Escape to the French Chateau

Chapter 17

Chapter 17

They continued checking out the rest of the first-floor rooms, most of them leading from a corridor deeper inside the building. There was another staircase leading up to further levels, and even more rooms, but Johnny’s enthusiasm had waned.

He had wanted so badly to lean down and kiss Fran in that doorway. She’d been so close to him, close enough for him to inhale the sweet notes of her perfume and see the way her hair curled around the ear behind which she’d tucked it, the way the curl brushed at one of her little silver stud earrings.

Never mind kissing her – he’d wanted to back her up against the door frame, run his fingers through that impossibly glossy chestnut hair, press their bodies close and promise her the world. Promise her everything he could humanly give her. Like he’d done with Natalie.

But he’d clearly failed to give Natalie what she needed. So, what made him think he’d do any better for Fran? What made him think it would be any different?

He’d forced himself to pull away from her, focusing on investigating the next room along the hallway, walking away before he made a colossal mistake. There was no way he was going to ruin another woman’s life. No way he was going to put himself through the heartache all over again.

This impromptu visit … this whole day … it had been a mistake.

Back at the Chateau les Champs d’Or, Johnny felt the tightness of the muscles in his jaw as he went through the motions, thanked Fran for her company, smiled and said he hoped they’d catch up later. Hoped she’d enjoyed the afternoon, hoped when she found Red again that all was well with the cat. Gave her, in effect, the gentlest brush-off he could manage.

Johnny watched her walk away. He’d made the right decision. If he kept telling himself so, he was sure he’d believe it, eventually. His real life beckoned. Dreams of a new relationship, a new life at Chateau des Rêves were just that. Dreams. Time to get things back on track.

Johnny headed for the bar – he needed something strong to settle himself down. Cognac. With plenty of ice.

With his order setting the bartender to work, Johnny glanced around. Close to the open doors at the far end of the room, he could see Ed and Ricky, facing someone seated in a high wingback chair. The stretch of leg Johnny could see was definitely Noel’s, as was the level of attention with which the seated man held the other two’s gaze.

With the glass of V.S.O.P. in his hand, Johnny headed for the group.

None of the men noticed his approach, Ed and Ricky fixed on whatever it was Noel was saying. Johnny caught some of his brother’s slurred words as he reached the group.

‘There was always something about her, something I couldn’t ignore. I know it was wrong, but there were feelings – it went both ways, I was sure of it. Boys, there’s no way I would have gone there, no way I would have messed with Johnny’s marriage otherwise.’ Noel paused. ‘And now? It’s all gone to shit, and I don’t know what to do.’

The look of horror on Ricky’s face as he clocked Johnny’s arrival, the scrabble to let Noel know who was standing right behind his chair, it all told Johnny that he hadn’t misheard.

His stomach dropped, the sweat in his armpits turning cold and clammy as the impact of those words and what they were likely to have meant hit Johnny with the force of a blast of cold water. Draining his drink in a single mouthful, he clattered the tumbler onto the low table and turned to Noel.

‘You are fucking joking me, aren’t you?’ Johnny’s question was rhetorical. ‘Outside, Noel. Right now.’

With no idea what was going to come next, Johnny bundled Noel out through the bifold doors, across the patio and away into the gardens.

‘What the hell, Johnny. Why are we out here?’

Because what he’d just heard could be about to take a sledgehammer to everything Johnny thought he understood about his life, and he didn’t want it happening in front of a roomful of people.

Johnny shoved at Noel, sending him into a low lavender bush. Branches and twigs popped and cracked under Noel’s feet as he fought to remain upright. He was way more than three sheets to the wind as he stumbled around, then turned his lack of balance into a stupid little dance.

‘Was it you?’ Johnny said, ice cold as he waited for an answer.

The dancing stopped, and Noel couldn’t look him in the eye.

‘Was it you with Natalie?’ Johnny repeated the question, with as much clarity as he could bear to voice.

‘You weren’t supposed to find out.’

Johnny could barely breathe. The idea of his wife and his brother together was strangling him. ‘What the hell does that mean? You and my wife have an affair and the only thing you’re concerned about is the fact that I found out?’

‘We couldn’t help it; we both caught such strong feelings.’ Noel sniffed, wobbled a little before regaining his balance.

‘And what about my feelings? What about Estelle? You’re not living on some reality show like Love Island, Noel, this is real life. My life. Your life.’ Johnny was having trouble processing any of it. ‘Christ alive, what about having one another’s back? When did that concept leave the building?’

