She brushed at her sleeve again. It was covered in a fine grey dust, there was more of it on the hem of her skirt, and cobwebs clung to the collar of her shirt and were dulling the gloss of her chestnut hair. Perhaps she noticed his gaze, because she ran a hand through her hair, her cheeks reddening as her fingers came away coated in the stuff which she then did her best to hide.
‘How can I help?’ She repeated the question, the arch in an eyebrow suggesting she had far better things to be doing.
‘No, it’s not that. I don’t want anything from you …’ He frowned at his own awkwardness. For all his abilities with foreign languages, sometimes Johnny struggled with the most straightforward of English sentences. ‘I just wanted to apologise.’
‘Apologise?’ She’d clearly forgotten all about his grumpiness from the previous day; she appeared mystified by his offer. ‘For what?’
‘My rudeness when you brought towels, principally. There’s no excuse, but I was tired and grouchy. I was way too hot after all the travelling.’
The corners of her mouth softened. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘And then, there’s my brother.’ Johnny pushed at his shirtsleeves, already rolled above his elbows but giving him something to do as he felt increasing scrutiny from her gaze. ‘I’m sorry. He can get a bit … loud when he’s had a few.’
‘Why are you apologising for him?’ There were flecks of a lighter brown at the edges of her dark eyes which seemed to gain intensity as she held his gaze. ‘Isn’t that for him to do?’
Whywashe apologising for Noel? It was a decent enough question. As Johnny reflected on an answer, he noticed she made a move to walk away.
‘I should get back to work,’ she said, her lips compressing together before she added, ‘I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay.’
‘What’s your name?’
The question caught him off-guard almost as much as it seemed to do her. Had it been an inappropriate thing to ask? Too late to retract it now. And the more time she spent staring at him, the more he wanted to know the answer.
‘It’s Fran.’
‘I’m Johnny.’
She continued to stare at him, giving him ample opportunity to take in her gentle smile, her dark-as-molasses eyes, the way she absently wiped at the dust on her clothing with her elegant fingers.
Johnny was about to say something to break the silence when he realised, to his embarrassment, that she wasn’t lookingathim, instead she was focusing on somethingbehindhim. As he turned to see what it was, she brought a finger up to her lips and shushed him. Fran moved towards him almost without making a single piece of gravel scrunch underfoot, and he did his best to turn quietly.
‘He’s over there,’ she said, pointing to a group of manicured bushes beyond the parking area.
‘Who is?’ Johnny craned and visually swept the area for clues as he tried to work out what she had seen.
‘To the far right of the bushes. I can see his tail.’
It was an animal, then. Johnny followed the point of her finger and caught sight of a slash of orange.
‘What is it?’
It wasn’t so much that Johnny was interested in what Fran was looking at, rather that standing this close to her meant he was catching the notes of her flowery perfume, would be able to brush against her if he inched across. The impulse to do so was surprisingly strong.
‘It’s a stray cat. I’ve named him Red.’ Fran was whispering now.
‘Red?’
She side-eyed him. ‘Yes. And shush. He’s very timid.’
‘Sorry.’
He hadn’t kept the amusement out of his tone, he could tell as much by the way she glanced at him again, the smile falling from her lips as her brows edged closer together.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ she said, her voice gaining a layer of annoyance as she scanned the bushes again. Then her shoulders dropped, and she sighed. ‘Damn, he’s gone. I’ve been trying to gain his confidence, but I suppose I need to remember he’s just a cat.’
‘I think I saw him here earlier,’ Johnny said, remembering the flash of ginger before they’d headed to Beaufoy Wines that morning. ‘Perhaps he likes the cars?’
‘He’s a cat, not aTop Gearpresenter.’
