‘Charming,’ his brother said. ‘But probably just as well, you do snore like a warthog.’
And that should have been an end to it. Except that after the porter had shown Johnny to his suite, and before he’d even managed to close the door, Ricky was back down the corridor, shouldering his way into Johnny’s room.
‘It’s the bloody honeymoon suite,’ he said.
‘What is?’
‘The west turret. It’s their honeymoon suite. There are hearts everywhere you look, even carved into the cornerstones.’
‘So?’
‘I can’t stay in a honeymoon suite without Belinda. She’ll never forgive me. And it kind of feels a bit weird, when we’ll be doing it for real in a few months anyway. Disrespectful, somehow. You know?’
‘It’s just a room, Ricky. Who cares what they’re calling it?’
‘Then you won’t mind swapping with me, will you?’
‘Are you being serious?’
Ricky was dead serious. And before Johnny had a chance to protest further, he and his bag found themselves in the honeymoon suite, the key card hastily pressed into his hand and the door firmly closed by the departing Ricky.
After his marriage to Natalie became the opposite of Estelle’s DVDs, irreparably ungluing itself at the seams, Johnny had secretly promised himself he would never go back – either to Natalie, or to that kind of a situation. Never have the need to spend time in a room such as this again. Because he knew what followed it. And never again did he want to feel such an overwhelming sense of disappointment, or sadness.
He might not be the best catch on the planet, Johnny was well aware he was far from perfect. Yes – Noel was correct, he did snore, and had long since recognised a tendency towards melancholy which nobody had any time for. At least, that’s what he’d always been told by those closest to him. But regardless of his personal shortcomings, he never wanted to feel that kind of pain ever again. That sense of being utterly untethered. Of having everything you thought you knew for certain ripped out of the ground and thrown to the winds.
He’d known things with Natalie weren’t great, hadn’t been for a while – and however hard they tried, the stresses of his work schedule, her job, and the arrival of Estelle had all played a part in the way they found it increasingly challenging to be around one another as a couple – but he’d always believed they’d find a way through it. That they’d find a way to stay together as a family. Right up until the moment she’d told him that in an attempt to find solace she’d been unfaithful, but flatly refused to tell him who with.
Johnny had gone from having everything – however imperfect it might have been – to having nothing. And he wasn’t going to do that ever again. Which was why finding himself in the honeymoon suite of the Chateau les Champs d’Or was utterly surreal.
Doing his best to ignore the hearts – and Ricky hadn’t been exaggerating, they were everywhere – Johnny dumped his bag, then folded the counterpane and shoved it into the bottom of a wardrobe. The last thing he wanted to do was to slide beneath that every night of this trip, with its intricate self-coloured embroidered lovebird pattern repeated across the creamy silk. The plain white duvet below would do just fine.
Perching on the edge of the huge bed, he dropped his head into his hands and closed his eyes. Here at last was the moment he wanted to himself, a few minutes to be quiet and still.
His brother had always been the firecracker out of the pair of them. Younger by three years, louder by three decibels, and more driven than Johnny by about three hundred per cent, Noel always managed to put Johnny in the shade. Not that Johnny craved the spotlight particularly, and not that Noel could have achieved for the business what he had without Johnny’s input – they were both fully aware of that.
But somehow, lately, the tickle of inferiority Johnny had always done his best to ignore had morphed into something else. It was as though someone had shackled a weight to his ankle and had been adding to the load while he wasn’t looking. Maybe it was nothing more than the mental load from the breakdown of his marriage – after all, Noel had been an absolute rock throughout, it was unfair of Johnny to lay any of the way he was feeling about that at his brother’s door. Nevertheless, something had shifted in their relationship, and he wished he could work out why.
He shook his head, rubbing vigorously at his cheeks. It was probably all in his imagination, nothing more than a reaction to the conversation he’d had with Natalie shortly before leaving for the airport. She’d finally mentioned the d-word. Suggested it was time to consult with solicitors and get the ball rolling. She was probably right. There was no way back for them as a couple. Johnny had known this was where it would end the moment Natalie told him she’d slept with someone else.
The irony was that while she’d blamed his rigorous work ethic, the fact he spent all hours making the business a success, he’d only done it for them. Maybe he had been obsessed, but it had only ever been with making Taylor Made Wine as successful as possible to bring in enough money to give Natalie and Estelle a safe, secure life.
And no matter how hard they’d tried to pretend none of it had happened, had tried to find a way through, her revelations had been like a serpent, winding around the throat of their life together and squeezing until everything had turned black.
‘Shit.’ The oath was little more than a breath, as his face sank back into the cradle of his splayed fingers.
When the knocking started, Johnny presumed it was Noel. He had no idea how long had passed, with his eyes closed and everything blissfully quiet until that moment. He wasdisorientated when he heard the door being opened, footsteps, a woman’s voice.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry – I didn’t realise anyone was in here. I brought towels.’
Chapter 3
‘Towels?’ Fran repeated. The guy looked confused, as though she’d asked him to solve some complicated maths equation and had demanded an instant answer.
It was possible her own expression wasn’t a million miles away from his. She’d been in her new uniform for less than ten minutes before Penny – the member of the housekeeping team Fran had found shortly after leaving the manager’s office – handed her a pile of towels and directed her towards the honeymoon turret.
Contrary to her observations while she sat outside Madame Beaufoy’s office, it was becoming clear the chateau was understaffed. Instead of having time to put her own belongings into the staff quarters, she’d been put straight to work. As a plus, she hadn’t been given any paperwork to complete. She supposed that could work in her favour, might give her some more time to perfect her cover story – which could only be a bonus, as her story had more holes in it than a sieve – but she would have appreciated a cup of tea before she began working. Maybe also the chance to use the bathroom.
As she glanced around the honeymoon turret, everything looked sickeningly perfect. Swathes of sumptuous floor-length cream velvet curtains, held back by metal loops cast into heart shapes. Blood red cushions adorned the three curving window nooks, each one just about wide enough for two people to snuggle into the deep stone windowsill. Fran couldn’t see the view from where she stood, but she knew it would be spectacular from this high up.
