‘Thank goodness. Mr Wilding is so focused, sometimes I think it might slip his mind that other people do have their own plans.’
As Katie wound up the conversation, eager to make her call to the chateau, Fran slid onto one of the cream leather sofas and checked the time. Already almost a quarter to ten. In terms of unannounced visits, this outranked any of her hotel trips so far, by a country mile.
Chapter 24
Fran greeted her father in the foyer of the hotel, doing her best not to colour at the awkward moment when neither of them seemed to know whether to shake hands or embrace. Bill made the best of the confusion, grasping her hand and pulling her in for a quick hug before turning his attention to Madame Beaufoy.
‘Your journey was comfortable, I trust?’ Madame Beaufoy’s voice jangled with nerves.
The question was superfluous, in Fran’s opinion. The helicopter he’d arrived in stood on the meadow to the front of the chateau, sunning itself like an enormous dragonfly, the pilot fussing around it. Even though a strong breeze seemed to have picked up overnight, it was unlikely to have been a difficult journey. No chance of Bill Wilding being pressed cheek to backpack for hours on a rammed train. Not even the laborious, if luxurious, wait in a first-class lounge at an airport. If Bill Wilding needed to get somewhere, he got there, wasting as little time as possible. Should the transporter technology fromStar Trekbecome a reality, Fran could imagine her father beaming himself all over the place. The image made her smile, took away some of the nerves, which were still getting the better of Madame Beaufoy as she uncharacteristically stuttered over introducing herself, and then a few of the higher-ranking staff members.
‘Is there a room Fran and I could use, Madame Beaufoy? Somewhere we won’t be interrupted?’
‘Of course, Monsieur Wilding.’
The words were followed by an excruciatingDownton Abbeymoment when Madame Beaufoy clicked her fingers at Pierre onthe front desk, asking if the smaller of the conference rooms was free. And ready to receive as important a guest as Bill Wilding, Fran thought, although that part of the request was left unspoken. Pierre scurried, returning a few moments later with a relieved nod of his head.
‘Let me show you the way,’ Madame Beaufoy said, dismissing the rest of the staff and leading the group, visibly irritated when Pierre bobbed out from behind reception again to press an envelope into Fran’s hand.
Although it was addressed to her, Fran didn’t recognise the handwriting. Now wasn’t the moment to open it, whatever it was, so she folded it and stuck it into her pocket.
When they were both settled in the room, Madame Beaufoy asked if they would like coffee.
‘Not now, thank you. Maybe later.’
Madame Beaufoy withdrew, and Bill Wilding settled his gaze fully on Fran for the first time since he’d arrived. Fran found herself picking at a nail as he studied her, his concentration on her was intense. After what felt like an interminable amount of time he grinned.
‘So, you decided to go undercover then?’ he said.
Johnny caught sight of Fran as he re-entered the hotel, having returned from a second meeting with Monsieur Beaufoy at Beaufoy Wines. He’d been lining up that potential goldmine of a supply of wines for his tasting holidays. The deal was made even sweeter when Monsieur Beaufoy offered the possibility of allowing guests access to tour the vineyards, and Johnny assured him that not only would his prospective clients love that idea, but it would also act as an extra source of income for them both.
It all made perfect sense. After all, Monsieur Beaufoy’s vineyards stretched all the way around Chateau des Rêves. They were visible from the upstairs rooms.
If he managed to buy the chateau, Johnny imagined putting a gate in the property line, popping through to pick himself a handful of grapes, except he was aware that for most of the growing season, vineyard grapes would be sour enough to take the lining off the back of the throat of anyone foolish enough to pinch a bunch. Maybe the gate would make for a pleasant walk through the vineyard, a picnic nestling in a basket and Estelle running up and down the lines of vines. Fran carrying a blanket for them all to sit on …
Back in the here and now, he took the steps to the hotel foyer and almost called out to Fran. He wanted to ask if she’d had a chance to look through his plans yet, but the words caught in his throat. She was surrounded by senior members of the hotel staff, all wearing studious expressions.
No, it wasn’t Fran who was surrounded by them, it was the man she was with. He was the one they were all focused on. As the guy turned, Johnny caught sight of his face, recognising almost immediately who he was. It was Bill Wilding.
Noel would have a seizure if he knew Bill Wilding was at the hotel, had always spoken about the businessman with a God-like reverence. Would probably give his right ear to meet the guy – and here the man was. Larger than life.
Johnny frowned. Although he had no personal feelings towards Bill Wilding, the tug towards his brother and his attitudes towards life were still strong. But his confusion at seeing Fran dressed in normal clothes, rather than the hotel uniform, smiling and looking relatively comfortable in Bill Wilding’s company deepened Johnny’s frown to canyon status.
He watched the group as they ebbed and flowed like a small shoal of fish, before Fran, Bill Wilding and Madame Beaufoy peeled off and headed for one of the hotel’s smaller conference rooms.
When the hotel manager reappeared, Johnny stopped her.
‘Excusez-moi, Madame. Could I ask who that is with Fran?’ He knew perfectly well, but it seemed a better way into the conversation than asking what on earth Fran was doing in conference with the business tycoon.
The answer was not the one he had been expecting, and it silenced him.
‘That is Fran’s father, Monsieur.’
Fran studied Bill’s expression for clarity. Was he smiling because he thought the situation was legitimately funny, or was his smile born out of a different emotion, one with less charitable origins? Was it a true smile, or the smile of an assassin, about to reveal his true intentions?
The fact that Fran didn’t know which way the situation could go, didn’t know how Bill would react, told her how little she understood yet about her new-found father.
And if he really did find her decision to go undercover to be amusing, how did that make her feel? She hadn’t done it as a joke.
