Chapter 13
Chapter 13
Harry hadn’t hesitated when Fran had burst into the kitchen on the hunt for a treat for the cat. Apparently Red had suffered a double scare, once at the hands of a misfiring car, and then when Fran had attempted to rescue him from his hiding place in a tree.
As he cut a sliver of chicken from a freshly cooked bird and handed it over, he grinned. That had to be why he and Penny kept seeing the animal stalking his way through the long grass at the rear of the chateau. They’d assumed, incorrectly as it now turned out, the cat had made a home for himself in the disused buildings housing all sorts of bric-a-brac. But he supposed the old oak with the split trunk was an even better hiding place.
He remembered the first time he and Penny had taken a walk around the back of the property. Penny arrived on a Friday, and by the Sunday evening, after a long and particularly difficult dinner service, they’d both felt the need to take a moonlit walk to wind down.
Within minutes, Penny had made him laugh three times and had spilled her obsession with everything Harry Potter. He was instantly caught up in her enthusiasm, pretended he’d watched all the films when in fact he’d only seen part of the first one and had to back-pedal when she began to quiz him on the intricacies of the plot. It was the first time they’d had a conversation, and he’d managed to make a complete idiot of himself. But she’d seen how embarrassed he was and hadn’t missed a beat. Instead, she tugged at her impossibly long, blonde hair and changed the subject to the foods he most enjoyed cooking versus the ones she most liked eating. Had challenged him to teach her how to cook, telling him she was literally the least proficient person ever to have picked up a wooden spoon.
And there shouldn’t have been anything more to it than that. A chance to pull in some fresh air after the heat and intensity of an evening in the kitchens, and the opportunity for an interesting chat with a fellow Brit. Except that from that very first walk she’d captured something in him, and the more time he spent around her, the more he wanted to be around her.
To Harry, it seemed Penny also had similar reasons to him as to why she’d ended up working at Chateau les Champs d’Or. Partly to finance her plans to continue to travel, and partly to find out where she fitted into this complicated world.
Harry knew all about trying to work out what he wanted from his life – what he really wanted. Cooking, the dream of becoming a head chef, maybe even an executive chef one day or even to own his own restaurant – none of that had changed from the first time Harry had taken it upon himself, with the help of a YouTube video, to make pizza from scratch, and how good it had tasted.
It was the rest of his life that was the real challenge. A challenge that had only become more complicated by his unexpectedly strong friendship with Penny. By the draw he felt to be wherever she was, and the way she looked at him, the intense gaze she thought he hadn’t noticed.
The fact that he couldn’t work out how to make their friendship into anything more than a chance encounter for the summer weighed heavily on Harry. He was attracted to her and wasn’t sure he would be able to keep his distance for much longer. But there was no way he wanted to hurt Penny, which was why the frustration of his reality, and his inability to know how to change it, preyed on his mind almost constantly.
For now, Harry allowed his concentration to slip back to the task of slicing the rest of the chicken ready to be added to a complicated selection of salad leaves, carefully shaped crouton hearts and a fresh dressing. Louis’ signature version of a chicken Caesar salad required precision from every aspect of the dish, and now he’d sacrificed a slice of chicken for the cat, Harry would need to carve with extra care.
He had a feeling it wasn’t only the carving he would have to approach with extra care over the coming days.
Red was getting rather good at responding to Fran’s weird squeaky noise. She’d only had to do her impersonation of a mouse on helium a couple of times and the cat had appeared for a cuddle. He wasn’t holding the ladder fiasco against her, which was good, because she was berating herself enough about that without needing any outside help.
Johnny must think her a complete idiot. First, she made the poor bloke carry the ladder all the way out to the tree, then he insisted on climbing it – totally unnecessarily, as it turned out – and to top it all off, he’d managed to gather a handful of splinters as a thank you present.
As she ran her fingers through the cat’s fur, feeling the regular rattle of his purr with his every breath, Fran couldn’t help reliving the few moments she’d spent lying beneath the tree with Johnny. The memory of his breath close to her ear, his body spray sharp and fresh like newly laundered sheets, his sheer weight against her as they’d floundered and fallen should have created a feeling of discomfort. But it hadn’t. She should have instantly pushed him away. But she didn’t. If anything, wanting the reverse was closer to the truth. Heat flooded her neck, reaching for her cheeks as she acknowledged how comfortable she’d been, how little she’d wanted to break the moment and climb to her feet.
The heat stretched further as she wondered what it would have felt like if he’d reached across and touched her. Or hadn’t moved his weight from her body in the first place, when they’d landed in a heap. Fran’s stomach twisted.
‘Oh, Red. What the hell’s going on in my head?’
