it was going to be messy, he’d spent enough time socialising with them to know that much – he wanted to be here for his brother like he always had been. Needed to be here for their business. After all, one good deed deserved another. And Noel had been there for him when his world fell apart, had offered the support he needed, even if it had been in Noel’s inimitable sledgehammer style.

Wandering back to the car, Johnny dropped his bag beside a low-profile tyre and smiled at his brother. He could grab a few minutes alone once he was in his suite. Stretching his back out, he scanned the driveway for any sign of Ricky and Ed. Waited for the arrival of the other grey Mercedes – an almost exact copy of the airport hire car they’d arrived in.

Johnny could do this. He could cope with a few drunken work colleagues, especially with Chateau les Champs d’Or boasting excellent cuisine and a massive swimming pool in which he could always wash away one too many from the night before.

After all, he had far worse things to deal with when he got home.