Escape to the French Chateau

Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Fran fixed her gaze on the sheets of paper in her hands, the photo of the house in Lyme Regis shimmying at her as the paper creased with the movement of her fingers. Ammonite Lodge. A place that had crept into her dreams more than once when she was living in her mum’s cramped flat. And with the retail space beneath, Ammonite Lodge would give her endless space to renovate and sell her furniture. There would be space for Red, too. There would be space for ten cats, if she wanted.

Her father was offering her the future she’d decided she’d always wanted, with plenty of room for feline room-mates.

‘If you’re worried about the money, there’s no need to be. Buying the property would be a useful way to offset some tax,’ Bill said. ‘But you could call it your own, and you’d finally have the chance to follow your dreams, rather than feeling somehow indebted to work for Wilding Holdings. Win-win every way you look at it, don’t you agree?’

His glance at her report, still on his laptop screen, and the way his look was accompanied by a frown made Fran pause.

‘You don’t want me to continue working for Wilding Holdings?’ she said.

‘Well, I wouldn’t go that far.’ Bill cleared his throat. ‘Put it this way, your role was only ever going to be temporary. And it’s not as though you have any business background, is it?’

‘No, but I could learn.’

‘But you don’t need to. That’s what I’m trying to say. You’re my daughter, not an employee.’

‘Your sons both work for Wilding Holdings.’ Fran wasn’t sure where the words came from, but something about this exchange felt off-kilter, even though what her father was offering would provide Fran with everything she’d wished for.

‘Well, yes, of course they do …’

‘And I’ve already said that I don’t want anything from you, other than the possibility of a relationship with a father I never knew existed.’

‘Which is exactly what we can have. Don’t you see?’ Bill tapped at the paper she held. ‘Why is it so terrible that I want to provide you with a nice place to live? Why are you making it difficult for me to care for you?’

Because it’s all coming twenty-six years too late, Fran thought. Not that the time delay was his fault, she supposed. But Fran had managed to make her way for twenty-six years without a father’s support.

There was a danger that she might have got this all wrong, that her father was totally genuine in his desire to tuck her safely away in Lyme Regis, quiet and occupied with the renovation of pieces of furniture. Most people would kill to get their hands on a property and a lifestyle like the one he was offering her.

But the fact remained he had flown out to the Loire within twenty-four hours of her having dared to question the way Wilding Holdings operated. That aspects of this meeting had felt as though he was troubleshooting. That she hadn’t seen him in a long time prior to this morning, and he hadn’t once asked her how she was.

‘I can get the paperwork pushed through, have that house ready for you in a couple of weeks if you like. You can use your stay in the south of France to take a proper holiday – we could extend the booking and, needless to say, there’s no need to report on anything. You could probably move straight into Ammonite Lodge when you arrive back home to Lyme Regis. And if you need a loan for buying some pieces of furniture to get yourself started, I’m sure we can work something out. How does that sound?’

It sounded amazing. Anyone would say it’d be ridiculous to refuse such an enticing offer, that she was in danger of looking a gift horse in the mouth, and yet Fran was still hesitating. Eventually, she slid the estate agent’s document onto the smooth polish of the oak conference table.

‘Can I think about all of this?’ she said.

It made no sense for Johnny to be loitering in the hotel foyer, even if he appeared to be settled. He’d been seated there for ages, pretending to read a day-old copy of TheTimes while a cup of coffee went cold beside him, wondering how long it was going to be until Fran and Bill Wilding exited the conference room.

After Madame Beaufoy headed away, chivvying members of staff as she went, Johnny remained fixed to the spot.

Fran had misled him, and not in a small way. It occurred to Johnny that he must be the most spectacular of idiots when it came to judging character. His brother, his wife, and now Fran? An impressive track record of failure.

And also – in fact, this was swilling around far higher up in the turmoil of Johnny’s mind than the fact that he was a total moron – why the hell had Fran been pretending to be a member of the hotel staff at all?

Why had she pretended to him to be someone she wasn’t?

That question stabbed at the base of Johnny’s gut like a dagger in need of some serious time with a sharpening stone. It dug at him, again and again, searching for a way to pierce his skin and shred him.

The way she’d taken the envelope he’d left for her at reception, folding it and pocketing it with barely a glance – Johnny could imagine what she would think when she opened it. God, he was a prat. Fran’s father could buy Chateau des Rêves with the spare fricking change in his back pocket. Bill Wilding wouldn’t have any need for a detailed breakdown of the expected client base, a five- and then ten-year projection for the stages Johnny reckoned it would take for him to fully restore the entire property.

Sweat prickled at Johnny’s neck as he imagined Fran having a laugh at his expense.

Whatever had been going on, whatever her reasons were for pretending to be somebody she wasn’t, Johnny wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of caring. He was only hanging around to tell her to ignore the contents of the envelope – he might even ask for it back – and then he would pull the plug on the entire Chateau des Rêves idea.

If he was lucky, he might be able to get a flight out of Paris Charles de Gaulle later today. Once he was back in the UK, it would be far easier to let Fran go, to let his crazy dreams of Chateau des Rêves and a new life in the Loire fade away.