In response, Red let rip with one of his deep-throated yowls, and Fran laughed as he turned himself around so she could administer her attentions to his other flank.
‘I know, I know … You don’t much care so long as I give you plenty of attention.’
With purring reinstated loud enough to register on the Richter scale, Red seemed satisfied. And Fran was very content with her newest ally.
It was important not to get sidetracked, important to remember what men were capable of – even ones who appeared genuine. She would do well to remember what Johnny himself had told her about having a daughter. Therefore, it stood to reason he also had a partner. And feeling secure in his company was one thing. Entertaining thoughts of being the woman who did to Johnny’s partner what countless women had done to her when she’d been with Victor? That didn’t sit comfortably with Fran, not at all.
‘Right, young man. Time for me to make tracks.’ With a final tickle under Red’s chin, Fran shifted the cat’s weight from her lap and brushed away stray hairs as she stood.
Red turned circles around her ankles, tail vertical and bushier than ever, whiskers extended and gleaming in the sunshine as he attempted to trip her up.
‘I get it, you’re beautiful enough not to expect to have to work. You’re like an oligarch’s third wife. Razor thin and flawless and only happy with the finest things in life. Well, you’ve cracked the first two, and I’m working on that last one for you.’ Fran grinned at the cat, giving him one last stroke. ‘Meanwhile, I’m very much not razor thin, or flawless, or only happy with the finest things in life. And I have work to do. So, I’ll see you later?’
‘Mreooow.’
‘Fish or more chicken tonight?’ she asked.
Another long yowl suggested to Fran that Red wasn’t bothered, so long as there was plenty of whatever she brought for him. Chuckling to herself, Fran headed for one of the chateau’s staff entrances, door wide open to allow some air flow through the staff corridors, she assumed.
With one foot on the flagstones of the interior, Fran caught a flash of movement, and Red streaked past her, heading towards the cellar. At the corner the cat paused, turning to observe her reaction. Fran held a finger to her lips.
‘I won’t tell if you don’t,’ she whispered, smiling again when the cat gave a flick of his tail and disappeared down the cellar steps.
By the time Johnny had patched up his hand and located the others by the pool, it became clear that multiple cocktails had already been consumed, and that Noel and Ed were locked in an arm-wrestling contest on the occasional table between a couple of sun loungers.
‘Thought it was your leg you broke, not your arm,’ Noel said, his volume further up the decibel reader than the other guests might have appreciated. ‘Weak as a flaming kitten.’
With a desperate yank, Ed tried to overturn Noel’s arm. When that failed, Ed raised eyebrows in defeat and Noel, smelling victory, crushed Ed’s fist against the slatted surface of the table with such force the whole thing tipped and smacked against the poolside tiling.
Ricky, watching on with interest, fist-pumped the air as they all began to laugh and congratulate Noel.
‘Three from three,’ Noel said, as Ed righted the table.
It was a relief to see someone had had the forethought to remove anything breakable from the table before the contest had begun. Johnny pulled in a breath and glanced at the rest of the poolside users. Most were doing their best to ignore the group, and Johnny wondered if he could do the same, whether he could back-track before they spotted him. Perhaps he could take the Mercedes out for a drive instead of being drawn into a drinking contest – or for that matter, an arm-wrestling match.
Apart from the mess of broken skin on his right hand, Johnny already knew he would lose out to Noel. Shorter he might be, but Noel was strong. He spent loads of time in the gym. When they’d been much younger, and Johnny had enjoyed antagonising his brother more than he did now, he’d given Noel a nickname. Called him Mini-me Schwarzenegger, or if he really wanted to wind Noel up, ‘the guy holding Schwarzenegger’s towel’. That one was always guaranteed to get a big reaction, and sometimes they’d end up brawling.
Johnny quickly learnt he didn’t much enjoy being thumped, wouldn’t have made a very successful boxer. And once they started Taylor Made Wine, Johnny had decided discretion was the better part of valour, doing his best to dial down Noel’s big reactions, rather than stoking the flame. They’d come to rely on one another, learning as a pair how to take a business from fledgling to fully flown. They’d made plenty of mistakes along the way but had remained resolute in their support for one another. After all, there hadn’t been anyone else around to help, and there was no disputing that they’d done well to find their niche in the food and beverage industry, which worked in a very competitive market. Because of the demands and challenges of setting up a small business, they had to act professional and couldn’t waste time antagonising each other or squabbling over petty things.
The only other time they’d seriously fallen out was when he realised his relationship with Natalie was getting serious and had confided in Noel that he was planning to ask her to marry him. It wasn’t as though being married was going to have a detrimental effect on the business, but for some reason Noel went off on one.
