Escape to the French Chateau

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The following morning dawned hot and sticky, the relentless tendrils of sunshine already scorching their way across the ceiling of Fran’s bedroom as she prepared for a new day at Chateau les Champs d’Or.

A cold shower gave relief from the heat for all of about ten minutes, enough time for Fran to get dressed, head along the labyrinthian staff corridors and knock on Madame Beaufoy’s door. She’d been putting off this moment for long enough.

In the still air of the previous night, Fran had taken stock of her situation. According to the information she’d gained from Penny, and her own personal experience since she’d parachuted herself into her position as unexpected staff member, the luxury and excellent service being experienced by the guests of the hotel was being achieved at the expense of a very stretched hotel staff. And it was time for Fran to gather some proper details and irrefutable information to take to the powers that be at Wilding Holdings. After all, she wasn’t here on holiday, or to learn the ins and outs of housekeeping. Her role was to make a comprehensive report on the functionality of the hotel, on levels of guest satisfaction and on the smooth and effective running of the place.

And she was just as able to make her investigations and discover the information she needed from the position in which she’d placed herself. The covert manner of her investigation wasn’t the problem. If she’d entered the chateau as a guest, she would still be making the majority of her report without alerting anyone to her true reason for being at the hotel. It wasn’t as though she had ‘hotel inspector’ stencilled onto her luggage, or ‘make the service over and above with this one’ tacked above her room number. That was the whole point. Finding out how things ran at Chateau les Champs d’Or was the priority, and her worries about Madame Beaufoy putting two and two together and making four where her name and the empty suite were concerned would be a bridge to cross if necessary. It was more important to find out whether the kind of shifts she had done so far were usual, or whether Penny was working at double-speed of her own volition.

None of that stopped her hands from turning slick or her throat from seizing when Madame Beaufoy threw her door wide and beckoned Fran inside.

‘I have been very remiss,’ Madame Beaufoy said, before Fran had a chance to speak. ‘I was so pleased to have an extra set of hands at work that I did not even ask for your name when you arrived. I have been trying to catch up to you ever since, but you have been like the early morning mist, like a ghost.’

‘I’m Fran. Francesca Compton.’

There was no sudden recognition, no change in the woman’s expression, and Fran eased a breath out.

‘It is good to meet you properly, Fran. I am Florence. Although we will stick with Madame Beaufoy I think, for the work setting, yes?’

‘Absolutely. I meant to pop in to see you yesterday, but we were so busy.’

‘I understand on top of your regular duties you have helped out in the dining room?’

‘That’s right. I did some waitressing back in the UK, so I said I would be happy to help out.’

‘Well, there have been no customer complaints, so you must know what you are doing, and for this I am very grateful.’ Madame Beaufoy shook her head. ‘We have a constant battle, being so far out from the towns. Young people want to go to parties and clubs all the time, they don’t want to work. You would think they would want to gain experience in such a setting as this, but …’

Madame Beaufoy drew in a sharp breath. There seemed to be more she wanted to say, but a fleeting frown was accompanied by a change of subject.

‘Anyway, we must have you complete the paperwork. Do you have a work visa?’

Fran shook her head, wondering if this would be the moment her cover would blow wide open, but Madame Beaufoy didn’t baulk.

‘This we can fix. More important – I will make sure you are added to our payroll immédiatement. After all, we can’t be seen to be taking work from employees with no payment, can we? And we never know who might be looking in on us, no?’

Heat prickled under Fran’s arms, and she searched the woman’s expression for a clue as to why she’d felt the need to add that comment. Did she know more than she was letting on? Fran swallowed, but Madame Beaufoy’s attention was taken by an iPad she pulled from a drawer, swiping it into life and clicking through until she’d found what she was looking for. She turned it and passed it to Fran.

‘And if you enjoy working with us and wish to stay, we can apply for a work visa. We have a few months’ grace and I’m sure there will not be a problem in getting one for you. But for now, I will leave you to fill this in and fetch us some coffee. Do you take milk?’

‘No, black would be great. Thank you.’

‘Un moment s’il vous pla?t.’

With the door closed and Fran alone in the office, she allowed herself a long breath and smiled. She hadn’t been rumbled. More than that, Fran was beginning to believe she might enjoy her stay at Chateau les Champs d’Or more this way. It was certainly more real to her than the role she’d been playing in every other hotel stay she’d already completed.

Fran had never been a champagne and caviar kind of a girl. She barely knew the difference between Krug and Bollinger, enjoyed a glass or two of Lidl Prosecco and a punnet of strawberries just as much as something which cost more per glass than the month’s rent on her flat.

The powers that be at Wilding Holdings had reassured her she was perfectly placed to blind test stays at their hotels, and to be honest, the lure of travelling the globe and visiting some of the swishest hotels in existence, all expenses paid and earning a salary to boot had been too alluring for her to turn it down, had been enticing enough for her to put her fears of her own inadequacies to one side and take the job. It wasn’t as though there was anything to keep her at home in Lyme Regis.

