They grinned at one another, and Johnny didn’t appear in any hurry to move. Nor did she, to be honest. Eventually, she glanced at the staircase.
‘Go on, then.’ Fran gestured to the right-hand set of stairs. ‘Up you go.’
The staircases themselves were constructed from stone, and each tread looked as though it was fixed into the very substance of the chateau walls. So, Fran had to concede that unless the entire structure of the chateau was compromised, the staircase should be relatively safe. Johnny tried to wobble the intricate wrought-iron banister as some kind of a safety check; it too seemed rock solid. He began to ascend, gaining confidence the further he went. At the top, he leaned over the railings and gestured at her.
‘Come on up, the weather’s lovely.’ A cheesy line, but there was no mistaking his enthusiasm.
There were a great many steps up to the balcony level. Not surprising, Fran supposed, considering the height of the ceilings in the downstairs rooms. But it wasn’t only about the height of each floor in the building, because each step was also very shallow in depth while every tread was generous in dimension. As though the staircases had been constructed for people who were in absolutely no hurry at all and could take as long as they liked to traverse the steps – as though looking elegant while climbing or descending had been the deciding factor in the staircases’ design.
At the top, she joined Johnny who was staring up at the vaulted ceiling.
‘So, why are we nosing around this place?’ she said. ‘Are you thinking of buying it?’
Johnny brought his focus down from the cornicing, settling his gaze on her instead. His smile faded, replaced instead by a look she hadn’t seen in his expression before. He looked conflicted.
‘No. Not really. It’s more of a pie in the sky idea, I suppose. I don’t even know how much they’re asking for it. Plus, It’s not like I’m particularly flush right now, what with everything …’ He tailed off.
Fran’s cheeks coloured. She presumed he meant his divorce. When Fran had finally got up enough courage to leave Victor, there was never any question she would take with her anything other than her personal belongings. The mid-terrace they’d lived in was his, the car was his, the furniture was all his choice. Fran had been nothing more than another accessory in his life. A naive and foolish one, she’d subsequently come to realise. But the situation must be completely different for Johnny. He had responsibilities he couldn’t just walk away from. And she wouldn’t be here, spending time with him, if she thought he was the kind of man to walk away from his child, or a relationship which had mattered to him.
Johnny’s expression perked up, but he looked as though he was working hard to achieve it.
‘You don’t need to explain,’ she said. Fran hadn’t wanted to make him feel unsettled, the last thing she’d wanted was to bring the mood down. ‘It’s really none of my business. Sorry.’
Running a hand across his chin, Johnny shook his head. ‘No, it’s not that. I just … The thing is, I have so many reasons to keep my life exactly on the track it’s following. I need to work out how I’m going to co-parent Estelle with my ex. And in orderto be able to give Estelle what she needs, I should be focusing on Taylor Made Wine – on making our business as successful as possible.’ He pulled in a huge breath. ‘It all makes perfect sense. Except …’
‘Except what?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. It’s nothing.’ Johnny arched his eyebrows. ‘Maybe I’m having a mid-life crisis.’
‘Why? How old are you? You don’t look a day over forty.’ Fran was attempting to lighten the mood, she didn’t think he was anything like that old, but perhaps she’d gone too far. A beat of time passed, punishing Fran for her flippancy, before Johnny smiled.
‘I’m twenty-one. It’s been a hard life.’
‘Well, I’m sixty-two and never done a day’s work in my life,’ Fran retaliated, sauntering along the landing, imitating the walk she’d seen so often over the last few months, ladies laden down by diamonds who held their hands just so, making sure everyone got a great view of the rocks on their fingers.
‘Needed much Botox?’ Johnny asked.
‘Everywhere,’ Fran replied, patting her forehead. ‘Just don’t expect me to look surprised by anything.’
Johnny let out a hoot of laughter, then reached for the handle on the closest door, pushing it open. His laughter faded, and as Fran reached his side and peered into the room, an involuntary gasp passed her lips.
In the centre of the room stood an enormous four-poster bed, festooned with cover-up sheets and cobwebs in equal measure, but Fran could still see the gleam of mahogany from the exposed wood. It was beautiful. Beyond the bed, the view from the sash window was equally amazing, with vineyards flowing away into the distance.
The view didn’t hold Fran’s attention, though. Standing shoulder to shoulder with Johnny in the doorway of this room and staring at the giant bed, she bit hard at the edge of her lip as the same feeling she’d had in his turret room at the hotel chose that moment to flood her body with heat.
Without a word, they turned towards one another. Close enough to touch if one or other of them was to take the smallest step forwards. Johnny’s smile fell away as he stared at her. Fran, chin tipped so she could see his eyes, became aware of every breath she was taking, his too. Her heart rate picked up, her pulse seemed to have taken over her throat, making it impossible for her to speak.
The moment, although it felt like it lasted forever, was just that – a moment. A suspension of time Fran would have happily inhabited for longer. But then Johnny drew in a deep breath, the corners of his mouth crinkling all the way into his eyes as he stepped back.
‘Shall we carry on looking?’
The moment was gone. Evaporated. Had Fran wanted him to kiss her? The base of her stomach had the answer, was shouting it at her. But he hadn’t. He’d chosen not to. And perhaps that told Fran everything she needed to know.
Chapter 17
They continued checking out the rest of the first-floor rooms, most of them leading from a corridor deeper inside the building. There was another staircase leading up to further levels, and even more rooms, but Johnny’s enthusiasm had waned.
He had wanted so badly to lean down and kiss Fran in that doorway. She’d been so close to him, close enough for him to inhale the sweet notes of her perfume and see the way her hair curled around the ear behind which she’d tucked it, the way the curl brushed at one of her little silver stud earrings.
