Chapter 6
Chapter 6
The next morning, Johnny breakfasted early, then hung around in the chateau foyer to wait for the others. He’d always enjoyed the beginning of a new day. There was a sense of promise in the air, a feeling that anything was possible. It was starkly contrasted to how Johnny viewed much of the rest of life, the dull repetitiveness of his work as each day progressed and the aching void of the personal life he’d had and subsequently lost catching up to him as time spooled past.
But in a hotel setting, the vibrant early-morning feeling was heightened. Everyone seemed to move with purpose and fresh enthusiasm. People wished one another a good morning with gusto – faked or not, it went some way towards raising his spirits.
There was another reason for his standing in the foyer, looking like a spare wheel in the well-oiled machinations of a large clock. When he’d woken, he’d come to with the urge to find the waitress from the previous evening and apologise to her. For Noel’s behaviour, for starters. But also, for his own. He might have done his best to deflect his brother’s clumsy actions, but it didn’t excuse his own rudeness to her way before dinner, when all she was trying to do was deliver towels.
A quick check of his watch and Johnny knew he was running out of time, that the others would be assembling at any moment. He revised that thought. Ricky and Ed would appear at any moment, whereas Noel was a rather looser cannon in terms of timekeeping.
About to turn to the front desk, to ask if he could leave her a message that way, he realised he had no idea of her name. She hadn’t been wearing a name badge, unlike all the other members of staff he’d seen so far. Had that been a conscious decision on her part, a way of maintaining a bit of privacy?
Whatever the reason, his opportunity evaporated as Ricky and Ed hailed him from the curving staircase. Apparently, Noel was on a videocall with someone back in the UK and they weren’t to wait for him. He’d catch them up at the winery.
‘Just as well we got two hire cars,’ Ed said.
Gravel scrunched underfoot as they headed across the driveway to the parking area and Johnny unlocked the grey S-Class. A streak of furry orange shot out from underneath the car and Johnny watched a cat with an impressively bushy tail scoot over a fence and away. At least, he presumed it was a cat, but he supposed it could conceivably have been a small fox. Hard to tell at the speed with which it disappeared.
His daughter wanted a cat. A white one like the kitten from TheAristocats. Before their lives had imploded, Johnny had bought Estelle a nightlight shaped like the character, complete with a pink bow between its ears and a nameplate printed with the character’s name ‘Marie’ in gold letters. It seemed to have placated her, but not long afterwards, Estelle had climbed onto Johnny’s lap, pulling his hand until it lay over her heart.
‘Can you feel it beating, Daddy? I think it’s slowing down. It might stop unless I get a real Marie. That’s how much I want a kitten.’
As it turned out, discussions about getting a real kitten had been what pushed Johnny’s precarious relationship with his wife over the edge. What had seemed an innocuous enough question on his part about the possibility of getting a real cat escalated when Natalie assumed she’d be the one who would end up looking after it and had flown off the handle.
Johnny still couldn’t work out if he’d take back that conversation if he could. Whether he’d rather go back to that moment and never enter into the row which followed, in which Natalie inadvertently alluded to her affair. If he’d never pushed her about the cat, perhaps everything could have stayed as it was. And even though he would have been living a lie, perhaps he wouldn’t ever have found out. Perhaps he’d still have his family.
Hiding a sigh on his slide into the driving seat, Johnny adjusted the rear-view mirror and started the engine. Too late to worry about all of that, now. What was done was done. He just wished she could have been completely honest with him, rather than hiding the other man’s identity. He’d never understood why she chose to do that. Hadn’t realised how little Natalie respected him, that even after all they’d been through, she couldn’t be totally transparent. She’d told him it didn’t matter who he was. And on one level, Johnny supposed she was right. But on another, it did matter. It mattered a great deal – especially if the prick ended up spending time around Estelle.
After negotiating narrow lanes leading away from the chateau, the roads opened out and Johnny got to put his foot down, to enjoy some of the car’s punchy acceleration, before they were leaving decent roads behind again in favour of smaller, narrower, twisting tracks. With the satnav indicating they were six minutes out from the winery, a ‘for sale’ sign caught Johnny’s eye. Behind it, set back some way from the road but down a driveway nowhere near as impressive as that of Chateau les Champs d’Or, was a dilapidated chateau building.