However, even though Fran had to admit she was beginning to enjoy this stay more than any of the others, where all she’d done was laze around by the pool and eat way too much food, she still had her job to do. Her brief was to measure guest satisfaction from each of her stays, but now she had taken the decision to view the hotel from the side of the employees, it seemed more important than ever to try to find out more about the internal machinations of such a busy environment.

Filling in her details on the tablet, Fran’s smile fell away when she saw the payment structure. Intensely complicated and with a starting wage of startling meanness, in her opinion. Or perhaps Fran had lost touch with reality in the last few months, had forgotten how hard life was for those at the bottom of the ladder having dipped a toe in the waters of the mega-rich and privileged.

Scratching around in a pocket for her bank card, Fran painstakingly filled in the numbers as Madame Beaufoy reappeared, carrying two tiny cups of what Fran assumed was espresso. Pushing the tablet onto the desk, Fran took the cup Madame Beaufoy offered, and sipped. Pungent and almost treacle-thick, the coffee was unlike anything Fran had experienced, but it was delicious.

‘That’s really good,’ she said.

Madame Beaufoy nodded, a smile breaking through her otherwise austere expression. ‘Thank you. It is my own blend of beans. We may not know much, but the Beaufoy family do know how to produce beverages. Before I came to work here, I helped my husband on our petit vineyard. He makes some wonderful wines, some of them are available here. But he is not, how you say it, he is not a great businessman. He is more interested in the taste than the money.’

‘You should offer this coffee in the dining room,’ Fran said, taking another sip. ‘I think it would be perfect after dinner.’

‘I suppose I should.’ Madame Beaufoy gave a gentle shrug. ‘It’s not like the blend is a secret.’

‘If people like it, you could offer it to Wilding Holdings for their other hotels. You could make a fortune.’

‘Like we do from my husband’s wine?’ Madame Beaufoy barked a harsh laugh, then her expression closed down. ‘I do not think the people in charge of Wilding Holdings care so much about supporting the small businesses.’

Fran waited for Madame Beaufoy to expand, but the woman’s lips tightened, so she returned the conversation to her job.

‘What happens about my work shifts, days off, that sort of thing?’

‘I will email a copy to you once I have worked out the rota. Are you happy to continue with some shifts in the dining room? Breakfast and lunch, they are not such a problem, but the dinner service must be correctly staffed.’ Madame Beaufoy seemed happier to be all business again.

‘I’m willing to help with anything.’ Fran took a final sip of coffee and set the cup back onto its saucer. So long as she found out what she needed to know for her report and had some time left in her day for her continued search for Red, Fran could cope with a heavy work schedule. And it seemed she’d already gleaned a small nugget of information about the support offered to local businesses, or rather the lack of it. As she left the office, Fran glanced at Madame Beaufoy, head already buried in paperwork, a twinge of guilt pulling at Fran as she realised she was only supposed to be at the chateau for a matter of a few more days. With another assignment in the offing, Fran would be expected to head south for a stay in Wilding Holdings’ Monte Carlo hotel. Having only just promised to help her, Fran would have to leave Madame Beaufoy high and dry.

‘Aren’t you having anything else?’ Johnny asked as he watched Noel force down a croissant with his coffee, absently brushing crumbs from his lap as he glanced around the dining room.

Maybe Noel was feeling the after-effects of all the wine he’d consumed over the last couple of days. Perhaps it was nothing more than the result of his brother doing his best to ignore a hangover. Or perhaps it was something more fundamental.

‘Should have gone for room service,’ Noel muttered.

There wasn’t much which brought Noel down, even less to which he’d admit a level of insecurity, but his weight was one of those things. Johnny had always considered his brother to have been endowed more favourably in the looks department – his jaw was resolutely square, and his pale blue eyes could be used to devastating effect – even the fact he was shorter than Johnny by over a head was, it seemed, an advantage. Apparently, he sent out unthreatening, approachable vibes to a large percentage of the female population. But while Johnny had had to deal with the gawkiness of topping six-foot shortly after his twelfth birthday, he was well aware Noel had his own issues. He’d been plagued by puppy fat, and had decided early on that he would have to work hard to keep himself in the best shape.

According to Noel, it was all very well for Johnny; he’d always been the taller and leaner of the two of them. Not one for a whole load of physical activity, all Johnny tended to do was take his bike out a few times a week and he seemed able to maintain a decent amount of muscle mass alongside his lean lines. Whereas Noel felt he had to push himself in the gym, and often seemed dissatisfied with the results.

Johnny continued to work his way through an omelette. Ricky and Ed had opted for full English breakfasts, complete with black pudding and decent-looking slices of fried bread. A perk of the hotel having a UK company at its roots, he supposed, the fact that the British palate was being so well catered for – but the fried bread was an addition to their plates which could only serve to taunt Noel further, if his lack of appetite was connected to the notch he’d been able to reach when he’d fastened his belt that morning.

Noel folded his arms, sinking against the back of his chair as the rest ate. Johnny attempted to engage his brother in small talk, in a discussion about wineries they might want to visit while they were in the Loire, in plans for the business when they returned home. Anything to try to dislodge the black cloud that had settled over Noel’s head.

