Privately owned by the Forbin family, Château de Chalant was considered one of the most beautiful castles in France. It was never open to the public.
'What are we doing here?'
'Frédéric Forbin is a friend and business associate. I called him and arranged for us to visit the chateau.'
Flabbergasted, she could only stare at him, and then down at the manicured elegant grounds as the helicopter swept towards the chateau. As the helicopter landed, she saw a man waiting for them at the bottom of the steps leading up to a terrace that then led to double wooden front door.
'Is that Frédéric?'
'No, it's the chateau director, who is expecting us. Frédéric is away travelling. The chateau is of such historical and architectural importance Frédéric employs a conservation team, headed by the director.'
As they exited the helicopter she tried to dampen down the enthusiasm fizzing in her blood. She had studied the historic textiles of Château de Chalant while at university. Now she was going to see them first-hand! She wanted to babble with excitement, but forced herself to shake the director's hand calmly.
Then both men shook hands.
'Monsieur Fitzsimon, it is a pleasure to have you back at Château de Chalant. It's been a long time.'
'Good to see you, too, Edouard.'
There was a slight catch to his voice, but despite that Patrick looked totally at ease and in no way fazed, as she was by the grandeur of the chateau. Once again she was struck by how different his life was from hers-how used he was to mixing in the world of wealth and power.
Edouard led them into the vast entrance hall of the chateau, where two sweeping marble stone staircases, one at either side, led up to a wooden gallery that encircled the hall. Historic tapestries hung from the walls.
Unable to help herself, she walked to a sixteenth-century oak chair and exclaimed, 'Oh, wow! That chair is upholstered in Avalan fabric. I've never seen it in real life before; only in textbooks.'
The director looked at her in surprise. 'Not many people would recognise this fabric-are you a historian?'
'No, I'm a textile designer, but I have a passion for historical fabrics. I love how designs and patterns tell us so much about the period of history they were produced in, about the social norms and conditions.'
'Well, you're in for a treat this evening.' The director turned to Patrick. 'I will leave you and Mademoiselle Ryan to tour the chateau alone. If you need anything I shall be in my office.'
As they walked away from the entrance hall she asked, intrigued, 'Why did you bring me here?'
'This is the most beautiful building I have ever visited. I thought you would enjoy it. But now I'm especially glad that I organised the trip. I hadn't realised you were so passionate and knowledgeable about historical textiles.'
'I have a lot of hidden talents you don't know about.'
With a glint in his eye he said, 'Is that right?'
She mumbled, 'Yes...' and turned away, heat flooding her cheeks. She felt as though she was floating on air between the excitement of being here and her desperation to feel his lips on hers again, to be encompassed by his size and strength.
He was right. Anticipation was thrilling. But what if that anticipation led to nothing?
The first room he took her to was the print room. As Aideen looked around the room in astonishment he explained, 'It was a tradition for royalty and the gentry to collect expensive prints and paste them directly on to the walls.'
Some of the black and white prints illustrated faraway picturesque locations-the lakes of Northern Italy, Bavarian forests... Animal prints showed farmyard scenes of cows and sheep; another was of a spaniel, standing before a raging river.
She was blown away by the sheer extravagance of the room. Priceless print after print covered the entirety of the four walls. 'They're beautiful-what incredible detail.'
'This room was created by Princess Isabella-it's said Prince Henri of Chalant built this chateau as a symbol of his love for her, before they married.'
'That's so romantic.'
He didn't respond, and when she turned to him the air was compressed in her lungs. He stood in the middle of the room, his hands in his pockets, gazing at her intently. He wore navy chinos and a white polo shirt. His bare arms were beautifully carved with taut muscle, the skin lightly tanned with a dusting of dark hair.
She even fancied his arms. Was there any hope for her?
An awareness passed between them and she suddenly grew shy, giving him a quick smile before walking away to inspect other prints.
But he made for the door and gestured her to follow. 'If you think that's romantic let me show you something else.'
She followed him down the corridor until he stopped at a closed door.
'Close your eyes and I'll lead you in.'
She eyed him suspiciously. 'You're not going to play a trick on me, are you? Lead me down into the dungeon or something like that?'
His head tilted and he gave her a sexy grin that sent her pulse into orbit. 'As intriguing as that suggestion sounds...no, I'm not going to take you to the dungeon.' Then he gave her an admonishing look and said, 'Now, for once will you please try and trust me and close your eyes?'
She held her breath as his hand took hers. She heard the door open and then he slowly led her forward for about ten paces. She felt oddly vulnerable, and her hand tightened on his of its own accord.
All her senses were attuned to the solid strength of his hand, the smooth warmth of his skin, the torturous pleasure of being so physically close to him...
'Open your eyes.'
She gasped in astonishment. It was the most dazzling room she'd ever seen. It was like something out of a fairytale. Or a room she imagined might have been in a Russian royal palace.
She twisted around in amazement, shaking her head. The double-height rectangular room was a feast of gilded Baroque plasterwork. It was opulent and outrageous in its beauty. And so much fun she couldn't help but laugh.
'It's absolutely stunning! It's like standing in the middle of an exquisite piece of twenty-four-carat gold jewellery'
'It's called the Gold Room. Prince Henri commissioned it to celebrate Isabella's fiftieth birthday.'
She gave him a wistful smile. 'He really was romantic, wasn't he?'
He gave a light shrug and looked up at the intricate gilt stucco work on the ceiling. 'I guess when you find the love of your life you just want to celebrate it.'
A rush of emotion tore through her body. 'It must be nice to feel so loved.'
Their eyes met briefly and they both looked away at the same time.
She moved through the silent room, unexpected tears clouding her vision. The past year might have made her wary of others, but at the same time there was an emptiness in her heart. She wanted to be in love. Desperately.
With each passing day, as they got to know each other, things were changing between her and Patrick. They now shared an intimacy, an ease with one another that had her thinking maybe they had something between them...something significant. Patrick telling her last night about Orla had been particularly moving, and also momentous. It was as though he had finally allowed her to step fully into his life.
Behind her, he called, 'Are you ready to see some more rooms?'
She nodded, but was slow to turn around. Was he feeling the same intensity she was? This need to connect on a different level?
* * *
An hour later her head swam as she tried once again to orientate herself in the vastness of the chateau. They had passed through room after room, all full of sumptuous furniture and historically significant textiles and antiques. And yet, somewhat miraculously, Château Chalant retained an air of intimacy. Was it because it had been built to celebrate love?
Eventually they found themselves back in the entrance hall. For some reason she didn't want their time here to end. She wanted to stay here with him a little longer.
With a heavy heart she said, as brightly as she could, 'Thank you for bringing me here-it really is a magical place.'
'The tour isn't over yet. I have kept the best room for last.'
Intrigued, she followed him into a vast, empty room with marble flooring. A bow window overlooked the gardens to the rear of the chateau.
She looked around, perplexed, taking in the ornate plasterwork on the domed ceilings and alcoves. Painted a silvery white, the sunlit room was a sleeping silent oasis, even in the tranquillity of the chateau.
'Why is there no furniture?' She jumped to hear her own voice echoing noisily around the room.
He had remained standing close to the doorway, while she was now perched on the sill of the bow window.
'It helps with the acoustics.'
What had been a whisper from Patrick echoed loudly across the room.