Johnny only caught a glimpse, and the building was a fraction of the size of the imposing grandeur of their hotel, but with the sun glinting from its windows, and a gorgeous curving staircase up to a set of double front doors visible amidst the overgrown vegetation, something about it pulled at a place deep inside him.
‘Always amazes me how the French allow stuff like that to decay,’ Ricky said from the back seat.
A glance in the rear-view mirror confirmed Ricky was referring to the chateau, his thumb gesticulating in its direction as their car travelled on.
‘What would a place like that be worth back home? Couple of mill?’ Ed said from the front passenger seat.
‘Not in that state,’ Ricky said. ‘If you tarted it up, then yeah. Easy. But here, and in that state, they’ll be lucky to get anyone interested. Looks like the roof might have gone. Have to pay someone to take it on, I should think.’
Johnny felt the tug again as he twisted in his seat to get a final glimpse at the place. It looked as though the overgrown gardens ran parallel to the road, with a patch of woodland behind. Unspoilt and untouched, for some years by the looks of it.
A little piece of heaven.
‘Are we waiting for Noel when we get to this winery, or are we going to get going on the tasting straightaway?’ Ed asked, and the moment was gone, the bubble of magic burst as reality crowded back in.
‘Why don’t we do a tour of the place, that’ll give Noel a chance to catch us up before we taste anything,’ Johnny said.
Noel was never particularly interested in the places they visited, however keen the grower or producer might be to show them the hard work and dedication that went into the production of the wine. Sometimes it was easier to indulge the owner without Noel being present, allowing them to show off the aged oak barrels in their cellar, or talk freely about the different terroirs of their vineyard slopes. Noel only ever wanted to talk bottom line, didn’t seem to understand any of the artistry which went with the creation of, well, anything.
Apart from the bleating from the satnav, an unassuming open gate was the only clue they’d reached their destination; nailed to it was a small sign which simply read ‘Vin de Beaufoy’. Beaufoy’s Wine. Johnny turned and eased the car up the potholed track, towards the low building flanked by row upon row of vines.
By mid-morning, Fran was having difficulty remembering she’d been at Chateau les Champs d’Or for less than twenty-four hours. She’d had a poor night’s sleep – to be fair, Fran never slept well on the first night in a new place, something she hadn’t even realised until she began her nomadic lifestyle working for Wilding Holdings – but she thought she’d been tired enough the previous evening to zonk out without much trouble. Even though the bed was perfectly comfortable, and her tiny room in the staff quarters was equipped with everything she needed, Fran should have realised it would take a night or two to adjust to the midnight music of a new place. As it was, owls had hooted, floorboards had creaked, and at one point something outside had screeched with enough force to have Fran fiercely awake, eyes wide in the dark, hoping it had been the calling of a fox, and not something horrible happening to Red.
There had been no sign of the cat this morning, and Fran made a promise to herself to use her breaks to sneak some food from the kitchen and go in search of him. For now, she and Penny were housekeeping the rooms on the western side of the chateau.
With a plastic box full of cleaning liquids and cloths, Penny knocked loudly at the door to the honeymoon turret room. Having waited for a few moments, she unlocked the door with her master keycard and shouted up the stairs for good measure, announcing their arrival.
Fran followed her up the staircase, with an armful of fresh towels. The room was empty and, unlike some of the other rooms they’d already serviced, everything was neat and tidy. Even the used towels had been replaced on the heating rack. In a matter of minutes, the rooms were done.
‘That has to go down as the tidiest honeymoon suite I’ve ever seen,’ Penny said. ‘Usually there’s stuff everywhere. You’ve got no idea what I’ve had to clear up before.’
‘I can imagine,’ Fran said. Then she added, ‘There’s only one person staying in here, though.’
‘Weird,’ Penny said, opening the wardrobe door and peering inside. ‘A bloke, I presume?’
