Escape to the French Chateau

Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Fran didn’t mean to sound as though she was back-pedalling on her part in Johnny’s plans, but it landed that way, if the dip in his expression was any measure.

‘You’re not interested, then?’ he said.

‘Interested in what, exactly?’ Fran’s thoughts tumbled, one after another. And perhaps she was back-pedalling. She was only beginning to find her feet with a newly discovered father, was still trying to gauge what all of that meant. And although meeting Johnny had allowed her a glimpse into an aspect of her life Fran had been under the impression was going to remain void for the foreseeable, the possibility of a new relationship wasn’t what was on offer, was it? Johnny simply wanted to employ her renovation skills. Seemed prepared to offer her a full-time role helping to bring Chateau des Rêves back to life, when her skillset in that respect was sketchy, at best.

With only limited experience in the field of renovation, did she want to come here on a permanent basis, or even stay in France for an extended period, taking on a job she might be woefully unprepared to complete? Had he really meant it when he’d suggested she might then consider taking on the housekeeping side of the wine-tasting holiday business – and was that something she was even interested in doing?

With the mammoth task ahead of him should he choose to buy the chateau, it sounded more as though he needed to be looking for a business partner to join forces with, not enlist the dodgy help of some random woman he’d only just met.

She might feel a gut-deep, inexplicable sense of belonging in this dilapidated building, and with this person, but she’d gone on gut instinct before, and everything had gone terribly wrong.

Johnny sighed. ‘No. I get it. I just thought—’

‘You’re not being fair,’ she said, exasperation edging into her voice as Johnny’s shoulders slumped and he made to turn away. ‘I don’t know what you’re asking of me. What do I think about what, exactly? Precisely what am I supposed to be interested or not interested in?’

Johnny turned back, hauling in a huge breath as he studied her. Then he nodded.

‘You’re right, I’m being utterly unfair.’ He headed for the doors. ‘Until I sort out my own shit, I’m in no position to expect anything from anyone else, least of all from you. I apologise, Fran.’

Before Fran could reply, Johnny hauled open the door and Henri re-entered, expression animated as he waited for Johnny to speak.

‘I’m not going to proceed any further at the moment, Monsieur Blanc. Thank you so much for showing us around, but we won’t waste any more of your time.’

Henri Blanc’s expression faltered, but he was quick to reinstate his smile.

‘Mon plaisir. It has been delightful to meet both of you and I hope you will take some time to reconsider.’ He sidled up to Johnny, as though to offer him a confidence. ‘I wish you to know the owners are willing to be very flexible on price. They are eager to sell. I’m not supposed to mention this, but …’ He shook his head. ‘You both look very much at home in Chateau des Rêves – the Chateau of Dreams I think you would call it. I would be kicking my own shin if I didn’t do my best for the sellers, and for you.’

The Chateau of Dreams. The irony was almost too much to bear, and Fran had to turn away.

‘You change your mind, or need any further information, you phone me immédiatement.’ Henri clasped Johnny’s hand, then hers, before he took his leave.

The journey back to the hotel was heavy with silence. Even though something had shifted in the atmosphere between the two of them, Fran didn’t feel uncomfortable seated beside Johnny. There was quiet, but not the horrible, loaded silence of a journey with a pissed-off Victor. Somehow the fact that she’d called Johnny out hadn’t angered him, instead it had saddened her. He was clearly lost in thought, perhaps spending the time contemplating what he wanted from his future.

The quiet solemnity inside the car, and the hiss from the tyres on hot tarmac, lulled Fran into her own self-reflection. What did she want Johnny to have offered her? What would it take for her to cash in what little she owned in the UK and make the move across the Channel? What reassurances did she need in order to do something so bold?

And where did Bill Wilding fit into all of this?

‘The thing is my renovation skills are limited. It’s just a hobby. I only do furniture,’ she said, piercing the quiet with what sounded like a random statement, once she’d said it out loud.

‘I had no intention of asking you to renovate the whole chateau,’ Johnny replied, gaze fixed on the road ahead. ‘Is that what you thought I meant?’

‘I don’t know. And that’s the problem.’ Fran sighed. ‘You’re not the only one with stuff going on, Johnny.’

‘No. I don’t suppose I am.’

‘Asking someone to totally change direction and move to a foreign country on a whim? You do understand that’s a lot to expect, don’t you?’

‘A whim?’

‘I need clarity. I already have a job. A life.’

‘Fair enough.’

