Penny made a bad job of stifling a laugh.
‘I haven’t,’ Fran added, with more force this time. ‘Daughter at home, remember?’
‘I remember.’ Penny set down her dusting cloth and sighed. ‘You’re right. I mean, it’s not like there’s any point in finding out his relationship status, is there? He’s only here for a few days, you’re only here for a short while … What’s the point, right?’
‘Exactly.’ Fran folded a final towel with a decisive movement, pleased that Penny had got the message.
‘And even if it did turn out that he’s a single dad, there’s still no way either of you would consider wanting to spend time together, is there? Driving all the way to see some old building together? That would be so pointless and futile. No, hang on a minute … Hold the front page, because that’s exactly what youaregoing to do.’ Penny’s eyebrows arched again, accompanied by a sly grin.
‘You are impossible.’ Fran couldn’t help smiling, too.
With the room complete, and their jobs worked through, Penny took control of the cleaning trolley, chivvying Fran on her way.
‘It’s going to take you a while to get yourself presentable, after all,’ she said with a knowing look.
‘Thanks very much,’ Fran said. Penny’s grin reinforced her own amusing subtext.
‘Final words of advice from one girl to another …’ Penny said as she pushed the trolley away. ‘Always keep it wrapped. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Which, to be honest, leaves you a particularly wide remit.’ Penny winked, and then her expression suddenly turned serious. ‘Enjoy your day, Fran, is what I’m trying to say. Don’t overthink it and live in the moment.’
Her hair was still damp from the shower as Fran headed for her rendezvous with Johnny. He looked the picture of relaxation leaning against the grey Mercedes, languid in a short-sleeved shirt and lightweight chinos.
‘All ready?’ he said.
Another wave of uncertainty flooded Fran; she could feel heat stealing its way up her neck as she glanced at her choice of clothes. Loose-fitting draw-string cotton trousers, bright red and dotted with egg-yolk yellow depictions of elephants, with a generous white T-shirt tucked in at the waist, all teamed with some strappy tan sandals – Fran hoped she hadn’t overdone the casual look.
It had taken her ages to decide on what to wear, flip-flopping between a choice of tops which she’d decided, in the end, sent the wrong message. Tight or strappy were sidelined. Regardless of what Penny had intimated, Fran didn’t want to look like she was on a date. Didn’t want him to think she thought she was on a date. But now, standing beside his luxurious hire car in her favourite but most relaxed selection of an outfit, she was worried her choice might make her look like she was on her way to clown school for her inaugural lesson.
‘I think so.’ She clutched her generous bag, stuffed with a water bottle and some factor 30, alongside her purse and phone.
‘All right then, hop in.’ He gestured to the passenger side and slipped into the driver’s seat; door already wide to allow the interior to cool. With both seat belts secured, Johnny glanced at her. ‘Destination of choice is Chateau d’Ussé, right?’
‘If that’s OK with you.’
With the engine purring, and Chateau les Champs d’Or growing smaller in the rear-view mirror, a cloud of dust billowing from the gravelled driveway, Johnny fiddled with the satnav and set a course.
Out on tarmac roads, and with the air conditioning set cool enough to deceive them about the soaring outside temperature, Fran began to relax.
‘You speak good French,’ she said, glancing at his profile as he concentrated on a series of bends in the road. She’d been waiting for the right moment to ask, but instead it had blurted out. ‘Are you fluent?’
Johnny shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t say I’m fluent. Maybe fluid.’ He grinned, then slid a sideways glance at her before concentrating on the road again. ‘Sorry, one of those stupid jokes which came about when I realised my aptitude for languages. I enjoy messing around with words but I’m not perfect, so I termed myself fluid, not fluent.’
‘You speak languages other than French, too?’ Fran’s focus shifted from the dry verges of the passing countryside as she turned in her seat, attention settling on Johnny.
‘Italian fairly well, I would say. A decent amount of Spanish. That’s quite an easy one, because unlike our language, which breaks every rule ever made multiple times and in tons of different ways, Spanish tends to stick to its guns. So, it’s easier to get a grip on. I also know a bit of German.’
‘Are you serious?’ Fran was genuinely impressed, but the frown flitting across his face suggested she’d expressed it badly.
‘Do you think I’m making it up?’
‘Not at all.’ She didn’t doubt he was telling the truth, instead she was battling with a sudden desire to ask him to say something in all those different languages. Living in Lyme Regis again for the past few years, with plenty of foreign visitors flooding the town almost year-round, Fran had developed a guilty pleasure. Doing her best to guess what language people were speaking as she listened in to their conversations. A peeping Tom, but with her ears, rather than her eyes. And she didn’t think it really even counted as an intrusion, not when she couldn’t even understand what was being said.
‘What about your family? What do they think?’ Fran said, immediately regretting the question. It was way too personal.
‘My brother Noel struggles to communicate in anything other than sarcasm, so he’s unimpressed. In all honesty, it’s not something that comes up much. Languages are just something I’ve always been able to do. Nothing more, nothing less.’
‘Surely there must be someone who appreciates your skills?’ Fran hadn’t really wanted to know what his brother thought, that hadn’t been the kind of family she meant.
‘Like a support group, or something?’ He looked amused. ‘My name’s Johnny Taylor and I’m an accent addict, that kind of thing?’