Nothing worked, and the remainder of the meal passed in almost silence. Something was eating at Noel, and eventually Johnny decided to call him out.

‘Whenever you want to tell me what’s bothering you, Noel, I’m all ears.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’re acting like someone threw up in your shoes. What gives?’

If anyone should be given a free pass on feeling down in the dumps at this very moment, Johnny rather felt his name should be at the top of that particular list. After all, he was facing the prospect of initiating divorce proceedings on his return, closing the door forever on the life he’d thought was his. In contrast, Noel had everything to play for. By the sounds of it, there was a woman back at home who was firmly in his line of sight and the business had never been stronger – the only two things Noel had ever been interested in.

Plus, they were staying in a top-notch hotel in a stunning part of France. They’d come a long way since they set up Taylor Made Wine.

It was easy to forget they’d started with nothing. A refurbished laptop, Johnny’s love for wines he couldn’t afford back then, and Noel’s determination to make a business out of the idea of sourcing the best wine at the lowest price and reselling it with a more favourable margin.

This trip should be the moment for Noel to settle back, bask in what they’d achieved, and feel good about himself. Instead, this morning, he looked unusually unsettled.

‘Maybe I’m fed up with having my judgment questioned all the time,’ Noel said.

Johnny shook his head. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘That nonsense with the Sancerre, last night, for example. It was an excellent wine, Johnny. I didn’t see Ricky or Ed complaining about it, until you came along and made a thing of it. Treating me like I’m a kid who needs his choices checked by an adult.’

‘I simply thought it was a bit sharp. It wasn’t that big of a deal, Noel.’

‘You wouldn’t understand.’ Noel scraped back his chair, dumping his napkin on the table as the others turned their attention to him. He flashed them all a smile, but Johnny could tell it wasn’t authentic.

‘I don’t know about the rest of you and your plans, but I’m heading for the pool, and then I reckon one of those sun loungers has my name on it. Might get myself a massage later. After all, we’re on holiday, am I right or am I right?’

Glancing at Ricky, then Ed, Noel fist-bumped the pair of them, went to bump with Johnny but pulled back at the final moment, waggling his fingers as he retracted his hand and left Johnny with his gently curled fist hovering in mid-air.

‘Too slow,’ he said as he walked away.

Their phones pinged at the same time, and Penny and Fran pulled them out from their pockets in unison.

‘New rotas are up,’ Penny said, scrolling through the next few weeks’ worth of shifts. Her eyebrows hitched as she checked the list of names. ‘Looks like Fabienne and Angelique must have Covid really badly, they’re not on here at all. Which means more shifts for you and me, girl.’

She elbowed Fran, then fell still as another thought pressed itself forward. ‘Unless they’ve quit …’

‘Madame Beaufoy said something earlier about having trouble employing locals. Apparently the chateau is too remote.’

Penny frowned. ‘It’s not that isolated for anyone with transportation. I think there’s a bit more to the staffing issues than the location. According to Harry, who heard it from Louis the chef, there’s also some long-standing animosity from the locals stretching right back to when Wilding Holdings bought the chateau and renovated it.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. Plus, the wages here are a joke, don’t you think? Louis and some of the others, like Alain the sommelier, are on decent wages, but the rest of us choose to suck it up because we get to live onsite and receive bed and board for free. It’s really no surprise that the locals aren’t clamouring for work here.’ Penny turned to face Fran. ‘I’m only staying at the hotel as a stopgap before I decide where I’m travelling to next, so I’m just here to admire the scenery. And not just the Harry-shaped scenery.’ She grinned, shooting her a sly wink. ‘What’s your story?’

‘Same for me, really,’ Fran said.

‘Well, for a start you can get your eyeballs off Harry, he’s all mine,’ Penny said, her grin intensifying as Fran laughed.

‘No, I didn’t mean him. The scenery around here is pretty special, though.’

‘Have you decided how long you’re staying?’ Penny asked.

‘Not a clue.’

It was an attempt at a breezy response, but Penny wasn’t convinced. Although she liked Fran, there was something about her which didn’t totally add up, hadn’t done since she arrived. In Penny’s view, Fran was a bit too old for someone going travelling, especially solo, and she didn’t give off the traveller vibe. Penny had been backpacking for a while, zigzagging her way all over the place, and in her opinion, Fran was a bit too ‘together’, a bit too sorted.

Whereas Penny could tell Harry was a fellow traveller the moment she met him – there was something in his messy energy which screamed nomad, that he wasn’t anywhere close to wanting to settle down. And she’d been spot on about him.

No, even though Fran was here, saying she was travelling, there was something about her which didn’t ring true for Penny.

‘Anyway,’ Fran added, ‘how about we do a bit of sightseeing when we get a day off. I’d love to visit a few of the historic chateaux; I want to see some of their original features. We could book a taxi.’

Penny loved the idea of spending time with Fran, getting to know her better, but she also wanted to make the most of any downtime she could spend with Harry. She didn’t say that to Fran, instead she gave her a non-committal smile and pocketed her phone, picking up the crate of cleaning materials ready for another morning of polishing and tidying up after other people.