Unsurprising, too, she supposed, that the moment the clock ticked its way to a predesignated time, her father stood, packing his laptop away and waiting for her to clamber to her feet, too.
After Fran’s non-committal response to the Lyme Regis house, she wondered if she’d offended him. The offer of a comfortable life in Lyme Regis, provided for and guaranteed, was probably the result of careful consideration. Bill Wilding wasn’t the kind of man who did anything without total conviction. Fran had already gleaned how single-minded and focused he was. The options had probably been weighed up and discarded in favourof the best solution long before the offer was made. So, perhaps it hadn’t entered his mind that she might not want to fall into line.
To be honest, Fran wasn’t entirely sure about that herself. Was she bonkers not to be grabbing at his offer with both hands? Before this week, that kind of a scenario had been her end goal. Before this week, she thought it highly likely she would have slipped into that house on the corner of the seafront promenade with a smile on her face and an upholsterer’s mallet ready in her hand.
So, what had changed?
As they exited the conference room, Pierre practically vaulted over the reception desk to offer assistance as required. Bill already had his mobile pressed to an ear, alerting the pilot to his plans for an imminent departure. He swept out through the doors, taking Fran and Pierre with him. On the top step, Pierre paused, a look of confusion crossing his features as he realised he didn’t need to follow them out to the helicopter, instead wishing Bill a safe journey before he retreated inside.
Fran strode across the grass with her father.
‘Will you let me know your decision in the next day or two?’ he said.
‘I will.’ Fran shoved her hands in her pockets, then withdrew them when one hit the obstruction of the envelope she’d rammed in there earlier.
‘I’m just trying to do right by you,’ he said, greeting the pilot and handing over his bag. ‘We’re all feeling our way with this thing, Fran.’
It was the most emotional statement he’d made all morning, and Fran appreciated it.
‘I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,’ she said, raising her voice against the engine noise. ‘It’s a beautiful house, and anincredibly generous offer. But I think you’re right, this whole thing is difficult to navigate. I just need time to work out what’s best for me.’
With the briefest of hesitation, Bill reached out and they hugged. Fran wondered if this kind of familiarity would ever come without awkwardness. She was beginning to hope so. He stayed on the grass as she turned away, walking until she was a safe distance from the helicopter. Once she was safely on the gravel of the driveway, she watched her father climb into the helicopter, the blades beginning their slow rotation as the bird fired up to full speed. With the blades whirring, and the air displacement sending the long, dry grass of the meadow dancing in all directions, Fran raised a hand to match the farewell of the father she was still struggling to know, and the helicopter lifted, lost to sight in the hazy blue of the sky within seconds.
Fran didn’t head back into the chateau, instead she slipped around the side of the building, to look for her trusted confidant. She felt sure Red would have some wisdom to impart. Or, failing that, she would be able to give the cat a cuddle.
When Fran didn’t come back into the hotel, Johnny folded the newspaper with a frustrated scrunch and shoved it back into the newspaper rack before climbing to his feet. Had she left with Bill Wilding?
He felt it unlikely, as she had no luggage with her. Had she seen him on her way out, and was now actively avoiding him by accessing the chateau through an alternative door?
It was possible he’d misinterpreted their entire time together, that she’d been enjoying some kind of messed-up role play at Chateau les Champs d’Or and he’d been sucked into it, had become a part of her fantasy without even realising. Maybe that was why her attitude had changed when they’d looked at the dilapidated Chateau des Rêves with the agent.
Maybe she realised the situation was getting out of hand and that’s why she’d pulled back. It could have been her way to protect him, to stop him from making an utter tit out of himself.
Either way, with a father like Bill Wilding there was little chance of Fran being interested in wanting anything from Johnny other than a few days of amusing diversion. He was clutching at straws to believe otherwise. She was hardly going to be serious about Chateau des Rêves, however much she appeared to like the place. And there was even less likelihood of her being interested in anything serious with him, on a business or a personal level. She’d probably be going home to some penthouse flat in Knightsbridge, or a cottage of Frogmore proportions nestling somewhere in the Cotswolds.
As he opened his EasyJet app, Johnny wondered if she’d even been telling the truth about Lyme Regis, about the ammonites and her inventive childhood tales of their demise.
With a flight booked for later that afternoon, Johnny took the stairs two at a time, then jogged up the spiral of his turret room staircase for what he hoped would be the final time. He paused at the top of the stairs, scanning the room in much the same way as he had when he’d first set foot in the Chateau les Champs d’Or honeymoon suite. He’d been right the first time around. This was not a place he wanted to be. Now, or ever again. He’d dodged a bullet with Fran, had managed to see through her wily deception far more quickly than he had with Natalie. Or, for that matter, Noel.
For the second time in as many days, Johnny pulled out his bag, and began to pack.
Chapter 26
‘I suppose being Bill Wilding’s daughter does have its upside,’ Fran said as Red pushed the hard dome of his skull against her fingers for the umpteenth time. ‘It means I’ll be able to ask Madame Beaufoy to make sure somebody feeds you until I can work out where we’re going to live next. Which one do you fancy: a two-bedroom flat with a view of the bakery’s bins or an ever-so-smart house on the seafront with lots of room to explore?’
Fran paused, weighing up the option of a third alternative. Red purred as though he didn’t have a care in the world. Which, Fran supposed, he didn’t, really.
‘Or you could just as easily move down and along the valley to Chateau des Rêves.’ Fran sighed. Out of all three of her options, cashing in everything she owned to renovate a dilapidated French chateau, even if it was a place in which she felt most at peace right now, had to be the least sensible option. And Fran was sensible. Practical. Down to earth.
Johnny’s idea to restore and then run a wine-tasting holiday business from the chateau was a good one – for him at least. But from where she stood, there were too many doubts. With no real sense of what was expected of her, what her role would be, and how she would be able to sufficiently contribute with so little experience, Fran was worried how she would measure up as Johnny’s business partner. The odds weren’t in her favour and Fran had concluded she couldn’t commit to this pipe dream.
Absently, she felt in her pocket for the envelope she still hadn’t got around to opening, only to find her pocket was empty. Casting her gaze around the immediate area, Fran saw no signof it, so it hadn’t fallen out as she’d sat down with Red. It had dropped out somewhere between saying goodbye to her father by his helicopter – the last time she’d felt the sharp edges of the envelope – and now. She frowned; her interest piqued now she knew there was no way to find out what had been contained inside.
After she’d given Red a whole load more cuddles, Fran set him down, promising him king prawns and any other wondrous bits of seafood she could filch from the kitchens for his supper, before she retraced her steps, checking for the envelope as she walked.
By the time she had re-walked the meadow, and come up empty, Fran had to admit defeat. The envelope was lost. In the foyer, she asked Pierre if he knew who had left it for her.
‘The tall Englishman,’ Pierre said, checking around to see if anyone was within earshot before he put his hand to his cheek. ‘The one with the punch to his face. Still very ’andsome, I think, even with the damage.’