Well, Noel had got his way with that, too – even if it had taken eight years for Johnny to return to something approaching single status. He supposed Noel would expect him to reinstate his sole focus onto Taylor Made Wine once again, but things wouldn’t ever go back to the way they were before, not for Johnny. They couldn’t. And even though he and Natalie were done, there was still Estelle to consider.
Maybe that was what was at the root of Noel’s shifting attitude, the realisation that Johnny’s priorities had changed forever. He was struggling to understand what else could have caused the change in his relationship with his brother.
Ed caught sight of him, waving him over to join the group.
‘I’ll get some drinks, shall I?’ Johnny said, taking note of their orders before heading for the poolside bar. Anything for a few more minutes of peace.
Curiosity was burning a hole in Penny’s conscious thought. Fran had disappeared again, presumably searching for that damned cat. Penny supposed it wasn’t up to her to decide how the chateau’s newest employee should behave, but if Fran was at the hotel for the reasons she’d said she was there, to earn some money before carrying on travelling, then why bother to cosy up with a stray cat? It wasn’t as though she could take the moggy with her when she moved on, was it?
Maybe Penny didn’t get it because she didn’t particularly feel affection towards animals. If Fran thought she could make a difference to the cat’s life for a few months, Penny supposed it couldn’t do any harm to feed him the scraps from the kitchen.
She knew Harry wouldn’t blab to anyone about the food, and nor would she. But still, something didn’t sit quite right for Penny. There was more to Fran than met the eye, Penny remained convinced by her gut reaction.
Everyone had secrets, there was nothing wrong with not wanting to be a totally open book. Penny knew well enough that there were aspects of her own life she didn’t necessarily want people to know about. Plus, she wasn’t naive enough to think people’s lives spooled out following a prearranged path that everyone was happy with. There was no need to look further than the differences between herself and her older sister for an obvious example. She and Ruth couldn’t have been more different if they’d tried. Ruth worked hard at school while Penny found it difficult to concentrate, mucked around and then messed up her formal exams. Ruth was the first member of the Scott family to go to university and was already talking about getting engaged to someone she’d met there. In comparison, Penny had bumbled her way from one dead-end job to another, and one dead-beat bloke to the next. Her parents were proud of Ruth. Her parents were embarrassed by Penny. They’d never said as much, but she could see it in their eyes, saw the relief when she said she wanted to go travelling. Wondered what it would be like if she never went home.
Maybe whatever vibe she was getting from Fran was nothing but her imagination, but Penny didn’t think so. She tended to trust her instincts, found herself wanting to be there in case it turned out Fran was running, too.
Telling herself she was simply looking to see if Fran had returned from her break, Penny headed for the staff quarters and knocked on Fran’s door. When there wasn’t any reply, Penny wiggled the door handle, fully expecting the room to be locked.
When Fran’s door popped open, Penny knew she shouldn’t go in, that she should pull the door closed and walk away. But her curiosity gained the upper hand. Stepping into the room and spinning a circle in what small amount of floorspace was on offer, she could see nothing out of the ordinary. The arm of a shirt poked from the wardrobe and Penny opened the cupboard, fully intending to do nothing more than push the material back inside before she closed the door. But Fran had some lovely clothes in that wardrobe and Penny couldn’t help herself, fingering her way through them. Flimsy blouses, smart trousers, a beautiful peacock blue kaftan laced with silver thread and sequins, strappy sandals. It all seemed far too impractical for someone who was travelling. Penny stopped short of picking up Fran’s handbag from the bottom of the wardrobe, although the itch to look inside was hard to ignore.
A buzzing noise made Penny startle, and as she shoved closed the wardrobe door, she saw Fran’s phone on her bedside table. It lit up and Penny couldn’t help but look at the screen, reading the heading of an incoming email before the screen plunged itself back into darkness.
Penny frowned, poking at the phone to see if she could reactivate it. Fingerprint protection meant she had no luck, but what she’d seen on Fran’s phone had been enough to reinforce Penny’s suspicions.
With almost poetic timing, Fran entered the room, a look of confusion engulfing her face when she saw Penny.
‘What are you doing in here?’ Fran said.
‘Looking for you,’ Penny said. ‘Door wasn’t locked.’
‘Yes, it was.’ Fran faltered. ‘At least, I thought it was.’
‘Anyway,’ Penny said, scooping the mobile and squaring up to Fran. ‘What’s more important is how you’re going to explain this.’
She pushed the phone into Fran’s hands and crossed her arms.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Why are you getting emails from Wilding Holdings? Asking for a “Loire Valley Report” … A report about what?’
Fran looked flustered, colour rising as she checked her phone.
Penny asked the million-dollar question.
‘There’s something I want to know, Fran. Who the hell are you?’