Escape to the French Chateau

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Harry whistled along to a tune on the radio, chopping in time to the Europop beat. It was probably corny to say he had never felt happier than he did right now, but corny or not it was the truth.

His situation wasn’t perfect. There were plenty of inescapable weights pressing themselves against him, plenty of decisions he knew he had to make, plenty to be unhappy about if he allowed himself to sink. And, in all honesty, some decent music wouldn’t hurt, either. Snow Patrol perhaps. Or something by Lewis Capaldi rather than all the synthesised bass he thought had gone out of vogue in the eighties, but which seemed to remain very much à la mode on the continent.

But none of it was going to dampen his mood this evening, because this evening Louis had allowed him a go with one of his Wüsthof cheffing knives. Had allowed him to chop the onions for a sauce base with one of his precision blades. Harry was well aware it would mean little to anyone who wasn’t serious about working with food, but proper chef knives could become more precious to their owners than almost any other possession. There was a joke about what a chef would save from the kitchens in the event of a fire – and it was always their knives.

Harry didn’t own any knives of the quality of the one currently in his hand. But he would, one day. The weight of it was distributed perfectly, it made mincing the onions effortless. It had some manner of a special hexagonal-patterned coating on the handle, so there was no chance of his fingers slipping, which was just as well – Harry winced at the thought of how easily this knife would cut through just about anything.

He’d told Penny that this was exactly the brand of knife he would buy. Eventually. Once he’d accrued enough experience to be able to go for a senior position in a kitchen and had managed to prove to himself – amongst others – that his ambitions were more important to him than simply being crazy dreams. These blades weren’t cheap, either, and he’d already put everything into making this move to the continent; right now he had no spare cash for anything, let alone the hundreds of pounds it would take to buy this kind of equipment.

It was one of the things he liked the most about Penny, he’d decided. The fact that she could enter into a deadly serious conversation about a future as fantastical as any fictional scenario it would be possible to create. Her imagination matched her energy levels, both of which knew no bounds. They’d trawled through all sorts of crazy scenarios – the latest one featured the two of them working a season on one of the superyachts which sailed around the Med. Harry as the on-board chef, Penny as the chief stewardess. And according to Penny, with the tips they’d make from a few weeks at sea, Harry would be able to afford all the Wüsthof knives he wanted.

The thought of that conversation had Harry grinning, his smile broadening when Penny breezed into the kitchen, dumping a pile of dirty crockery beside the rinsing sink.

‘I was just thinking about you,’ he said.

‘You’re chopping onions with what looks like an extremely sharp blade … Should I be worried?’ She quirked an eyebrow, then grinned.

‘No – I was thinking about sailing around the Med on a yacht, actually.’

‘With me?’

He nodded, immediately regretting his words. He shouldn’t have said anything, it would give her the wrong idea of where his head was. Penny hadn’t made any secret of her hopes for their friendship to become far more, and there was no point denying how much he was drawn to her, too. But he had far more on the line than the fallout from a summer fling. Plus, he was becoming convinced he didn’t want his relationship with Penny to be something so disposable. Conflicted didn’t come close to how he currently felt.

‘Did I tell you I look amazing in a bikini?’ Penny rounded the workstation, bringing herself within touching distance.

Harry set the knife down, heat spiking up his neck. ‘I’m doing my best not to lose a finger here,’ he said, gesturing to the knife, trying his best to keep the conversation away from the undeniable curves of Penny’s body.

‘If you can’t stand the heat,’ she said.

He completed the well-worn phrase. ‘Get out of the kitchen?’

Penny winked. ‘Your wish is my command. See you later?’

‘I will see you later,’ he said, equal parts relieved and frustrated when she spun on her heels and left.

Harry sighed, doing his best to refocus on the pile of white onions demanding his attention. But there was no hiding from the fact that before long he was going to have to make some decisions, in part as a direct result of having met Penny. He couldn’t hide from them for much longer, and these were decisions which could end up altering the entire course of his life.

As he entered the dining room, Johnny could see the others already at the table. A bottle of something chilling in a shiny copper-plated wine cooler. He paused on his way across to ask a member of staff if Fran was working this evening. A physical description had been required to help aid the guy’s recognition, but eventually he’d nodded, defined her as the new girl and said she was working extra shifts as a couple of the regular local waitressing staff were unwell.

Hopefully that meant he would be able to catch a word with her, tell her what he’d found. Or rather, what he hadn’t found. No sign of the ginger cat anywhere, even though Johnny had taken his time to saunter through some of the chateau’s beautiful gardens. Regardless of the groundskeeper’s earlier complaints, he was clearly doing an excellent job of battling against the driest summer for a decade as the grounds were alive with the colour and scent of lavenders and roses.