The suit jacket and an array of shirts hanging inside were a big clue. They grinned at one another, and Penny pulled the eiderdown from where it had been bundled.
‘Wonder why this is in here?’ she said, unfolding it and spreading it over the base of the bed. ‘Suppose it’s the hot weather.’
Fran didn’t reply. It could be the result of the hot weather, or it could be because the thing was covered in embroidered lovebirds. If the guy – Johnny – was here on business, maybe it was simply a weather-related discard. It probably wasn’t any reflection on the state of his love life. Maybe Fran was overreaching, maybe it was her imposing her own feelings about a room like this, her own feelings about anything covered with symbols that represented love.
Because Fran had long since decided that romantic love was nothing more than a fallacy, a social construct. If love was what she’d experienced with Victor, she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to want it. If love was how Victor had taken her apart, bit by bit, without her even realising what was happening, she wasn’t sure she could do it. Not again.
It had taken Fran so long to begin to heal, to feel capable of moving forwards. If it hadn’t been for the unequivocal support she’d received from her mum, Fran wasn’t entirely sure she’d have recovered at all. Moving back home, cocooning herself into a safe life working in the local café and dreaming of having a studio large enough to follow her passion for renovating old furniture had been all she had been capable of. Victor had taken all their friends with him, his web of lies was convincing enough for all but the most cynical of ears, and Fran had willingly settled into quiet solitude.
No, Fran wasn’t looking to fall in love with another human, that was a step too far. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t fall in love with anything.
Cats. That was the way forward. Cats didn’t hide how they felt about anything, they were always upfront and honest. And as she’d discovered with Red, they could hold a decent conversation, too. Fran grimaced at the thought of becoming a stereotype, the old lady with loads of cats, then shook her head. Who cared if that’s how she ended up, as long as it made her happy.
Penny pulled her out of her reverie. ‘Meant to say, Madame Beaufoy asked me how you’re getting on, mentioned something about having put you on probation? I told her you were already a huge asset to the place, and she said she’s going to sort out the paperwork, get you on the books properly.’ She grinned and Fran did her best to match the smile. A few more days on probation might have worked to her benefit, but there was no denying the genuine look of solidarity in Penny’s eye as Fran thanked her.
With all the rooms done, Fran headed outside on a break, forgoing coffee with Penny as she slipped into the kitchen on the scout for something for the cat. Harry was prepping fish for the lunchtime service, arching his eyebrows in greeting as she wandered over to him.
A pile of fishy bits had been scraped to one side of the board. Fran gestured to them.
‘Are you going to use the scraps?’
Harry set down his knife. ‘We usually make them into stock. Why?’
‘No worries. I just wanted something for …’ She faltered. ‘Never mind.’
A grin swept across his face. ‘If you want the scraps for that ginger cat, take them. There are some bowls in the cupboard over there, use one of them.’
How did he know? The question must have shown in her expression, because Harry cut a slither of decent fish and added it to the pile.
‘Penny said last night you’ve got a thing for that moggy. Just don’t let old Beaufoy know you’re encouraging it by feeding it.’ He waved his filleting knife around. ‘Because then you’ll both be for the chopping block.’
With the fish in a discreet lidded Tupperware bowl, Fran headed outside, along the wall to the back of the property to where she’d first met Red. When there was no sign of the cat, Fran felt a surge of insecurity. It was just as well nobody was around to see her, because she felt like an idiot, standing out there in the middle of nowhere, wondering how to call for the cat, wondering if he would respond even if he had heard her. Or whether he might think she was as insane as she probably looked and decide to stay hidden.
In the end, she opted for a sort of inhaled squeaking noise, which she hoped sounded temptingly enough like a mouse. After a few attempts, some of the long, dry grass began to quiver and dance, and Fran could see something tracking through it, coming towards her. It was a surreal Jurassic Park moment, and Fran hoped she wasn’t going to be confronted by one of those tiny, venom-spitting dinosaurs. Or, for that matter, a velociraptor.
She’d just finished internally reciting the line about staying out of the long grass when a familiar figure emerged, fluffy tail spiking almost as high as the grass, white whiskers and ears on high alert as Red crept closer.
