‘She’s safe.’
Penny wasn’t listening. ‘I was so off with her; I flew off the handle – like I always do … I wanted to punish her for deceiving me, for deceiving all of us, but I wish I hadn’t. Because none of that stuff matters, does it? Not when you think someone might be in real danger. I wanted to find her; I need to apologise. Are you sure she’s all right?’
Penny shook off Harry’s hand and moved to continue searching, until Harry wrapped her tight in a hug to keep her still long enough to gain her full attention.
‘Listen to me, Penny. Fran is safe. Everyone is safe and out of the building. Everyone except you, that is.’
Penny frowned. ‘You came to find me?’
‘Yes. You went off like a bullet, as per, and contrary to what you may think, it is incredibly important to me to keep you safe. I think I just realised how much you actually do mean to me, Penny Scott.’
‘How much I mean to you?’ Penny repeated the words, as though trying to make sense of them.
‘Yes. Now, let’s get out of here.’
Penny wanted to stay put, wanted to ask him exactly what he meant, but Harry was shoving the wet cloth into her hand,gesturing for her to hold it over her nose and mouth as he led her from the chateau.
Fran wasn’t sure how long she spent cradled in Johnny’s arms, but after a while she asked him to set her down, let her try out her ankle. After thinking it must be broken, the sharp piercing pain was giving way to more of a throbbing ache and it began to meld in with all the other aches and pains. Her whole body felt like it had been pummelled. She supposed it had – falling down a flight of stone stairs had a way of doing that to a person.
Now she knew she was out of danger, and so were all the people who had gone back into the chateau to look for her, the concern she still carried for Red resurfaced.
‘What am I going to do?’ she said.
‘You’re not doing anything right now. We’re waiting for an ambulance, Fran. You need to get that bump on your head checked out.’
Johnny had misinterpreted her question. If she’d felt less bruised, Fran might have made a joke at his expense. If she’d felt less worried, maybe she could have come up with a funny quip, something to raise all their spirits.
‘No, I mean about Red. How am I ever going to find him after all this?’
Johnny sighed, his expression clouding to match the smudges of ash and dirt she longed to wipe from his brow. ‘I don’t know. I’m so sorry we didn’t find any sign of him. But maybe that’s a good thing.’
‘You think he’s dead, don’t you?’ It was impossible not to notice the way he tried, and failed, to keep his reaction under control.
‘I think it’s a possibility,’ he said, his words measured and careful. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Tears prickled. She edged her way across to the bridge’s balustrade, trying to take strength from the stone as she leantagainst it, sucking in a deep breath as his words sank in. Red was gone. And even if, by some miracle, he managed to escape the fires, there would be no way to find him. He would have run far, far away.
Fran bit at her lip, trying to tell herself he was just a cat, a creature she’d known for less than a week. How was it possible that such a tiny creature had managed to find his way so very decisively into the centre of her heart? How was she going to make sense of life without him?
What she would give to see him again, to run fingers through the softness of his fur, to feel his impatient headbutt, the angular bones of his skull against her shin. It was irrational, her connection to Red, but that went no way towards dampening down her visceral reaction, the sudden and overwhelming need to weep, regardless of where she was or who might witness it. It was a moment in time when reality became suspended, and Fran closed her eyes, trying to fix an image of Red in her mind, desperate to photograph it, to store it forever in her memory, alongside the remembering she still clutched of her mother, her smile, her walk, her scent.
The tears came, then. Not just pricking, but cascading. Running freely down her face as she realised she’d never again stroke Red’s fur, her fingers feeling across the sharp crown of his head, along the soft downy ginger of his flank, the majestic brush of his tail.
‘My beautiful Red.’ Her words weren’t audible, they were contained in a noise, an exhalation of grief.
Fran didn’t think it possible to cry any harder than she already had been, but the loss of Red unlaced something so deeply embedded in Fran that she felt as though she were breaking in half.
Chapter 30
Johnny wanted to wrap Fran up in his arms, to hold her close and comfort her as she cried. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anyone lose it in quite such an uninhibited way, was struggling to know what to do. Natalie hadn’t ever shown this level of raw emotion, even in their most private moments – her displays of emotion tended towards anger. He’d learnt over the years that attack was his wife’s chosen defence mechanism.
He rested a hand on Fran’s shoulder, waiting for her to take the prompt and turn into him, but she didn’t. Instead, she kept both hands flat on the balustrade, face turned down and away from everybody as she wept.
‘Looks like they’re making headway with the fire,’ Noel said, a touch of desperation in his voice as he dithered at Johnny’s side.
Johnny allowed his gaze and his hand to slip away from Fran, was almost grateful to his brother for the distraction. For the first time, he took notice of the fire department’s arrival, and their immediate, decisive strategy. Their priority was to keep fire away from the main buildings and there was a long pipe stretching all the way to the river, sourcing water from there rather than their tanks as they doused the areas nearest the chateau. Johnny wondered what each vehicle’s capacity was for carrying water, tried to fill his mind with practical, unemotional thoughts. Would they attempt to contain the fire, rather than trying to put it out – allow it to burn out in a more controlled way? Maybe that strategy was already underway. Johnny wondered how many miles of vineyards would be lost, wondered if the fire had reached Monsieur Beaufoy’s grounds – or even Chateau des Rêves?
Now was not the time to worry about a derelict chateau he’d already decided he wasn’t going to buy. Logic told him as much. But the strong, almost visceral reaction to the thought of Chateau des Rêves burning took Johnny by surprise, stole his breath. It was as though someone had punched him in the stomach.
