‘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 supportshe’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 surrealJurassic Parkmoment, and Fran hoped she wasn’t going to be confronted by oneof 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.
