From the gravel pathway threading its way through the lavender-rich borders of the gardens, Johnny heard the seriesof backfires and caught sight of a classic MG as it headed away from the chateau. A cloud of dust whirled to obscure the vehicle as it shot down the drive, but he already knew it was a beauty. Johnny had admired it in the parking area, the deep woodland green of its paintwork setting off the brilliant shine of its chrome wheels and accessories. Stooping to peer through the window, he’d known even before he saw it that the interior would be cream leather and walnut. He wasn’t disappointed.
He was still grinning at the thought of the car as he caught sight of Fran, pelting across the grass in the distance, then heading back towards the outbuildings they’d searched the previous evening.
Johnny rounded the end of a border and slipped between the low shrubbery as he tailed her.
‘Fran, what’s the matter?’ Johnny was calling at nothing more than her shadow, the swing of her bobbed hair glossy in the sunshine as she shot towards the outbuildings.
By the time he found her, she was yanking open one of the shed doors, gaze scanning the interior.
‘Fran, what’s the matter?’
Finally, she noticed him, as she raced from that outbuilding to its neighbour.
‘I need a ladder. Something to climb on.’ She was out of breath, her cheeks flushed and her expression fraught.
‘A ladder?’
‘Did you hear those explosions? Sounded like fireworks …’
‘Yes, an MG backfiring, that’s all.’ Johnny couldn’t see the connection.
‘It frightened Red. He’s gone up a tree and I don’t think he’ll be able to get back down. He’s stuck.’
Fran pulled at one of the aged wooden ladders inside the building, her frustration overflowing as she yanked at it and swore under her breath.
‘Let me get it,’ Johnny said, waiting for Fran to calm a little and take a step back.
She drew in a deep breath. ‘Thank you.’
With the ladder out in the open, Johnny cast around. There were a few spindly young trees dotting the grassy area, with more substantial, mature oaks partially obscuring the view out onto the neighbouring vineyards. Fran pointed towards those.
‘He’s over there. He ran away so fast, I only caught a glimpse of him as he shot up that big one with the split trunk.’
‘And you’re sure he’s stuck?’
‘Yes, I’m sure. Are you going to help me, or not?’ With exasperation in her every word, Fran tried to pull the ladder from his grasp.
‘You lead the way,’ Johnny said. ‘I’m right behind you.’
By the time he’d lugged the hefty ladder through long grass, which caught at his every step, and had reached the tree, Fran was in the dappled shade thrown by the tree’s leaves, peering up through the canopy. He rested the ladder against the trunk as Fran pointed upwards.
‘He’s up there.’
‘Where?’
‘Third bough up. I can see his paws. And I can hear him, can’t you?’
Johnny strained eyes and ears, unsure whether the noise he could hear was the yowling of a cat, or the sound of a far-off motorbike. Either way, he’d come too far to back out of this now. He steadied the feet of the ladder as best he could on the uneven ground and gnarly roots sticking proud of the soil.
‘Will you hold the ladder steady for me?’
‘I’m doing the climbing,’ Fran said. ‘He trusts me. You’ll just make things worse.’
Johnny had to admit she might be right where the cat was concerned. However, what Fran hadn’t factored was the length of the skirt she was wearing, and the fact that he would be stood directly beneath her if it was him holding the ladder. Yes, his thought process might not be very far advanced from that of a twelve-year-old, but the point still held. He’d be staring straight up her skirt. Plus, the ladder looked ropey, to say the least. If it hadn’t suffered irreparable damage at the hands – or maybe that should be teeth – of generations of woodworm, Johnny would be very surprised.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll keep my eyes closed. Promise.’
‘What do you mean? I need you to be able to take the cat from me once I get him down. How can you do that with your eyes clos—oh.’ She must have tracked his gaze.
