Escape to the French Chateau

Chapter 31

Chapter 31

Johnny’s palms were sweating by the time they arrived at the hospital, and that wasn’t anything to do with the continuing, persistent heatwave, which seemed to have intensified further as the day progressed. This had far more to do with seeing Fran.

There was an underlying concern about the head injury – however innocuous head trauma might seem, Johnny knew it could turn into something serious, was aware how important it was for her to get it properly checked out. Even more imperative because she’d been unconscious when they found her.

Layered over the top of his concern about her health, Johnny’s palms were sweating because he seemed lost in a maze of confusion within his own mind. His emotions were well and truly shot.

He saw Fran before she caught sight of him. Her head resting on the pillow, eyes softly closed, a neat dressing covering the wound on her forehead. She looked calm, although there remained a puffy quality to the skin around her eyes.

Penny was clearly a woman who was unused to taking prisoners, Johnny thought, as Fran’s friend strode across to her bed.

‘Fran? It’s Penny. And Johnny. We’ve come to make sure you’re not dead.’

The upturn in the corners of Fran’s lips preceded her opening her eyes, and focusing first on Penny, then on him, her gentle smile saturated her gaze without hesitation. She was pleased to see them, a fact which Penny seemed relieved by.

‘Thanks for coming,’ Fran said, her voice croaky and thin.

‘You look a total mess,’ Penny said, a crack discernible through her words.

‘Thanks …’

‘You’re welcome,’ Penny said, the hitch in her words clearly audible as she slid into the chair beside the bed, reaching out to take one of Fran’s hands. ‘Bloody cat.’

‘Yeah. Bloody cat …’

From the way both women began to tear up, Johnny decided a tactical withdrawal would be the best move, give them some time to talk.

‘I’m going to find a coffee. Do you want one?’ he asked, shuffling away as they both shook their heads.

Once he’d located a coffee, Johnny mused over how long he should leave Penny and Fran together. On their journey to the hospital, Penny had intimated that her burgeoning friendship with Fran had taken a recent knock, but she hadn’t elaborated. Hopefully the chance to chat would get them back on track. Which left Johnny wondering why he was here. Past checking that Fran was going to be OK, which didn’t seem to be in doubt now that he’d seen her, why had he come?

Hours earlier, he was packing up, ready to leave the Loire behind. He’d convinced himself that he’d made another error of judgment, that his plans for Chateau des Rêves were, as he’d originally dubbed them, nothing more than a pie in the sky idea. That he didn’t need to saddle himself with even more unknowns, when his whole life had already disintegrated into a mire of confusion. Fran’s lack of transparency had done nothing but spiral his confusion to unbelievable new heights.

If he’d learnt anything lately, then the value of honesty had to be top of the list. It had to be number one on any list of requirements for Johnny, moving forwards. And she hadn’t been. She’d pretended to be someone she wasn’t.

Was this setting an appropriate space in which to confront her with the way he felt about her deception? The way it had fed into his already shattered sense of perspective, had spiralled him even further into tight introspection. And why did the thought of the conversation he needed to have with her make him feel so bereft?

‘I’m genuinely sorry about the cat,’ Penny said, squeezing Fran’s hand before retracting her hands into her own lap. ‘I know he meant a lot to you.’

Fran rubbed at her eyes, taking a moment to get herself under control. ‘Maybe he’s OK, and he managed to get to safety.’

Although Penny squashed the expression almost as quickly as it formed, she didn’t hold much hope for Red’s survival.

‘I was going to take him home with me,’ Fran said.

‘And where is home?’ An abrasive edge crept into her voice, she couldn’t help it. ‘Do you live with your father when you’re not jet-setting around the world, or what?’

Fran sighed. ‘I’ve never lived with my father. Until my mother died, I never even knew who he was.’

‘But I thought …’ Penny’s eyebrows pinched together. That didn’t make sense. How could she not know about a father like hers?

By the time Fran had given her a surprisingly frank explanation about her upbringing, Penny was beginning to wish she hadn’t stormed out of Madame Beaufoy’s office, wished she hadn’t been so quick to judge and instead heard Fran out in the first place.

‘From here on in, though, you can live like a princess,’ Penny said. It was an attempt at an apology. That was why she’d come, after all. But the words were spectacularly blunt, and she regretted them almost as soon as they’d left her mouth. Facts were facts, though, and with a dad like Bill Wilding, Fran couldn’t be anything other than set for life. She’d won the parenting lottery.

‘I’d rather still have my mum,’ Fran said.

The words hung like a guillotine over Penny’s head.

‘Yeah. I guess … That was a bit …’ When the ground didn’t open into a large enough trough for her to jump into, Penny stared at her own lap, hoping the perfect words might migrate to the front of her brain to express her feelings. They didn’t. Instead, she fumbled out the most basic of an apology.