‘Somehow looking around with that agent made it all feel very real, you know? And I’m not sure I understand what you want. I’m not sure you understand what you want. Not right now, anyway.’

They lapsed into silence again and the scrunching of the hotel’s gravelled drive came as a relief, a chance for Fran to make her escape from a situation she wanted to run from and cling to, all at the same time.

Back in her staff quarters, Fran attempted to anchor herself by putting some final details in the report she intended to send to Wilding Holdings. It was time to focus on the life she already had, the life she was only beginning to get her head around, a life in which she was no longer alone but instead had a father. A father who had offered her an opportunity for travel and experiences outside anything Fran had expected from her life.

Reading back through the report, she tidied a few paragraphs, softening some of the comments she’d made about the conditions faced by the staff. Making sure she’d included what she’d discovered about the issues with the locals and the lack of support for local businesses, and after she’d double-checked the document, Fran emailed it to the Wilding Holdings’ server address and set her phone down. At least she was on track with one aspect of her life.

Once she’d changed back into uniform, Fran went in search of Penny. She’d left her on a negative vibe and wanted to tell her that she’d mentioned both her and Harry in her report, had done her best to stress what a good job the staff were all doing under difficult circumstances. Fran was sure Penny would be pleased and was hopeful that it would open a line of discussion leading to whatever had upset her.

There was no sign of Penny in the kitchen. Harry and Louis were both hard at work prepping for the dinner service – Fran didn’t think she’d once set foot in the kitchen without seeing the two chefs head down and knives out – but Louis appeared distracted, his attention straying to the radio, his hands falling still as he paused to listen to the insistent, unrelenting voice.

‘Have either of you seen—’

Fran didn’t get to complete her question. Louis waved his knife at her, an extension of his hand, a shiny, sharp finger to quieten her as he continued to listen.

‘Merde. If they aren’t careful, the fires will get away from them,’ he said, eventually.

‘Fires?’ Fran looked between the two men, searching for an answer.

Harry answered her, his tone low and serious. ‘They think the first one was probably someone’s discarded cigarette, maybe thrown from a passing car, but everything’s so dry that the fire managed to take a serious hold before anyone realised what was happening. It took out an entire area of farmland not far from here. Another one got too close for comfort to a small village. Nobody got hurt, but apparently some sheds and outbuildings were lost before the firefighters got there.’

‘Les pompiers,’ Fran said without thinking, the corner of her mouth quirking up.

‘Oui,’ Louis replied. ‘Bravo. Les pompiers. Mais …’ He waved his knife at the radio again, then shook his head as he turned his attention back to his work.

Fran frowned, glancing at Harry for clarification.

‘I don’t know. I suppose it’s been so hot and dry for weeks now, if wildfires and accidental fires start popping up all over the place, they’re worried about the authorities being able to cope. They’re urging everyone to be vigilant, be extra careful with barbecues, not to light bonfires, stuff like that.’

‘Les pyromanes.’

Louis’ words had Harry pulling a face.

‘What did he say?’ Fran asked.

‘I’m guessing he means pyromaniacs.’

‘Yes.’ Louis nodded to reinforce his reply. ‘It has happened before, when we have weather like this. Fire breaks out which is an accident, but some people enjoy the flames too much, you know? They decide to make the fires more, bigger. They light their own. It is a big worry.’

‘But we’re safe here, aren’t we?’ Fran said. The stream flowing through the grounds to the front of the chateau must go some way to protect the building from the possibility of fire from that direction. Although, as she spoke, Fran frowned. The long, unkempt grass at the rear of the property where she’d found Red, its endless swathes leading to the neighbouring farmland with their vineyards stretching away into the distance, the pockets of woodland, the dry vegetation in every direction, even the meadows chateau-side of the stream – that was all flammable.

Louis gave a dramatic shrug. ‘Chateau les Champs d’Or has been here for many centuries. I do not worry for this place.’

‘Do either of you know where Penny is?’

Harry caught Fran’s gaze. He looked conflicted, upset even – a long way from his usual demeanour whenever Penny was mentioned. For a moment, Fran thought he was going to say something, then he shook his head and went back to his work, lips tight and expression serious. With the conversation seemingly at an end, Fran headed out to get ready for another waitressing shift. If she didn’t find Penny beforehand, she supposed she would be sure to see her in the dining room.

Harry was also wondering where Penny was. He wished she hadn’t shot away after their conversation, but it was very her to rush off at a hundred miles an hour without waiting for him to try to explain further.

