She grinned. ‘He’s such a naughty cat.’
Johnny remained by the shed as Fran’s distracted smile gave way and she turned from him with a final wave, no doubt to go and check on Red.
That ginger tomcat was one lucky son of a … gun.
As he trudged through the gardens and into the chateau, a thought stuck with Johnny, and as much as it surprised him, it wasn’t one he found he wanted to discard, either. Because he realised he really wanted Fran to care as much about him as she cared about that cat.
Chapter 13
Harry hadn’t hesitated when Fran had burst into the kitchen on the hunt for a treat for the cat. Apparently Red had suffered a double scare, once at the hands of a misfiring car, and then when Fran had attempted to rescue him from his hiding place in a tree.
As he cut a sliver of chicken from a freshly cooked bird and handed it over, he grinned. That had to be why he and Penny kept seeing the animal stalking his way through the long grass at the rear of the chateau. They’d assumed, incorrectly as it now turned out, the cat had made a home for himself in the disused buildings housing all sorts of bric-a-brac. But he supposed the old oak with the split trunk was an even better hiding place.
He remembered the first time he and Penny had taken a walk around the back of the property. Penny arrived on a Friday, and by the Sunday evening, after a long and particularly difficult dinner service, they’d both felt the need to take a moonlit walk to wind down.
Within minutes, Penny had made him laugh three times and had spilled her obsession with everythingHarry Potter. He was instantly caught up in her enthusiasm, pretended he’d watched all the films when in fact he’d only seen part of the first one and had to back-pedal when she began to quiz him on the intricacies of the plot. It was the first time they’d had a conversation, and he’d managed to make a complete idiot of himself. But she’d seen how embarrassed he was and hadn’t missed a beat. Instead, she tugged at her impossibly long, blonde hair and changed the subject to the foods he most enjoyed cooking versus the ones she most liked eating. Had challenged him to teachher how to cook, telling him she was literally the least proficient person ever to have picked up a wooden spoon.
And there shouldn’t have been anything more to it than that. A chance to pull in some fresh air after the heat and intensity of an evening in the kitchens, and the opportunity for an interesting chat with a fellow Brit. Except that from that very first walk she’d captured something in him, and the more time he spent around her, the more he wanted to be around her.
To Harry, it seemed Penny also had similar reasons to him as to why she’d ended up working at Chateau les Champs d’Or. Partly to finance her plans to continue to travel, and partly to find out where she fitted into this complicated world.
Harry knew all about trying to work out what he wanted from his life – what he really wanted. Cooking, the dream of becoming a head chef, maybe even an executive chef one day or even to own his own restaurant – none of that had changed from the first time Harry had taken it upon himself, with the help of a YouTube video, to make pizza from scratch, and how good it had tasted.
It was the rest of his life that was the real challenge. A challenge that had only become more complicated by his unexpectedly strong friendship with Penny. By the draw he felt to be wherever she was, and the way she looked at him, the intense gaze she thought he hadn’t noticed.
The fact that he couldn’t work out how to make their friendship into anything more than a chance encounter for the summer weighed heavily on Harry. He was attracted to her and wasn’t sure he would be able to keep his distance for much longer. But there was no way he wanted to hurt Penny, which was why the frustration of his reality, and his inability to know how to change it, preyed on his mind almost constantly.
For now, Harry allowed his concentration to slip back to the task of slicing the rest of the chicken ready to be added to a complicated selection of salad leaves, carefully shaped crouton hearts and a fresh dressing. Louis’ signature version of a chicken Caesar salad required precision from every aspect of the dish, and now he’d sacrificed a slice of chicken for the cat, Harry would need to carve with extra care.
He had a feeling it wasn’t only the carving he would have to approach with extra care over the coming days.
Red was getting rather good at responding to Fran’s weird squeaky noise. She’d only had to do her impersonation of a mouse on helium a couple of times and the cat had appeared for a cuddle. He wasn’t holding the ladder fiasco against her, which was good, because she was berating herself enough about that without needing any outside help.
Johnny must think her a complete idiot. First, she made the poor bloke carry the ladder all the way out to the tree, then he insisted on climbing it – totally unnecessarily, as it turned out – and to top it all off, he’d managed to gather a handful of splinters as a thank you present.
As she ran her fingers through the cat’s fur, feeling the regular rattle of his purr with his every breath, Fran couldn’t help reliving the few moments she’d spent lying beneath the tree with Johnny. The memory of his breath close to her ear, his body spray sharp and fresh like newly laundered sheets, his sheer weight against her as they’d floundered and fallen should have created a feeling of discomfort. But it hadn’t. She should have instantly pushed him away. But she didn’t. If anything, wanting the reverse was closer to the truth. Heat flooded her neck, reaching for her cheeks as she acknowledged how comfortable she’d been, how little she’d wanted to break the moment and climb to her feet.
The heat stretched further as she wondered what it would have felt like if he’d reached across and touched her. Or hadn’t moved his weight from her body in the first place, when they’d landed in a heap. Fran’s stomach twisted.
‘Oh, Red. What the hell’s going on in my head?’
In response, Red let rip with one of his deep-throated yowls, and Fran laughed as he turned himself around so she could administer her attentions to his other flank.
‘I know, I know … You don’t much care so long as I give you plenty of attention.’
With purring reinstated loud enough to register on the Richter scale, Red seemed satisfied. And Fran was very content with her newest ally.
It was important not to get sidetracked, important to remember what men were capable of – even ones who appeared genuine. She would do well to remember what Johnny himself had told her about having a daughter. Therefore, it stood to reason he also had a partner. And feeling secure in his company was one thing. Entertaining thoughts of being the woman who did to Johnny’s partner what countless women had done to her when she’d been with Victor? That didn’t sit comfortably with Fran, not at all.
‘Right, young man. Time for me to make tracks.’ With a final tickle under Red’s chin, Fran shifted the cat’s weight from her lap and brushed away stray hairs as she stood.
Red turned circles around her ankles, tail vertical and bushier than ever, whiskers extended and gleaming in the sunshine as he attempted to trip her up.
‘I get it, you’re beautiful enough not to expect to have to work. You’re like an oligarch’s third wife. Razor thin and flawless and only happy with the finest things in life. Well, you’ve cracked the first two, and I’m working on that last one for you.’ Fran grinnedat the cat, giving him one last stroke. ‘Meanwhile, I’m very much not razor thin, or flawless, or only happy with the finest things in life. And I have work to do. So, I’ll see you later?’
‘Mreooow.’
‘Fish or more chicken tonight?’ she asked.