It had struck Johnny as he’d been mooching around, that cats were by nature a nocturnal species. So perhaps looking for the ginger tom during daylight hours wasn’t the best approach. Perhaps they needed to go covert, maybe have a look around by the light of the moon.

Yeah, because asking a woman he barely knew to head out alone into the darkness with him sounded legit, didn’t it …

Noel, Ricky and Ed were already halfway through the bottle of Sancerre when he took his seat, but Johnny hoped that the fact they were at the same table as they’d been given the night before meant they would get the same member of staff, too. It seemed Noel was ahead of him with this thought. He looked as though he’d taken extra care with his appearance this evening and confirmed Johnny’s suspicions by referring to Fran as ‘that foxy little lady’ as Johnny drew in his seat.

‘She’s on again tonight,’ Noel said, a grin enveloping his face. ‘Happy days.’

Pouring himself a glass of the Sancerre, Johnny didn’t join in with any of the accompanying comments about Fran, or women in general. Instead, he couldn’t help noticing the back note of acidity in his brother’s voice when he did his best to close down Ricky’s unbidden comments about the fate of Noel’s latest – and apparently secret – girlfriend back home. Johnny had lost track of his brother’s conquests, and while there had been a time when the two had shared such information, Noel’s bedpost tally had always far outstripped Johnny’s. It had been a relief when, once he’d met Natalie, those conversations had faded away almost entirely.

Instead of chatting, Johnny went through his ritual whenever he tried a new wine, and this one made him wrinkle his nose. Even for a Sancerre it was too sharp and acidic to drink on an empty stomach, in his opinion.

‘This needs some help,’ he said, tilting the glass to clarify. ‘Did you order some olives, or ciabatta and dipping oils? It could do with something to take the sharpness down a notch.’

‘I thought it was refreshing,’ Noel said, taking another large mouthful.

‘It’s certainly that,’ Johnny said, noticing too late the scrunch between Noel’s eyes, the darkening of his expression.

‘Order an alternative, then,’ Noel muttered.

Johnny called over the sommelier and asked for his recommendations, choosing a bottle of Picpoul de Pinet from the selection. Still renowned for its acidity, with its grape known as the ‘lip stinger’, but an amazing wine if the producer had got it right.

As the sommelier moved away, Johnny caught sight of Noel’s expression. It had darkened further. Then, as if he was flicking a switch, the expression evaporated, Noel elbowed Ricky and grinned.

‘I’ve always found talking loud and slow works just as well as anything. No need for all this speaking foreign, if you ask me. If they want our trade, they need to learn our lingo, end of.’

Originally from Madrid but having moved to Surrey when he was a kid, Ricky shifted in his seat, flicking a glance at Ed, then Johnny. It would seem Noel’s joke – although it was a thinly disguised dig aimed at Johnny – hadn’t landed all that well.

‘Are you gentlemen ready to order?’

Thank God for Fran, who chose that moment to materialise beside their table. She threw Johnny a quick glance, eyebrows arched in anticipation, but now was absolutely not the time to talk cats. Instead, he nodded as surreptitiously as he could, hoping she would somehow understand he meant he would catch her to explain at some point in the evening, but away from the table, away from this group. Her face lit up with an enormous smile, and Johnny had a horrible feeling she thought he’d found Red’s hiding place.

‘With a smile like that, you can betcha I’m ready to order,’ Noel said.

Once Fran had headed back into the kitchen with their orders, and Johnny had watched Noel track her every step, it didn’t come as a massive surprise when Noel turned back to the table and suggested he wanted to change his order.

‘How about one order of waitress, to go.’ Noel sniggered, belting Ed across the back of the shoulder. ‘Am I right? Bet you would too, given half a chance.’

‘What’s up with you tonight?’ Johnny said, the question aimed directly at Noel.

‘What’s up with me?’ Noel pasted a look of confusion on his face. ‘There’s nothing up with me, Johnny-go-lightly.’ Noel mimed inverted commas around the words, lacing them with an unexpected back note of venom. ‘Just saying the waitress is hot, that’s all. Wouldn’t mind buying her a drink later. I’m young, free and single – I’m guessing she is too. What’s wrong with that?’

While Ricky kept his counsel and his hand on top of his glass, Ed lifted the bottle of Sancerre and topped up his own and Noel’s glasses.

‘Nothing wrong with that, mate,’ Ed said, sliding the bottle back into its cooler and lifting his glass. ‘Nothing at all. What happens on tour stays on tour, and all that.’

Noel chinked and made a series of toasts, to the business, to fine wines and beautiful women, to the Dordogne. That one garnered a guffaw from Ed, to whom Noel must have explained his tarmac joke, and Noel built the momentum by making a final toast to ‘the single life’.

When the table quietened, Ricky leant across, tilting his empty glass towards the Picpoul. ‘Could I try it?’ he asked.

Johnny poured, glad of the solidarity.