Bill’s time-checking flicks of his cuff became increasingly persistent, until Fran was under no illusion that he had somewhere else he needed to be. Unsurprising, she supposed, for a man who had built an impressive empire from the ground up. Time had become his most valuable resource.

Unsurprising, too, she supposed, that the moment the clock ticked its way to a predesignated time, her father stood, packing his laptop away and waiting for her to clamber to her feet, too.

After Fran’s non-committal response to the Lyme Regis house, she wondered if she’d offended him. The offer of a comfortable life in Lyme Regis, provided for and guaranteed, was probably the result of careful consideration. Bill Wilding wasn’t the kind of man who did anything without total conviction. Fran had already gleaned how single-minded and focused he was. The options had probably been weighed up and discarded in favour of the best solution long before the offer was made. So, perhaps it hadn’t entered his mind that she might not want to fall into line.

To be honest, Fran wasn’t entirely sure about that herself. Was she bonkers not to be grabbing at his offer with both hands? Before this week, that kind of a scenario had been her end goal. Before this week, she thought it highly likely she would have slipped into that house on the corner of the seafront promenade with a smile on her face and an upholsterer’s mallet ready in her hand.

So, what had changed?

As they exited the conference room, Pierre practically vaulted over the reception desk to offer assistance as required. Bill already had his mobile pressed to an ear, alerting the pilot to his plans for an imminent departure. He swept out through the doors, taking Fran and Pierre with him. On the top step, Pierre paused, a look of confusion crossing his features as he realised he didn’t need to follow them out to the helicopter, instead wishing Bill a safe journey before he retreated inside.

Fran strode across the grass with her father.

‘Will you let me know your decision in the next day or two?’ he said.

‘I will.’ Fran shoved her hands in her pockets, then withdrew them when one hit the obstruction of the envelope she’d rammed in there earlier.

‘I’m just trying to do right by you,’ he said, greeting the pilot and handing over his bag. ‘We’re all feeling our way with this thing, Fran.’

It was the most emotional statement he’d made all morning, and Fran appreciated it.

‘I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,’ she said, raising her voice against the engine noise. ‘It’s a beautiful house, and an incredibly generous offer. But I think you’re right, this whole thing is difficult to navigate. I just need time to work out what’s best for me.’

With the briefest of hesitation, Bill reached out and they hugged. Fran wondered if this kind of familiarity would ever come without awkwardness. She was beginning to hope so. He stayed on the grass as she turned away, walking until she was a safe distance from the helicopter. Once she was safely on the gravel of the driveway, she watched her father climb into the helicopter, the blades beginning their slow rotation as the bird fired up to full speed. With the blades whirring, and the air displacement sending the long, dry grass of the meadow dancing in all directions, Fran raised a hand to match the farewell of the father she was still struggling to know, and the helicopter lifted, lost to sight in the hazy blue of the sky within seconds.

Fran didn’t head back into the chateau, instead she slipped around the side of the building, to look for her trusted confidant. She felt sure Red would have some wisdom to impart. Or, failing that, she would be able to give the cat a cuddle.

When Fran didn’t come back into the hotel, Johnny folded the newspaper with a frustrated scrunch and shoved it back into the newspaper rack before climbing to his feet. Had she left with Bill Wilding?

He felt it unlikely, as she had no luggage with her. Had she seen him on her way out, and was now actively avoiding him by accessing the chateau through an alternative door?

It was possible he’d misinterpreted their entire time together, that she’d been enjoying some kind of messed-up role play at Chateau les Champs d’Or and he’d been sucked into it, had become a part of her fantasy without even realising. Maybe that was why her attitude had changed when they’d looked at the dilapidated Chateau des Rêves with the agent.

Maybe she realised the situation was getting out of hand and that’s why she’d pulled back. It could have been her way to protect him, to stop him from making an utter tit out of himself.

Either way, with a father like Bill Wilding there was little chance of Fran being interested in wanting anything from Johnny other than a few days of amusing diversion. He was clutching at straws to believe otherwise. She was hardly going to be serious about Chateau des Rêves, however much she appeared to like the place. And there was even less likelihood of her being interested in anything serious with him, on a business or a personal level. She’d probably be going home to some penthouse flat in Knightsbridge, or a cottage of Frogmore proportions nestling somewhere in the Cotswolds.

As he opened his EasyJet app, Johnny wondered if she’d even been telling the truth about Lyme Regis, about the ammonites and her inventive childhood tales of their demise.

With a flight booked for later that afternoon, Johnny took the stairs two at a time, then jogged up the spiral of his turret room staircase for what he hoped would be the final time. He paused at the top of the stairs, scanning the room in much the same way as he had when he’d first set foot in the Chateau les Champs d’Or honeymoon suite. He’d been right the first time around. This was not a place he wanted to be. Now, or ever again. He’d dodged a bullet with Fran, had managed to see through her wily deception far more quickly than he had with Natalie. Or, for that matter, Noel.

For the second time in as many days, Johnny pulled out his bag, and began to pack.