In a strange way, she’d almost done him a favour. It had been bad enough trying to juggle with his thoughts in order to give her some kind of an insight into his behaviour, and he was well aware the explanation he had managed to give her had been a long way away from what she wanted to hear. It was killing him to disappoint Penny. He hadn’t realised how much he wanted to make her happy until the moment he’d told her about Sophie. Harry didn’t think he’d ever be able to erase her expression from his memory or bury the way she’d done her best to remain composed while she managed to ask valid questions about his life back home.

He wished he’d been able to give her some definitive answers. Up until he’d met Penny, decisions in Harry’s life had been messy enough, but at least he’d been sure about Sophie. Or rather, he thought he’d been sure about her. There wasn’t anything about Sophie which had ever made Harry question his situation with her. They’d always got on, she was cute. It made sense.

So, it had come as a shock to him that getting to know Penny – even though she was exasperating at times – was like being handed something you hadn’t even realised you needed, but within no time was so central you weren’t sure it would be possible to live without it. Like imagining what life would be like without something as fundamental as a mobile phone, even though logic dictated people had managed to communicate perfectly well before their invention. Not that he was comparing her to a piece of tech – it was far more complicated than that. But while the analogy might be weak, the sentiment wasn’t.

The idea of heading on somewhere new, somewhere Penny wouldn’t be, didn’t seem to compute. What if she followed through with her comment about leaving Chateau les Champs d’Or and he never saw her again? Harry didn’t play many computer games, but that thought was like unlocking a new fear, rather than a new weapon.

With a hectic dinner service just beginning, Harry had plenty to keep him occupied on a physical plane, but the food wasn’t what was on his mind. Decisions. He had to start making some serious decisions, before it was too late.

Johnny opted for room service again that evening, ordering a single glass of wine rather than a bottle this time. As he forked up what remained of an excellent risotto, he stared through the window.

Fran had been right. In his messed-up desperation, he’d somehow expected her to agree to what amounted to throwing herself and everything in her life high into the air, then waiting to see how it all landed. It was selfish for him to expect anyone else to have such a cavalier attitude towards their life. Just because his existence was a total dumpster fire right now didn’t have to mean anything to anyone else. This was his mess, and it was up to him to sort it out.

And while Fran would make her own decisions about what she wanted, or didn’t want, perhaps it was time for Johnny to be clearer about what he wanted. The evening had brought him back around to the realisation that making some fundamental changes to his life was inescapable. More than that, it was time to do so. The events of the last few days had given Johnny the wake-up call he’d been needing for some time – possibly for the whole of his adult life.

And nestling close to the top of his shiny new to-do list was creating a new business in Chateau des Rêves.

Fran’s reaction during the viewing with Henri Blanc had thrown Johnny off-kilter, had caused him to pull back. If Fran hadn’t given him a dose of reality, Johnny would almost certainly have put in an offer on the chateau. In effect, she had given him some breathing space, some time to cool off. The time, and her reticence, had been a useful test. A test of whether he was considering Chateau des Rêves, and the whole move to France, for the right reasons – or whether he was desperately grabbing at the place, at Fran, to deflect his own sadness.

With his plate scraped clean, Johnny settled his laptop on his knee. Time to get serious. Time to stamp out his burgeoning emotional attachment to a woman he’d only just met – a woman for whom his feelings might be nothing more than a rebound from his break-up from Natalie.

Time to prove to Fran that what he was offering her was legitimate, was a real and potentially successful business partnership opportunity. Because whichever way he looked at it, Chateau des Rêves didn’t work for him without Fran. And if all Fran was looking for was a business relationship – well, he’d happily grab at it with both hands … and ignore the pain from the splinter wounds, which, just for the record, still hurt.

Johnny almost slipped away to his memories of that afternoon under the canopy of the huge oak with the split trunk, to the intense sensation of being alive and alongside a fantastic woman. With a shake of his head, Johnny brought himself back to the task in hand. Back to proving how serious he was about making Chateau des Rêves work.

Fran wasn’t expecting to see Madame Beaufoy in the dining room, especially not in the middle of a busy dinner service. Even less was she expecting the manager to gesture for Penny to join them, a gesture Penny didn’t seem at all surprised by.

‘Fran, may I have a word?’

‘Of course, Madame Beaufoy,’ Fran said, allowing herself to be led away from the dining room, wondering why Penny shadowed their progress.