‘Meant to ask you, mate, how’s it going with Natalie, and the whole …’ Ricky shifted in his chair, his cheeks notching with colour. ‘Belinda and Natalie have a coffee every now and again, and she said Nat seems to be a bit all over the place.’

Johnny raised his eyebrows as he sipped from his glass. It wasn’t only Natalie who was feeling the strain. But he recognised Ricky was showing genuine concern.

‘It’s a shit situation,’ he said, with a wry smile. ‘No question. But we’re working through it, you know?’

‘Are you going to get a divorce? Belinda said it sounded like it might be on the cards.’

Johnny tugged in a tight breath. ‘I don’t really see any other option.’

‘No. Not having it, boys. We’re here to celebrate, not talk about our lives back home.’

The words came from across the table. Noel admonished them for taking the mood down and swung the conversation thread away from Johnny’s personal life. Returned the chat to safer territory, the upcoming transfer of a footballer from Noel’s favourite team and the implications for their league standings. Johnny had to hand it to Noel, he was a smooth operator, and Johnny was grateful for the interjection, for the deflection.

The banter continued as Fran reappeared with their starters, Noel doing his best to get Fran’s attention and earning himself a hard-won smile from her while making a second trip to the table when Ed asked her for a fresh basket of bread. Johnny did his best to brush aside the flare of jealousy at her positive reaction to Noel, and although she caught his eye a couple of times, Johnny knew that however much he wanted to, striking up a conversation with her in front of the others was bound to backfire, would bring them all the wrong kind of attention.

While Noel was entertaining Ricky and Ed with an old story of the time he’d mistaken someone for his favourite football player, had asked for his autograph and couldn’t understand why the man was so confused, Johnny noticed Fran discreetly moving away from their table and dumped his napkin beside his plate, pushing back his chair.

‘Where are you going?’

Johnny didn’t answer Noel’s question, his focus was on how to intercept Fran and explain. How to suggest they meet up after she’d finished her shift in the dining room so he could tell her what he’d found out. How to do all that in plain sight of a brother who would be quick to rip the shit out of him if he could get a laugh out of it.

The moment was lost as Fran was called to an adjacent table, so Johnny headed out towards the restrooms to regroup. As luck would have it, Fran saw him on his way back in and veered across.

‘Sorry to be a pain, but I’ve been itching to ask you how the search went.’ Fran wiped her hands on the front of her uniform, her eyes bright and glowing with a richness of colour impossible to ignore in the subdued anteroom lighting, especially with her full attention on him. It was hypnotic, and Johnny wondered how he hadn’t noticed before. ‘I should have just asked straight out at the table, I suppose, but I wasn’t sure …’

Fran’s brow furrowed, her gaze darting away from his and towards the room full of diners. As the realisation that she might be as perceptive as she was attractive hit Johnny’s conscious thought, the back of his throat dried. The last time he’d appraised a woman in these terms was when he met his now almost-ex, Natalie. And look how that had worked out.

Overthinking was probably something that should be added to Johnny’s list of dubious attributes, alongside pessimism and a love of the worst and most ridiculous of the apocalyptic films Netflix had to offer. And snoring. Right now, though, he needed to concentrate on sorting out the mess he had already made of his relationships. With his life currently in tatters, he was in no position to be an attractive proposition to anyone, and anyway, Fran wanted to find a cat, not fall in love with him.

‘Perhaps we could catch up after you’ve finished your shift?’ he asked. And then, as if his internal debate had never happened, he added, ‘Grab a drink or something. What do you think?’

‘I won’t be done until around ten,’ Fran said. ‘Is that OK?’

Johnny nodded. ‘Of course. I can wait in the bar if you like?’

Fran grimaced. As a member of staff couldn’t hang around in the guest areas, even if she was off duty. Not that guests invading staff areas was the done thing, either. Outside. That would be easier.

‘How about on the terrace?’

There was plenty of comfortable seating out there, and by ten o’clock it should be cooler. Not that they would need long, a quick chat would be enough to establish whether Johnny had news.

‘Perfect. See you there at ten,’ he said, a lightning grin searing its way across his face before he looked past her, towards the group at his table. The smile faded just as quickly, replaced by a gentle wrinkling of the skin between his eyes. ‘Better get back to my starter,’ he added.

Did the fact he hadn’t used those few minutes to tell her what he’d found mean that he had proper information about the cat? Or was he embarrassed to be seen chatting to a member of chateau staff? Somehow Fran couldn’t believe that of him. Compared to most of the guests she’d come across so far at Chateau les Champs d’Or, he seemed very grounded.

No time to worry about the subtext, with plates to clear from table two and table three beginning to fidget about the gap between their main courses and desserts. While the diamond-encrusted wife tapped her elegantly manicured nails on the tablecloth, Fran reassured Mister Savile Row they wouldn’t be waiting much longer, biting her tongue as she quashed her desire to suggest being in a rush to finish their meal and ordering the most complex dessert from the menu hadn’t made for a winning combination.

