Escape to the French Chateau

Chapter 15

Chapter 15

On his way back into the chateau after his call to Natalie, Johnny couldn’t pack away his unsettled feelings. He’d been carrying them with him ever since the day Natalie had confessed to having had an affair. Johnny thought he’d managed to get a handle on them, he thought he knew how to contain the dragon Natalie had released that day. No, not that day, not the day she’d been so angry with Johnny that she’d lost a grip on what she was saying and had blurted the truth. That day was disastrous, obviously. But that wasn’t the day the dragon came into existence. That had happened the day she’d first slept with someone else, whenever that had been, and from that moment the dragon had lain dormant, slowly building its inferno, until the truth had finally come out.

Once the initial disbelief, then the anger, had subsided, he’d spent so much time trying to work out if he could tell when she’d begun the affair. Had there been signs which he’d ignored? Had everyone else seen it, everyone except him? Had he been so engrossed with the business that he’d missed the warning signals? Hadn’t noticed Natalie becoming so disengaged with their relationship that she needed to look elsewhere for validation? How had he failed her so badly?

And each time his mind swirled through these thoughts there was never a resolution. Never an answer. However hard he tried; he couldn’t see how he might have fixed it.

They should have talked more, that much was obvious. Maybe that way they would have headed the danger off, could have grown closer, rather than drifting apart. But it was too late for that, now. The damage was done. The dragon was flying free, ready to set light to even the most innocent of conversations, the smallest of misunderstandings.

Was Natalie serious about trying again?

A big part of Johnny wanted nothing more than to go back to the UK after this trip and move back into number six, Heather Drive. On one level it would be the easiest thing in the world to slide back into his old life, to keep everything on an even keel for Estelle. But Johnny knew, deep down, it was never going to happen.

The trust was gone, and as far as Johnny was concerned, trust was the basis for everything.

He would fight tooth and nail to give Estelle the very best of himself, but that couldn’t include living a lie.

About to take the curving staircase from the foyer to the first floor, Johnny was distracted from his thoughts by a familiar voice.

Fran and another of the housekeeping staff were heading across the elaborate foyer parquet flooring, chatting amicably as they walked.

Johnny paused, one hand on the banister as he watched her. Was he waiting for her to notice him? It would be the easiest thing in the world to call out to her, to engage her in trivial conversation about the cat, her day, the weather.

Truth was, he wanted to find a way to spend more time with her. Hopefully something that didn’t include him scaling ancient ladders or risking further snubs from the feline centre of Fran’s attention.

But what was the point? He was a mess. His life was a mess. He was in danger of disappearing down the funnel of self-pity, no doubt. But knowing the slippery slope of your own despondency and avoiding being sucked into it were two quite different things. And the last thing Fran needed was to burden herself with his nonsense.

He turned and continued up the staircase.

Fran caught sight of Johnny as she was about to head through the anteroom adjacent to the dining room with Penny, who was in search of Harry.

‘Catch up with you later,’ she said to Penny, sharply changing direction and crossing the foyer, taking the steps two at a time until she came level with Johnny.

‘How’s your hand?’ Fran said. The words came out too fast, all of a jumble, because Johnny looked distracted, surprised by her appearance.

‘Sorry, I was miles away.’ Johnny observed his palm, then swung it around for her to see. ‘It’s fine. No gangrene yet, so it’s looking good.’

‘That’s a relief.’ Fran relaxed, and slowly Johnny’s expression began to lose some of its intensity, a smile spreading across his features.

‘How’s the cat?’ he asked.

‘He’s fine, too. Doesn’t seem at all mentally scarred by a six-foot bloke falling on him.’

‘Six one,’ Johnny said. ‘Just for the record.’

Fran grinned. Stopped herself from making a joke about every inch being very important when she realised the strong likelihood of it coming out sounding inappropriate.

‘You’re sure your hand is OK?’ she said, confused by her need to keep their chance interaction going.

‘It’s fine, I promise.’ His gaze stayed fixed on her, the gentle crease deepening between his eyes. A beat of time passed in which neither of them spoke, and Fran was only vaguely aware of people passing them on the staircase. Then Johnny drew in a long breath. ‘Perhaps I should be double-checking you’re OK – after all, it wasn’t only the cat who ended up squashed. Any bruising? Cracked ribs?’

She grinned. ‘No.’

‘Well, that’s good.’

Fran expected Johnny to break away from the conversation, to continue on his trajectory up the staircase. Instead, he remained on the step, his uninjured hand bouncing gently on the banister.

Fran didn’t much want to move, either. It was as though they both had more to say but didn’t know what it was. In the end Johnny broke the silence.

‘Can I ask you something?’ he said.

‘Sure.’

‘Have you got any time off in the next couple of days?’

‘Why?’