‘Fran, I’m sorry. I truly don’t care who your father is, or any of that stuff. I have no idea why I said all that. I keep making a mess of things, but I just want to let you know how much I value our friendship. That I’ve loved getting to know you, and … Well, that’s it, really.’

‘For what it’s worth, I’m glad I opted to work at Chateau les Champs d’Or, instead of staying there as a guest, because otherwise I never would have had the chance to meet you either, would I?’

Penny’s cheeks coloured. ‘You’re cool with us still being friends, then?’ When Fran grinned and nodded, Penny became overexcited and hugged her, only to quickly pull back at Fran’s gasp, remembering that she was injured. Penny decided to change tack. ‘Can I just say … Johnny …’ She hoped the raise in her eyebrows and the emphasis she placed on his name was enough to convey her message.

‘What about him?’

She was surprised at Fran’s reticence, making her line of questioning more obvious. ‘Well, not any guest would rush to the hospital to check if an employee is OK. How do you feel about him?’

‘I’m not sure it matters.’

‘What? Have you seen the man?’

‘Yes. Of course I have.’

‘So you can’t deny he’s actually quite good looking – he’s giving off sexy gentleman vibes. And he does have a great smile, when he’s not being all brooding. And let’s face it, babe, you’re not getting any younger.’

‘Sod off, I’m only twenty-six.’ The indignancy was tempered with a lopsided grin. ‘Great friend you’re turning out to be.’

‘Yeah. Well. Question still stands. How do you feel about him?’

Fran paused. ‘I don’t think it matters, not really. The trouble is, he’s not in any place in his life to be looking for anyone. And I’m not sure I am, either.’

‘There’s never a good time, though, is there?’ Penny frowned at the unresolved nature of her feelings for Harry. ‘I mean, who knew I was going to fall for the sous-chef only to discover he’s got a whole other life on the go.’

‘What do you mean?’

Her frown deepened. ‘It’s complicated, but what’s become apparent is that Harry and I are on very different paths and yet, somehow, I can’t stop myself from falling in love with him. Now it’s your turn. Ignore all the crap and be honest. How do you really feel about Johnny?’

Fran sighed, bit at the edge of her bottom lip, but didn’t reply. Instead, she folded her arms, an action firm in its resolution, and it seemed that particular line of conversation was finished. Penny decided to quit before she managed to muddy the waters of their tentative friendship all over again.

Thankfully, Johnny chose that moment to reappear, a cup of coffee in one hand. Penny waved him over.

‘Your turn,’ she called to him, then turned to Fran. ‘I’ll give you two some time together. I’m not very good at apologies, Fran. And tact isn’t my most impressive quality.’

‘No shit, Sherlock,’ Fran said.

‘But I am so glad we had this chat. I know I didn’t handle the situation well and I’m glad you could forgive me.’

Fran nodded, then winced at the movement. ‘You aren’t solely to blame. Penny, I’m so sorry I misled you. I didn’t mean any harm, but it all snowballed.’

‘In this weather?’ Penny fanned at her face as she stood. ‘Now that I’d like to see.’

Fran was giggling as Penny crossed paths and grinned at Johnny, telling him she’d be outside, getting some fresh air.

Fran waited for Johnny to settle himself on the chair recently vacated by Penny, the levity sliding from her face as he did so. That conversation with Penny had gone better than Fran might have imagined, but the butterflies were circling her solar plexus again.

‘Did they put the fire out?’ Starting with chit-chat was as good a place as any, she supposed, but she stopped short of mentioning les pompiers. Somehow, the expression on Johnny’s face carried too much weight for flippancy.

‘The emergency services drafted in the local farmers, apparently, got them to plough wide strips all around the fire at a safe distance, to let it burn out.’

‘But what about their crops?’

Johnny shook his head, he looked genuinely saddened. ‘Some of those vines are hundreds of years old, it will take them decades to recover.’

‘The chef was talking about pyromaniacs the other day. Do they know how it started?’

‘Don’t think so. But if those vine growers find out somebody set that fire on purpose, I wouldn’t want to be in their hot little shoes if they ever locate them.’

‘No. I suppose not. Pitchforks at dawn.’

‘Something like that.’

The conversation lulled, and Fran rested against the pillow as Johnny sipped at his coffee. There was so much to be said, almost too much to know where to begin. The companiable – or was it awkward? – silence was interrupted by the chirruping of Fran’s mobile as it lit up on the side cabinet, long forgotten about with everything going on. Johnny reached for it, briefly glancing down at the caller ID before handing it to her.

‘It’s Bill Wilding … Sorry, I mean your father …’

Fran wasn’t particularly surprised to see the number was her father’s private line – it was his third call in as many hours.

She clicked answer before putting the phone to her ear. ‘Hi there.’ The fact she struggled to know how to address him still, that in the end she’d opted out entirely, was embarrassing. Heat rose in her cheeks.

‘How are you doing?’

