Chapter 26
Chapter 26
‘I suppose being Bill Wilding’s daughter does have its upside,’ Fran said as Red pushed the hard dome of his skull against her fingers for the umpteenth time. ‘It means I’ll be able to ask Madame Beaufoy to make sure somebody feeds you until I can work out where we’re going to live next. Which one do you fancy: a two-bedroom flat with a view of the bakery’s bins or an ever-so-smart house on the seafront with lots of room to explore?’
Fran paused, weighing up the option of a third alternative. Red purred as though he didn’t have a care in the world. Which, Fran supposed, he didn’t, really.
‘Or you could just as easily move down and along the valley to Chateau des Rêves.’ Fran sighed. Out of all three of her options, cashing in everything she owned to renovate a dilapidated French chateau, even if it was a place in which she felt most at peace right now, had to be the least sensible option. And Fran was sensible. Practical. Down to earth.
Johnny’s idea to restore and then run a wine-tasting holiday business from the chateau was a good one – for him at least. But from where she stood, there were too many doubts. With no real sense of what was expected of her, what her role would be, and how she would be able to sufficiently contribute with so little experience, Fran was worried how she would measure up as Johnny’s business partner. The odds weren’t in her favour and Fran had concluded she couldn’t commit to this pipe dream.
Absently, she felt in her pocket for the envelope she still hadn’t got around to opening, only to find her pocket was empty. Casting her gaze around the immediate area, Fran saw no sign of it, so it hadn’t fallen out as she’d sat down with Red. It had dropped out somewhere between saying goodbye to her father by his helicopter – the last time she’d felt the sharp edges of the envelope – and now. She frowned; her interest piqued now she knew there was no way to find out what had been contained inside.
After she’d given Red a whole load more cuddles, Fran set him down, promising him king prawns and any other wondrous bits of seafood she could filch from the kitchens for his supper, before she retraced her steps, checking for the envelope as she walked.
By the time she had re-walked the meadow, and come up empty, Fran had to admit defeat. The envelope was lost. In the foyer, she asked Pierre if he knew who had left it for her.
‘The tall Englishman,’ Pierre said, checking around to see if anyone was within earshot before he put his hand to his cheek. ‘The one with the punch to his face. Still very ’andsome, I think, even with the damage.’
Fran watched as Pierre blushed, colour stealing across his cheeks like ink on water. It seemed she wasn’t the only one to have found Johnny attractive.
It also seemed that Johnny had something he wanted to share with her.
Before she gave herself time to pause, Fran thanked Pierre and took the stairs to the first floor, heading along the wide corridor which led to the corner of the building, and the turret room. Johnny’s room. No longer a member of staff, Fran didn’t have her passkey, but she had no intention of bursting in on another guest without their knowledge, even if it was Johnny. Instead, she rapped her knuckles against the hardwood of the door and waited for a reply.
After she’d knocked for a second and then a third time, Fran had to admit defeat. Johnny wasn’t in his room. Unsure what to do next, she loitered in the corridor, then went and peered through the narrow window set in the end wall. One of those windows which hadn’t been designed as a way of enjoying the view; instead it had a slit running through the middle, through which, back in medieval times, marauding neighbours could have been spotted and dispatched via a well-aimed arrow. With a lack of modern-day invading forces, it now made for a charming little nook. A way to view a narrow slice of Loire countryside framed between deep-set granite slabs.
For the first time in what seemed like an age, there was a smudge of grey on the horizon. In a sky which for weeks had been a resolutely gorgeous shade of blue there now hung a stain of charcoal. As Fran turned away, she wondered if it would rain later, finally breaking the deadlock of heat.
Heading back down the staircase, Fran asked Pierre if he had any idea where ‘the tall Englishman’ might be. When Pierre had no intel on Johnny’s whereabouts, other than the fact he’d seen him heading towards his room earlier, Fran took a walk through the hotel, checking the dining room, bar, salon – once she’d exhausted the possibilities inside, she headed out to the pool area, then skirted through the gardens. The oak with the split trunk caught her eye – the winds had really picked up since her father had left and the tree was swaying like a drunk, creaking as it moved. Not a place Red would choose to be right now, she thought. Fran turned and headed for the car park, to see if Johnny’s car was still there.
There was a grey Mercedes parked up, but was it Johnny’s hire car? Fran hadn’t taken much notice of the numberplate when she’d travelled in it, and Johnny had told her that his brother had insisted on having two vehicles, and that they were almost identical.
It occurred to Fran that Johnny might have gone to visit Chateau des Rêves without her. After all, she had told him to make the decision for himself, and not to include her in his calculations. But it stung to think he was there without her, and it hit home that while she hadn’t wanted him to take her words at their literal face value, it was possible that he had.
A heaviness settled on Fran as she gave up on her search and headed back inside. Perhaps she should change focus, concentrate instead on finding Penny, asking for five minutes of her time to try to explain.
Penny was at the back of the hotel when she saw it, saw the slash of grey staining the sky as she was finishing the bathroom in one of the turret suites which faced directly out over the countryside behind the chateau.
The window was small, and only opened partially, so at first, she thought she was imagining things. It wasn’t as if she was able to focus on anything other than her tumbling thoughts about Harry – and the revelations about Fran. Penny felt as though someone had pulled the floor out from underneath her, that at any moment she might fall through the turret window and float away, like discarded lint. It wasn’t as if anyone would miss her, was it?
Penny sucked in a frustrated breath, and it was then that she smelt it.
It might be very faint and carried like the twist of cigarette smoke on a busy street, but it was distinctive none the less.
Penny could smell burning.
Craning as far as she could, she scanned the horizon, then slammed the window and gathered her cleaning equipment as quickly as possible, shoving everything into the plastic tray and grabbing up the dirty towels. She took the staircase like a mountain goat and dumped everything in her haste to find someone to tell.
Pierre was taking a phone call as she entered the foyer, so she kept moving, heading for the labyrinth of staff corridors. Spotting the cellar door open, light on, she peered down the stairs and came face to face with the sommelier, Alain, checking off boxes on a list.
‘I think there’s a wildfire,’ she said. ‘I could see smoke from the top floor.’
The statement had Alain abandoning his task. He shoved some of the boxes to the side of the staircase, dumping his list on top of one of them and pushed his way past her, a sense of urgency replacing his normally languid attitude.