‘Random thought, but the thing is, I want to do a bit of a road trip, visit a few of the chateaux in the area while I’m here. The rest of my group are happy lounging around by the pool. I don’t blame them, it’s just I wanted to see a bit of the heritage, the scenery. And I wondered if you’d like to …’ He shook his head. ‘Forget it. You’ve probably got a million things you’d rather be doing.’

‘I am quite busy,’ she said, genuinely surprised by his invitation, if it was an invitation – he hadn’t completed the sentence. ‘But I should have some free shifts coming up. Are you asking me if I’d like to come with you?’

‘I guess I am. After we bonded so well over the ladder incident, I couldn’t think of anyone I’d rather tour the area with.’

The smile was back, and Fran had to grin, too. ‘Well, that’s probably the weirdest qualifying factor for being invited on a trip I’ve ever heard. Which ones are you planning on seeing? I’d love to see the one Walt Disney visited. Supposedly he based his magical kingdom castle on it.’

‘I know the one you mean. It’s called Chateau d’Ussé, I think. Although they all look like Disney castles, if you ask me.’

‘I agree. But Chateau d’Ussé is meant to be utterly spectacular. I did ask Penny if she fancied a visit – she works here too, but she didn’t seem all that keen. More interested in Harry Potter than history, I think. And I’m not sure we have the same days off, anyway. I think I’m free tomorrow, once we’ve serviced the rooms – but I’d need to double-check.’

‘Tomorrow works for me.’

‘That’s great. I was planning to hire a taxi to get to a few chateaux, but that would have cost a fortune. This works out much better.’ As she said it, Fran realised how it sounded.

‘I can put on a beret and smoke a few Gauloises on the journey if you like?’

She grimaced. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry. Speaking without filtering first is one of my specialities.’

‘Being honest, you mean?’

Fran wasn’t sure they were exactly the same thing, but she nodded anyway. ‘I suppose so.’

With a promise to confirm timings once she’d spoken to Penny, Johnny continued upstairs, and Fran headed for the kitchens, suddenly keen to confide in her new friend.

Even though Fran wasn’t interested in betting, she still knew the odds for predicting the following day’s weather wouldn’t have been worth putting money on. It dawned hot and bright … again … the air almost brittle in the dry heat and working through their jobs that morning had furnished Penny with plenty of time to rib Fran about her upcoming trip with Johnny.

‘I don’t think I should go,’ Fran said for the millionth time, exasperated when Penny arched her eyebrows and pursed her lips.

‘Why on earth not? You keep telling me it’s just a road trip, a convenient way to go see one of the biggest chateaux in the region. That Johnny is just doing you a favour. So, what’s the problem?’

‘No, that’s all true. It’s just that …’

‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve got a bit of a thing for the guy.’

‘No. I haven’t.’ Fran pressed the back of her fingers against one of the cheeks she imagined had turned an unflattering shade of crimson.

Penny made a bad job of stifling a laugh.

‘I haven’t,’ Fran added, with more force this time. ‘Daughter at home, remember?’

‘I remember.’ Penny set down her dusting cloth and sighed. ‘You’re right. I mean, it’s not like there’s any point in finding out his relationship status, is there? He’s only here for a few days, you’re only here for a short while … What’s the point, right?’

‘Exactly.’ Fran folded a final towel with a decisive movement, pleased that Penny had got the message.

‘And even if it did turn out that he’s a single dad, there’s still no way either of you would consider wanting to spend time together, is there? Driving all the way to see some old building together? That would be so pointless and futile. No, hang on a minute … Hold the front page, because that’s exactly what you are going to do.’ Penny’s eyebrows arched again, accompanied by a sly grin.

‘You are impossible.’ Fran couldn’t help smiling, too.

With the room complete, and their jobs worked through, Penny took control of the cleaning trolley, chivvying Fran on her way.

‘It’s going to take you a while to get yourself presentable, after all,’ she said with a knowing look.

‘Thanks very much,’ Fran said. Penny’s grin reinforced her own amusing subtext.

‘Final words of advice from one girl to another …’ Penny said as she pushed the trolley away. ‘Always keep it wrapped. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Which, to be honest, leaves you a particularly wide remit.’ Penny winked, and then her expression suddenly turned serious. ‘Enjoy your day, Fran, is what I’m trying to say. Don’t overthink it and live in the moment.’

Her hair was still damp from the shower as Fran headed for her rendezvous with Johnny. He looked the picture of relaxation leaning against the grey Mercedes, languid in a short-sleeved shirt and lightweight chinos.

‘All ready?’ he said.

Another wave of uncertainty flooded Fran; she could feel heat stealing its way up her neck as she glanced at her choice of clothes. Loose-fitting draw-string cotton trousers, bright red and dotted with egg-yolk yellow depictions of elephants, with a generous white T-shirt tucked in at the waist, all teamed with some strappy tan sandals – Fran hoped she hadn’t overdone the casual look.