‘I’m OK. They’ve decided they’re going to let me out in the morning.’

‘Thank the Lord for that. Are you comfortable? Do you need anything?’

‘No, I’m absolutely fine, thank you. I’m being looked after very well.’ Fran glanced at Johnny, who was doing his best not to appear as though he was listening in to a private conversation. His awkward expression made her smile, and it broadened as he climbed to his feet, indicated he was going for a top-up of coffee, and left her to her call.

‘They’ve confirmed the chateau suffered some smoke damage, but nothing more severe,’ her father said. ‘Gardens are gone, but they can be replanted. Fire brigade made a bit of a mess, but Madame Beaufoy says she has it all in hand. All in all, we had a lucky escape.’

Fran caught her breath. Not everything had been so lucky. However much she wanted to believe Red had scarpered in time, the heat of that blaze, the way the oak with the split trunk exploded like a pyrotechnic device, the situation looked bleak for the little cat.

Her father was still talking, and Fran did her best to focus back on his words.

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come and collect you? I could have you flown back to the UK in a few hours if you want to come home. At the very least I hope you’re in a private room. Tell them to send the invoice to me – I insist …’ Bill’s voice cracked, and he fell quiet.

‘I’m going to be fine. Please don’t worry. Plus, I’m not here by myself, I’ve got some friends visiting me right now. Johnny and Penny. The hospital is only keeping me in as a precaution.’

‘Now, that’s fortuitous, because – and tell me if it’s the wrong time, or you’re feeling tired, or anything, I can always leave it for another day – but I also wanted to speak to you about your document.’

Fran’s smile slipped. Was he circling back to her report on Chateau les Champs d’Or? He’d made it plain in their meeting only this morning that her input wasn’t particularly wanted and had intimated that the whole set-up of her visiting his hotels had been little more than a guilt trip on his part.

‘The document you dropped on the grass by the helicopter.’

The vestige of her smile was replaced by a frown of confusion. She hadn’t dropped anything by the helicopter, had she?

‘I picked it up thinking it was of no consequence,’ Bill continued. ‘Nothing more than rubbish which had dropped in error from your pocket. Didn’t look at it properly until we’d taken off, and it was only then I realised it was an unopened envelope, addressed to you.’

He must be referring to the envelope Pierre had handed her on her way to the conference room – only a few hours ago, but it felt like a lifetime had passed since. The envelope left at reception by the person Pierre had described as ‘the tall Englishman, the one with the punch to his face. Still very ’andsome, I think’.

Johnny’s envelope.

Her father was still speaking, and Fran did her best to focus back in on his words.

‘So, I apologise for opening it, but I thought it would be quicker to do that, scan it and send it back to you that way, rather than using snail mail. The last thing I wanted was you to think I was trying to invade your privacy.’

‘I don’t have much in the way of secrets anyway.’ Except for you, she almost added, and then smiled at the thought that even that secret had evaporated, at last.

Bill laughed. ‘I take it you’ve never been on the receiving end of industrial espionage, then.’

‘Funnily enough I haven’t.’

‘Has the email landed with you? The attachments are in it.’

‘Hang on, let me check.’ Fran fiddled with her phone, hoping she didn’t cut the call as she tried to check her emails. ‘Yes, it’s in my inbox.’

‘Good. Why didn’t you tell me you had a whole business idea of your own in the pipeline?’

‘A what?’

‘And even though it’s less than thirty miles from Chateau les Champs d’Or, I don’t think there will be an issue with competition. After all, you’ll be offering something rather different, won’t you?’

What on earth had been in Johnny’s envelope?

‘The business plan looks very sound.’ Bill’s tone was more animated than Fran had ever heard; he almost sounded excited. ‘It’s just like the kind of thing I used to put together in the early years. An excellent balance of fact, projection, and a little sprinkle of magic to get the investors biting your hand off. Love it.’ Bill barely paused for breath. ‘Now, I’m not sure where you and your business partner are with the whole thing, but if you’re still looking for investors, I would be delighted if you would consider me. Will you have a conversation with Mr Taylor and get back to me?’

‘Um. Yes. I suppose so.’

‘I wouldn’t want to hog the entire project, but perhaps a partial stake in the game would be appropriate?’ Her father explained what he was proposing, and that he would be delighted to meet with them both to discuss it further.

‘I’ll chat to Johnny and let you know.’ Fran was working blind, her head aching with the rapid flow of her father’s words, and the fact she was playing catch-up with the whole situation.

‘One minor detail,’ Bill said, and Fran could hear the smile in her father’s voice. ‘Whoever added the illustrations is definitely no Van Gogh. Good job you’re not planning on setting up an artists’ retreat, isn’t it?’

Fran laughed alongside her father’s open guffawing, still none the wiser as to what was so funny. Or for that matter, what was so exciting, and worthy of Bill Wilding’s business interest.

She was studying the email attachments when Johnny returned.