Once they were all ensconced in Madame Beaufoy’s office, the older woman offered them chairs, waiting until Fran slid onto one of the utilitarian wooden seats before she moved behind her desk.

‘I have a question I need to ask you,’ she said, settling herself into her swivel chair.

‘Certainly,’ Fran replied, glancing between Penny and Madame Beaufoy, wondering why Penny didn’t look as confused as she felt.

‘It may seem a strange request, but could you please confirm your name. I understand you to be Francesca Compton.’

‘Yes, that’s right. Francesca Compton, like I told you.’

Fran had a flashback to her arrival, to her grand undercover scheme. To the rational decision to stick to her real name. When Madame Beaufoy frowned, and glanced at Penny, Fran realised there was something more happening here than a name check. Had Chateau les Champs d’Or already received correspondence relating to the report Fran had only sent to Wilding Holdings a short while ago? Maybe she should have waited to send it, until she’d left the hotel for good.

Madame Beaufoy smiled at her, but it was a guarded expression. A professional smile, far removed from the one Fran had seen when she had complimented her on her blend of coffee.

‘I believe there might be a little more to your visit to Chateau les Champs d’Or than you felt at liberty to disclose when you arrived. Is this true?’

Fran pulled in a breath. There didn’t seem to be much to be gained from continuing the deception.

‘I don’t know if Penny has told you, but yes, there is more to my being here than a fortuitous deployment by the recruitment agency.’

As Fran began to explain her role at Wilding Holdings, Madame Beaufoy looked increasingly confused and Penny interjected.

‘Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything to Madame Beaufoy, but I heard you, Fran. Talking to that cat. I was trying to find you, I wanted to talk about … Well, that doesn’t matter now. But what I’d overheard was something I couldn’t keep a secret from Madame Beaufoy any longer. You’ve been lying to us this whole time.’ Emotion was thick in Penny’s voice. ‘Why didn’t you tell me everything?’

Madame Beaufoy tutted, waving a hand to quiet Penny as a memory of Red stiffening and fixing his attention towards the chateau floated into Fran’s mind. She’d paid no attention at the time, but Red must have been aware someone was there. It was most likely Penny.

Before she had a chance to respond to Penny, Madame Beaufoy said, ‘I deeply apologise for the misunderstanding on your arrival, Miss Wilding. I can only guess at your desire to want to work at our hotel, for which I am hugely grateful, but we must act accordingly and I will have your belongings moved to a superior suite immédiatement.’

Miss Wilding?Fran stared at Penny who dipped her gaze, colour edging onto the alabaster of her cheeks.

‘I’m not … I’m Fran Compton,’ Fran said, her tone edged with disbelief.

‘I’m sorry,’ Penny said, ‘I thought Madame Beaufoy should know. I don’t understand why you pretended to be Fran Compton. Why you lied to me.’ She folded her arms, looking increasingly miserable.

‘No, Penny, really. That is my name.’ Fran was on the back foot, fighting to catch up with what had happened. Fighting to grasp what these women were assuming, that their understanding of who Fran was had utterly altered.

‘And there will be a bottle of one of our finest champagnes chilled and waiting for you, at my personal request and with my deepest apologies,’ Madame Beaufoy said, lifting her phone to set the changes into motion.

‘Madame Beaufoy, please stop. You don’t understand …’

Fran’s words were ignored, the woman already deep in a conversation with someone on the telephone. Instead, Fran turned to Penny.

‘This is exactly what I didn’t want,’ Fran said.

‘Not denying it, then?’ Penny said, her voice hitching. ‘I thought you were my friend, but now I feel so stupid.’

‘I didn’t mean to mislead you,’ Fran said. ‘Penny, you have to believe me.’ Her words sounded weak, because although she hadn’t intended to upset anyone, she had done exactly that. She’d misled them – all of them – and there was no escaping the fact she had done so on purpose.

‘God only knows the point of it all. Was it so you could have some “fun” stories to tell your rich friends?’ Penny mimed inverted commas, then shook her head. ‘If it gets me fired, I don’t much care. There’s nothing keeping me here now, anyway.’

‘Nobody is being fired, Penny.’ Madame Beaufoy had finished her call. ‘This has simply been an unfortunate misunderstanding.’

‘Please let me explain,’ Fran said, but her words fell on deaf ears as Penny shoved her chair away and made a break for the office door. She looked as though she was about to burst into tears and Fran wanted nothing more than to follow her, but Madame Beaufoy had Fran fixed with a hawklike gaze and was clearly waiting for the explanation which she had been promised.