It had taken her ages to decide on what to wear, flip-flopping between a choice of tops which she’d decided, in the end, sent the wrong message. Tight or strappy were sidelined. Regardless of what Penny had intimated, Fran didn’t want to look like she was on a date. Didn’t want him to think she thought she was on a date. But now, standing beside his luxurious hire car in her favourite but most relaxed selection of an outfit, she was worried her choice might make her look like she was on her way to clown school for her inaugural lesson.

‘I think so.’ She clutched her generous bag, stuffed with a water bottle and some factor 30, alongside her purse and phone.

‘All right then, hop in.’ He gestured to the passenger side and slipped into the driver’s seat; door already wide to allow the interior to cool. With both seat belts secured, Johnny glanced at her. ‘Destination of choice is Chateau d’Ussé, right?’

‘If that’s OK with you.’

With the engine purring, and Chateau les Champs d’Or growing smaller in the rear-view mirror, a cloud of dust billowing from the gravelled driveway, Johnny fiddled with the satnav and set a course.

Out on tarmac roads, and with the air conditioning set cool enough to deceive them about the soaring outside temperature, Fran began to relax.

‘You speak good French,’ she said, glancing at his profile as he concentrated on a series of bends in the road. She’d been waiting for the right moment to ask, but instead it had blurted out. ‘Are you fluent?’

Johnny shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t say I’m fluent. Maybe fluid.’ He grinned, then slid a sideways glance at her before concentrating on the road again. ‘Sorry, one of those stupid jokes which came about when I realised my aptitude for languages. I enjoy messing around with words but I’m not perfect, so I termed myself fluid, not fluent.’

‘You speak languages other than French, too?’ Fran’s focus shifted from the dry verges of the passing countryside as she turned in her seat, attention settling on Johnny.

‘Italian fairly well, I would say. A decent amount of Spanish. That’s quite an easy one, because unlike our language, which breaks every rule ever made multiple times and in tons of different ways, Spanish tends to stick to its guns. So, it’s easier to get a grip on. I also know a bit of German.’

‘Are you serious?’ Fran was genuinely impressed, but the frown flitting across his face suggested she’d expressed it badly.

‘Do you think I’m making it up?’

‘Not at all.’ She didn’t doubt he was telling the truth, instead she was battling with a sudden desire to ask him to say something in all those different languages. Living in Lyme Regis again for the past few years, with plenty of foreign visitors flooding the town almost year-round, Fran had developed a guilty pleasure. Doing her best to guess what language people were speaking as she listened in to their conversations. A peeping Tom, but with her ears, rather than her eyes. And she didn’t think it really even counted as an intrusion, not when she couldn’t even understand what was being said.

‘What about your family? What do they think?’ Fran said, immediately regretting the question. It was way too personal.

‘My brother Noel struggles to communicate in anything other than sarcasm, so he’s unimpressed. In all honesty, it’s not something that comes up much. Languages are just something I’ve always been able to do. Nothing more, nothing less.’

‘Surely there must be someone who appreciates your skills?’ Fran hadn’t really wanted to know what his brother thought, that hadn’t been the kind of family she meant.

‘Like a support group, or something?’ He looked amused. ‘My name’s Johnny Taylor and I’m an accent addict, that kind of thing?’

‘No. I meant someone close. A partner.’ She swallowed hard at the thought of how much she wanted to know.

The smile faded and Johnny drew in a sharp breath. ‘Not any longer.’

‘I’m sorry, none of my business.’ Fran bit at her lip, she’d pushed to know and now she’d overstepped.

‘No. It’s fine. We’re getting divorced and … It’s just complicated. Working out what’s best for Estelle.’ He shook his head. ‘Unchartered territory.’

‘Estelle?’

‘My daughter.’ The smile crept back across his face as he pulled his wallet from the central console and flipped it open before moving his hand back to the steering wheel. A gorgeous little girl with wild curls and brown eyes smiled out of the photograph at Fran.

‘She’s very pretty,’ Fran said. The little girl’s smile was the very image of Johnny, the openness of it making Fran grin, too.

‘She’s also nearly four and already a proper handful,’ Johnny added. ‘Just like her—’

He clammed up, stopping himself from comparing his child to his wife, Fran assumed. A muscle twitched in his cheek as he fought to regain control.

‘I’m so sorry, Johnny,’ she said.

‘Yes. So am I.’ He pulled in a decisive breath, turning to glance at her again. ‘How about you? Please tell me that your life isn’t like mine where it feels as if you’re a box of puzzle pieces that don’t seem to fit together?’

