Escape to the French Chateau by Rachel Barnett

Author:Rachel Barnett [Barnett, Rachel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bonnier Books UK
Published: 2024-06-12T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Ignoring the logical, self-preservational side of her brain, which suggested she should walk away, Fran slid into the chair across from Johnny. It was a very modern spin on a classic tub chair design. Comfortable and stylish, if a bit soulless. She watched as Johnny scrubbed at his face with his hands, then rubbed at his eyelids with his fingers. He looked exhausted. His actions those of someone trying to get rid of something unpleasant, a thought or a feeling he couldn’t cope with.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ she suggested, fully aware she had no real idea what ‘it’ might be.

‘I was going to just leave first thing this morning. Get the hell away from everything.’ He exploded to his feet, pacing for a while. ‘Then I realised that it won’t solve anything because it’s only going to follow me. Wherever I go, it’s never going to go away.’

‘Johnny, what happened?’

Johnny’s face creased; he looked dangerously close to tears as the pacing picked up in intensity. Abruptly, he stopped, turning to face Fran.

‘With my brother, of all people. She could have chosen anyone else. It would still have ripped us apart, but anyone else, anyone in the world would have been easier to deal with than this.’ He laced his fingers together behind his head, arms folding around to cradle his skull.

A prickle ran its way up the back of Fran’s neck. He was talking about his ex. Had to be. And reading between the lines, she surmised Johnny’s wife must have slept with his brother – Fran assumed there wouldn’t be any other explanation capable of creating such distress. It would certainly explain why the brothers had been fighting in the chateau gardens.

‘How the hell do I ever deal with this? How are we going to explain it to Estelle?’

Fran stayed quiet, partly because she had no idea what to say, partly because the knot in her throat and the pricking in the corners of her own eyes were threatening to overwhelm her, and the last thing Johnny needed was more tears. He needed support. But the way he was expressing his emotions with such rawness had taken Fran aback and she wasn’t sure what to do with how it made her feel.

‘I’m not sure I’m the right person …’ Fran made to stand, sinking back into the chair when Johnny slid into the other, shaking his head.

‘I’m sorry, I’m not sure I’m making much sense. I didn’t mean to upset you. It just seems like … you’re … put it this way, you’re the closest I’ve got to someone I can confide in right now. Someone who will give me an honest opinion. The closest thing I have to a friend.’

Johnny lulled into silence; his gaze fixed through the window again.

‘If I can help, I will,’ Fran said.

Eventually, his exhausted gaze settled on hers. ‘Thanks.’

‘Did you sleep at all, last night?’ she asked.

A slight shake of his head was answer enough. ‘I suppose it makes sense; it explains why she wouldn’t tell me who it was.

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