When the final cup of coffee had been poured, and the dining room fell blissfully quiet, Fran checked her watch. Ten to ten. She was going to have to motor to be out on the terrace for ten o’clock. All hopes that she might have been able to change into something more comfortable evaporated as Penny managed to drop a pile of plates and precious minutes were spent cleaning up the mess.

‘I’ll see you in a bit,’ Fran said. Penny had told her she usually liked to hang out in the kitchens at the end of an evening service, chatting with Harry while the chefs and the rest of the kitchen staff cleaned down, and the previous evening Fran had done the same.

Penny tilted her head. ‘Why, where are you going?’

‘Oh, nowhere important.’ Fran smiled. ‘Just going to get some fresh air, that’s all.’

‘Day two and you’re already keeping secrets. You’re one mysterious lady.’

Fran’s smile faded as a sudden wave of insecurity rolled over her. What did Penny know? Had she worked out who Fran really was? How did she know?

Penny laughed. ‘I bet you’re going to look for that moggy again, aren’t you? Bonkers, if you ask me.’

Fran’s shoulders relaxed and she grinned in return. ‘Can’t help myself. Catch you later?’

‘You’ll know where I’ll be. This place is like a prison camp – no escape for us convicts.’

Penny had a point. Without transport, this place did feel isolated. Surrounded immediately by gardens and pockets of woodland, countryside stretched away from the chateau in all directions – a mix of lavender fields and vineyards as far as the eye could see. At least, as far as the eye could see from the windows of the higher rooms. At ground level, the landscape was flat, there were none of the rolling downs of the countryside near Fran’s hometown of Lyme Regis. None of the Jurassic folds in the earth’s crust which had formed the characteristic cliffs she’d grown up with.

Most of the public areas of the hotel were falling quiet, the low rumbling of chattering in the bar the only real hub of activity left at this time of the evening. The terrace wrapped itself around the building, from outside the sliding doors at the far end of the bar, towards the swimming pool area, all the way around towards the formal area of the gardens. Fran was pleased Johnny had chosen to take a drink around to the quieter end of the paving, that he was no longer with his group of friends. Less opportunity for embarrassment. Seated on one of the many pieces of garden furniture, he looked relaxed and peaceful with long legs stretched out and one foot crossed over the other as he considered the contents of his glass by what was left of the fleeing daylight.

‘Hi,’ she said, surprised when the sound of her voice had him concertinaing his body, brogues scraping across the rough stone of the paving as he slid his glass onto an occasional table and stood.

‘Hi.’ He gestured for her to take a seat. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

‘No, I’m fine.’ In reality, the glass of whisky looked appealing. It had been a long day, and Fran would have loved a sip or two, something to help her wind down. ‘Thanks, though.’

Glancing around, Fran felt oddly uneasy about sitting down in a guest area. Which was mad, really, as she should have been here as a guest. After a few moments more of indecision, and with Johnny waiting for her to sit first, she eased herself into a chair. It was comfortable, and she recognised the design from other hotel stays. Elegant and practical but lacking much in the way of individuality. Corporate and bland was an alternative, maybe less flattering, description.

Johnny reclaimed his seat and his glass. ‘It’s a beautiful evening,’ he said.

‘It is. Are you enjoying your stay?’ Fran asked.

‘This place is incredible, no question. Any complaints I have are of my own making, so there’s nothing to lay at your door.’

Was he being purposefully cryptic? Without turning to stare at him, to try and get a more accurate feel for his mood through his expression, Fran decided to let his words go.

‘So,’ she said, with an air of decisiveness. ‘Did you find any sign of the cat?’

‘I didn’t, I’m afraid. Although it occurred to me as I was upside-down in a hebe bush that perhaps we’re going about this wrong.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, as a rule cats are nocturnal creatures, aren’t they?’

‘I guess.’

‘And although you’ve seen Red during daylight hours so far, perhaps we’d have more luck finding him at night. When he’s more likely to be out and about.’

Fran shifted to be able to see Johnny better, her frown deepening. He was bandying the word ‘we’ around without a second thought, as though Fran’s desire to keep an eye out for Red had turned into a team sport.

With the whisky drained, Johnny put his tumbler down, the remnants of some very determined ice cubes chinking against the glass.

‘Or maybe that will make it more difficult to find him. Maybe he’ll be harder to find if he’s out hunting.’ Johnny sighed. ‘I’m no cat expert, as you can tell.’

Fran smiled, her frown dissipating. ‘Me neither. I just wanted to help the little guy, that’s all.’

‘Well then.’ Johnny stood and waited for her to do the same. ‘We’d better get searching.’