Escape to the French Chateau

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Penny took one look at Fran and began to laugh. Perhaps it was a bit early in their friendship to be laughing at her, but Penny got the feeling Fran wouldn’t take it the wrong way.

‘Harry said you’d gone out back to look for the cat. I’m kind of guessing you didn’t find it?’

Reaching to dislodge a cobweb on Fran’s collar, Penny crushed it between her fingers as Fran peeked in a mirror and brushed off the last of the dust from her sleeves.

‘Not out there. But I caught sight of him in the car park, so I know he’s around.’ Fran turned to look at her. ‘Do you think I’m being weird about him? It’s just he’s so thin, I can’t bear the thought of him suffering.’

‘I get it. I’ve just never been much of an animal person. Oh, by the way, Madame Beaufoy wants a word with you,’ Penny added.

To her surprise, Fran startled, as though she’d been bitten by something, looking genuinely worried as she said, ‘Why?’

‘It’s good news, no need to look so horrified.’ Penny grinned, but Fran continued to look concerned. ‘Like I said, she wants to sort out some paperwork, I think. Bank details for wages, that kind of thing.’

Fran began to shake her head. ‘Oh, I’m not going to worry about that right now, I wasted enough time outside looking for Red. Let’s get on with the rooms and I’ll catch up with Madame Beaufoy later.’

Penny frowned. ‘But surely you want to get paid?’

Number one priority, Penny would have thought. Every euro counted. Especially working in one of Wilding Holdings’ hotels. If it wasn’t for the on-site accommodation and free meals, nobody would tolerate the wages as being anything other than a stop-gap job while they looked for something better. It was also why, apart from a handful of the more prestigious positions, most posts at Chateau les Champs d’Or were filled by UK citizens, impressed by the stunning surroundings and keen to earn some money to fund their travels.

For her part, Penny had only ever planned to be here for a month or two, enough time to enjoy a bit of the beautiful Loire Valley scenery and save up a pile of cash ready for her next adventure. The Italian Riviera, maybe. If she played her cards right at Chateau les Champs d’Or, she might get a good enough reference to land something in a swanky seafront place. Or perhaps she might go one step further and join the crew of one of those superyachts. Now, that was an idea …

But then she’d met Harry. And despite what anyone might think, the fact that Penny was a massive Potterhead and didn’t travel anywhere without the Narcissa Malfoy wand her gran had bought her for her fourteenth birthday hadn’t played any part in her instant reaction to his name, or to him. That had come from somewhere deep inside and hadn’t faded. And if anything, it was becoming stronger the more time they spent together.

Not that they were ‘together’ in that sense, much to Penny’s frustration. Harry remained tantalisingly out of reach on a physical level. And while Penny was convinced Harry liked her, enjoyed her company, found her to be someone he actively wanted to be around, he had remained annoyingly hands-off.

The logical side of her brain had suggested there could be a million reasons why. On top of which she was fully aware they were both here on a temporary basis, and while her ties to the hotel became increasingly Harry-shaped, she knew there was every chance he would move on. Cheffing for Wilding Holdings was only ever a means to an end. Especially if you were a lowly sous-chef. Harry had explained he was here to gain kudos, rather than cash. And with enough of the former, he planned to get a job somewhere with a better employment track record. Somewhere he could build himself a proper reputation, gain the experience he’d need to be able to set up his own restaurant, in time.

Penny had tried to stop herself from daydreaming about finding somewhere together. They needed chefs on superyachts, right? What an adventure that might be for the two of them. And while she was aware she may be barking up the wrong relationship tree, and that Harry might continue to see her as nothing more than a friend, while he in turn fantasised about sharing his bed with head chef Louis – or whoever – the damned dreamy visions of holding hands in floaty, cinematic scenery wouldn’t stop.

Penny dragged herself away from her thoughts, refocusing on Fran, and the fact she hadn’t replied to her question.

Something was off in the way Fran shrugged her shoulders at the suggestion that she might want to get paid, something which didn’t seem to sit comfortably with someone working housekeeping, someone willing to take extra shifts in the restaurant on her first day. That suggested an eagerness to earn as much as possible, and yet if the hotel didn’t have her details, there was no way for her to get paid.

‘I’ll do it later.’

The way Fran said it had finality uppermost in her tone, so Penny let it drop. None of her business, she supposed.

‘OK then. Shall we do the east wing first? If we go full throttle, we can be finished in an hour. More time for drinking coffee.’

‘Or more time for chatting to Harry?’ Fran was teasing, but it was also a tactic to move the conversation on. While it had been the ideal opportunity to talk to Penny about wages, about how she felt about the hotel in that respect, Fran had baulked at the idea. Seeing Madame Beaufoy would be an equally effective way to find out the salary structure at the hotel. So, Fran wasn’t sure why she was loath to get on with it and ask. It was possible that Madame Beaufoy was so on the ball that she would instantly link Fran’s name with the suite which had been booked for her and was now languishing empty, and thereby blow her cover. But would that even matter? Fran was here under the employ of Wilding Holdings; she could do as she liked.