‘It’s been tearing me apart,’ Noel said, his chin dipping as he looked away.

‘Tearing you apart?’ Johnny’s temper bubbled, then erupted. ‘You are a fucking arsehole.’

Johnny let fly with his fists, pummelling in the direction of Noel’s face, making enough contact to feel the force of the impact ricocheting through the splinter wounds on his palm. But even 99 per cent rat-faced, Noel was still a better fighter than Johnny, a blow landing squarely on Johnny’s jaw, jabbed upwards with enough force to make his teeth clatter together. His ears exploded with a squeal of sound, and he juddered backwards, becoming aware of other hands, other voices, people who weren’t him or Noel coming between them and pulling them apart.

Penny was so fit to pop with gossip by the time she found Fran, she was bobbing up and down on the spot.

‘Did you hear?’

‘Hear what?’ Fran said. After a fruitless search for Red, she was in the staff kitchen, dangling a tea bag in a mug of boiling water. Living life to the full as always, Fran knew how to make the most of an evening off.

‘About the fight?’

‘What fight?’

‘Between two of the guests. They were in the gardens, punching hell out of one another. Some of the other guests broke them up. Apparently, they were really going at it.’

‘Who was it?’ Fran asked, only mildly interested.

‘Not sure. I didn’t see it. Harry says they were definitely Brits, but other than that he didn’t know any details, either. Annoying,’ Penny added, wrestling the top from the biscuit tin, and selecting a couple of digestives. ‘I’ve been trying to work out who it might have been from our current supply of guests, but the only group of men I’ve come up with are the ones on your table six. Johnny Taylor’s group.’

Fran frowned. She hadn’t processed her feelings about the day she’d spent with Johnny, hadn’t managed to make sense out of what had – and what hadn’t – happened. Either way, it didn’t sound like something Johnny would do. But then, what did she know? She hardly knew Johnny well enough to gauge his reactions.

‘Why would they be fighting?’ Penny asked.

‘I have no idea.’ Which was the truth. Fran seemed further away than ever from understanding anything to do with her life. Or maybe life in general. People remained a mystery.

On the other hand, cats were straightforward. If they wanted something, they came and sought it out. Otherwise, they did their own thing. She supposed it was a good sign that Red hadn’t been hanging around, waiting for her, when she’d returned from her afternoon out. Perhaps that meant he wasn’t so desperately hungry any longer.

With nothing to add to Penny’s haul of gossip, Fran had ended the evening under the assumption she wouldn’t ever know anything more about the brawling guests.

However, the following morning Fran was on housekeeping duty without Penny. She was taking care of the west wing, doing the whole round solo for the first time since she’d arrived at the hotel.

Reaching the final room on her list, she left the trolley full of clean towels in the corridor, knocking hard on the honeymoon turret door, then opening it with her master keycard. Before she ascended the turret staircase, she raised her voice to herald the arrival of ‘housekeeping’ in case Johnny was still in the room. Not that she was concerned about seeing him, as such, but she didn’t want to burst in unannounced.

When there was no reply, Fran loaded up with fresh towels, deciding to carry them up first and then return for the box of cleaning equipment.

The uppermost curve of the stairs led directly into the bedroom suite, and Fran got no further than the top step, hovering there as she took in the scene. The debris. The bedsheets were a twisted mess, wardrobe doors swung wide with the contents piled haphazardly on the dresser. Johnny’s grip bag was out and open, a tie slithering from its belly like a snake. On the table was the remnants of half-eaten room service – presumably ordered the previous evening and needing to be cleared. An empty bottle of red wine stood next to a single glass, dregs clinging to the curve of the rim. And seated beyond all of that, with his back to the room and staring out of the window, was Johnny.

Fran drew closer, breath hitching as she took in the burgeoning bruising on one side of his jaw. Penny had been right after all; the fight had involved Johnny.

‘Are you OK?’ she asked.

Johnny pulled in a hard breath, seeming to notice her for the first time.

‘Not really.’ He held her gaze for a beat of time, then turned back to the window as a glint of moisture gathered at the corner of his eye.

Had he been crying? Fran floundered for what to say. The overriding desire to drop the towels she held in favour of hugging him was strong, but wildly inappropriate. What the hell had happened?

In the end, Fran opted for discretion.

‘I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll leave you alone.’ Unlike their first meeting, this time Fran didn’t worry about taking the towels into the bathroom, instead she piled them on the edge of the unmade bed and headed for the stairs. ‘I’ll come back later.’

‘No. Fran, don’t. Please don’t go.’