‘Oh, I’m pretty sure half my puzzle pieces are missing,’ Fran said, smiling at the amusement blossoming in his expression.

‘I’m told I’m a great listener, if you want to talk about it,’ he said.

As the kilometres passed, Johnny listened to her truncated life story, the lack of a father when she grew up, the loss of her mother. Her love of reworking vintage furniture to give it a new life, a new purpose. He’d seemed genuinely impressed when she’d shown him photos of the pieces she’d completed, holding the phone for him to take snatched looks in between focusing on the road. Fran gave a bland version of how she’d ended up working at the chateau, staring through the window as she’d hidden the details far more efficiently than she had managed with Penny. Unsure why she still felt the need to keep it all so close to her chest.

Fran had done her best to gloss over her one and only attempt at a long-term relationship, even though her experience with Victor had damaged or destroyed a fair few of her puzzle pieces. She appreciated the way Johnny had likened life to a jigsaw puzzle; it made a lot of sense. She also liked the way he hadn’t pushed her for extra information, seemed completely at ease with whatever she felt comfortable to give. The way he’d seemed to realise when she had come to the end of what she was willing to talk about, picking up from her story with an explanation of the way his business had come about, because of his love of wines, his determination to search out excellent vintages for people to enjoy.

Fran remembered journeys like this with Victor. Except they’d never been anything like this. With him everything was noisy, busy, always loud music or conversation. Victor would take calls on speakerphone and ignore her for long stretches of time. Or he would expect her to be able to explain away any one of the many dissatisfactions in his life. There were demands for refreshments, or quibbles with the satnav, or time checks. Constant noise and tension. Constant subtle criticism of everything, so subtle that Fran hadn’t even been aware of how often it had been aimed at her.

It had taken Fran so long to work out what was hiding behind all the noise.

By comparison, this journey was calm. Johnny drove in the same way as he seemed to approach everything, with a gentle humour and good-natured acceptance. As though he had all the time in the world.

His attitude remained unchanged when they arrived at the extraordinarily grand Chateau d’Ussé. Fran was expecting him to take charge, to decide what they would see and how much time would be allowed. It took Fran a while to recognise the difference. Johnny wasn’t Victor. Johnny wasn’t here under sufferance because she’d twisted his arm to make the journey. Johnny wasn’t instantly judgmental about the state of the car park, or how far they had to walk, or how much everything cost. Fran insisted on paying entry for them both, as a thank you for his having driven them to the chateau, but it still took her a while to notice the lack of a mantle of control. A while to appreciate the fact that she was free to appreciate her surroundings.

Occasional glances reassured her that Johnny was also enjoying the visit.

Everything it was possible to imagine a chateau to be, or expect it to have, was there in abundance. Nestling on the edge of a forest, the enormous building was dotted with creamy tower after tower, bright grey slate tiles on the myriad of roof angles catching the sun and shade in equal measures. The inspiration for Sleeping Beauty was everywhere Fran looked.

If she thought she’d had to crick her neck to look at the towers of their own hotel, she’d had no idea what the reality of this place was going to be like. None of the photos she’d seen came anywhere close to doing it justice. Once it was possible to absorb anything past the sheer scale of the buildings, Fran began to notice smaller details. The way the buildings were surrounded by enormous swathes of gravel, and formal gardens. An arched bridge spanning the river. The amazing views of the countryside across the water.

Inside, they’d walked through the musty cellars, vaulted ceilings carved out of the local limestone rock. Ancient wine barrels lined one wall, fascinating Johnny and holding his attention until Fran had startled him when she’d noticed the first of the wax figures by the original wine press and grabbed his arm. Her consternation made Johnny laugh, and the joke continued as they toured part of the main building, where wax figures proliferated.

‘They’re everywhere,’ Fran said, the horror in her voice only partly in jest.

‘They’re truly terrible,’ Johnny replied, pointing to a group. ‘Look at that lot. Like something from a zombie movie.’

‘Oh, God. Now you’ve said that I’m not sure I can stay in here much longer. I keep thinking I see them move.’

Johnny chuckled. ‘Exit’s over there. If they start groaning, make a run for it.’

Fran had wanted to take some time admiring the furniture, had wanted to see if she could tell which pieces were original and which had been reupholstered, or had needed restoration. If the work had been done well enough, she supposed she wouldn’t be able to tell, but now all she wanted to do was get outside into the fresh air, to bask in the heat of the afternoon sun, where there was no danger of being close to any reanimated corpses. Logic had scarpered as soon as mention of zombies had been made. She said as much to Johnny, and after they’d enjoyed an ice cream in the sunshine, they both conceded they should probably head back to Chateau les Champs d’Or, anyway.

With a little under fifty kilometres left of their return journey, Johnny glanced across.

‘Fran, would you mind if we took a bit of a detour? There’s something I really want to show you.’