Except belligerence hadn’t ever been Fran’s forte, and the whole point of taking this approach was geared far more in the favour of the chateau staff, so ruining the whole plan on day two seemed counterproductive.

And maybe she’d been thrown off by her conversation with Johnny in the car park. By his determination to apologise for his brother’s behaviour. By his willingness to search for a random cat while he was supposed to be enjoying his trip to the Loire. By her sudden impatient desire to speak to him again and find out what he’d discovered.

Penny must have some kind of an internal clock, Fran decided, as they climbed the turret steps into the honeymoon suite with a few of the sixty minutes left to tick down. Not that the time mattered, because there remained a whole raft of jobs to complete, regardless of how long any of it took.

But the unsettled nature of her thoughts crowded back in on Fran as Penny headed into the bathroom to clean it, leaving Fran to sort out Johnny’s bedroom. There wasn’t much that needed to be tidied, no clothes strewn on the carpet, or wet towels over the backs of chairs. The man seemed to have been house-trained particularly well. He’d thrown the quilted cover into the wardrobe as he had the previous day, and although Fran folded the cover to make it more of an organised and compact bundle, less of a scrunched pile of fabric, she left it in there.

It wasn’t any of that which tipped her unsettled thoughts over the edge, though. The confusion peaked when she went to make the bed, pulled back the covers to find nothing there. No pyjamas or sleeping shorts. Nothing to fold and tuck under the pillow.

Fran plumped the pillows, pulled the duvet flat and smoothed down the whole thing, doing her best to ignore the heat rising across her neck, the sudden dryness in her mouth.

Who cared if the bloke slept naked? She and Penny had come across all sorts in the rooms they’d already done, and none of that had her coming over all Edwardian lady-in-a-corset.

Fran was a grown woman, with a life reclaimed and remodelled after taking, frankly, way too long to even begin to make sense of her experience with Victor. The last thing she needed was to start feeling ridiculous over someone she’d spoken to for no more than four minutes.

And yet, as Penny sauntered out of the bathroom, surreptitiously checking everything Fran had done as they left the room, Fran couldn’t dampen her confusion, or the hope that maybe Johnny really did like cats. Felt the need to hold on to the rope banister which curved its way down the spiral turret stairs for fear she might miss a step.

Part-way through his search of the immaculately manicured shrubbery bordering the car parking area, Johnny was regretting his choice of trousers. Picked to be casual and yet smart enough to team with a tailored shirt for the visit to the vineyard, his slim-legged chinos weren’t giving much in the way of flexibility, especially where bending low enough to fumble around in the fuchsia bushes was concerned.

Suffice to say, Johnny gave it his best shot, but with no sign of anything other than last winter’s leaf litter beneath the plants, was relieved to be able to straighten up. As he adjusted the material from where it had ridden up his legs and gathered around his knees, as well as other places, he heard a voice.

‘Avez-vous perdu quelque chose?’

The voice was accompanied by the lithe figure of an older man, rake in one hand, his time and temperature-weathered features quirked into an expression of amusement. ‘You lose something, Monsieur?’

Tempting though it was to pretend he’d dropped his car keys, Johnny opted for honesty.

‘It’s a funny story, actually,’ he began, then noted the glaze of incomprehension settling over the man’s expression. Swapping to French, Johnny garnered a wide smile of comprehension from the guy, until Johnny explained what he was looking for, and why. He paused as the man’s expression darkened. Wrapping up his explanation, Johnny asked the groundskeeper if he knew where the cat lived. The man all but exploded.

After the tirade subsided, Johnny had learnt two things. Number one, out of all the many and varied things he hated, the cat absolutely topped the groundskeeper’s list, and number two, the cat was definitely of no fixed abode. Several other, less relevant matters were also covered, including the impossible nature of the extreme summer weather this year in terms of horticulture, and the resilience of a particular infestation of beetles currently inhabiting a nearby hedge. The groundskeeper re-emphasised how much he disliked the stray cat, in case Johnny hadn’t fully got the message the first time around, and that should he manage to set hands on the mangy creature – Johnny thought that was a close enough translation – then the animal would have no need for further oxygen.

It seemed Red had as many foes as he had fans. Perhaps it was time for Johnny to pick a side.

Although with precious little in the way of new information, he wasn’t sure Fran would be much impressed with his work so far. Back in his room, Johnny changed into swimming shorts and headed for the pool, intent on allowing the rhythm of a long swim to clear his mind. After that he wanted to FaceTime his daughter, find out what she’d been up to, and maybe grab a late lunch.

And if, by then, he had still managed to dodge Noel and the rest of the group, he might take himself off for a walk around the grounds. After all, he was supposed to be on holiday, he should be free to choose whatever he wanted to do. And like his daughter’s first favourite book, he could go on a hunt, but rather than searching for a bear, he would search for a ginger cat.