‘Hey there, Red.’
Fran eased herself onto her knees, unclipping the lid and sliding the tub of fish scrag ends onto the ground in front of her. She stayed motionless as Red approached, his every move wary and measured.
‘I’m sorry we scared you last night,’ Fran whispered. ‘I didn’t want that. Can we still be friends?’
Red sniffed suspiciously at the contents of the tub but didn’t eat any of it. Instead, he turned his full attention back onto Fran. Watching her. Waiting. Was he expecting her to make a grab for him the moment he let his guard down and began to eat? It certainly felt that way to Fran, so she eased herself up onto her feet and stepped back.
She had to put a good ten feet between herself and the cat before he dipped his head far enough to take a piece of fish from the tub. Fran half expected him to run away with it, but he held his ground, beginning to relax as he munched his way through the tub’s contents. Every now and again he raised his face to hers, to check on her. Fran smiled. This was one wily animal.
When the fish was gone, Red flicked the end of his tail as though disappointed there wasn’t more, then disappeared into the long grass.
‘So, you’re very welcome.’ Fran’s words were laced with sarcasm as she grabbed up the empty container and headed back to the chateau kitchen.
Harry was still filleting fish as she asked where to put the container. Gesturing towards the washing-up sink he said, ‘You found it then?’
‘He hangs out in the long grass behind the swimming pool wall, I think,’ Fran said.
‘Have you checked out the old stables right at the back of the property?’ Harry asked. When she shook her head, he said, ‘Behind the car parking area are some buildings not in current use by the hotel, they’re full of junk mostly, but I’d put money on that being where the cat holes up. Nobody ever goes in there.’
Fran itched to ask how he knew the stables were there, but she didn’t need to ask. He grinned.
‘Sometimes Penny and I go for a late evening walk, it’s quiet out there.’
‘Are you and Penny together?’ Fran asked.
Harry shook his head. ‘No, it’s nothing like that. It’s more that … She’s …’ He glanced away as if deciding what to say next, a frown flickering across his brow. ‘It’s complicated.’
Complicated. That word could hide all sorts of situations, all kinds of issues. A word that was usually enough to dissolve a superficial enquiry. Fran should know – it was the word she’d chosen to describe what happened between herself and Victor. And it had deflected all but the most persistent of interest.
There was another reason. She’d chosen the word because it could also be a useful tool for hiding a simple truth. ‘Complicated’ could do some serious heavy lifting, could throw up all sorts of smokescreens to deflect. It was a decent sounding word to hide behind, when owning up to something so straightforward as what had actually happened would leave you breathless at your own stupidity.
Trouble was, he’d been so persuasive, so believable. Victor had fed her line after line, and it had taken her far too long to realise how manipulative he was capable of being. It was a story as old as the hills, but Fran hadn’t ever really believed she’d end up on one of those hills. Or that he would be the one to make her hike right to the very top.
Even at the end, she wasn’t completely sure he’d been seeing other women. He was still denying it, calling her controlling and paranoid and desperate. Twisting everything back onto Fran, telling her it was all her fault, and she should have been more supportive, or fun, or if only she’d tried harder in bed. That she was boring, and he was doing her a favour staying with her. That nobody else was going to want someone like her.
And in amongst all his bluster, all his criticisms which were designed to throw her off from the real issue – which it had taken Fran a long time to work out wasn’t her, instead it was him – Victor continued to deny any infidelity, continued to cloud the issue with sleight of hand and misdirection. The irony of the fact he was a professional magician wasn’t lost on Fran, even if it had taken her a very long time to be able to acknowledge it.
Fran took a deep breath, centring herself back in the Chateau des Champs d’Or kitchens and Harry, whose gaze still rested on her.
‘Well,’ Fran said, a glimmer of a smile finding the corners of her mouth, ‘I realise I don’t know anything about your situation, or Penny’s, but for what it’s worth, I think she likes you, too.’
‘Yeah. Trouble is I think you’re right.’ Harry’s frown deepened, then he turned his attentions back on the pile of fish he was working his way through, and Fran left the room.