“I’m not playing games, Francesca. I can just leave, you know?”
“You’re no fun anymore,” Francesca pouted. “Fine, alright. I’ll go take a bath.” She stretched up from the bed, like Sleeping Beauty stirring from slumber. Then she made a show of letting the robe drop from her shoulders and dip down her back as she flounced into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.
Although she seemed brighter than when Catherinehad first walked in, Catherine knew better than to trust Francesca’s mood; it’d be like trusting an angry ocean not to drown you in a storm — everything could change in an instant.
Over the sound of running water, Francesca called out, “Do you want me to sing whilst I’m in here, so you know I haven’t topped myself?”
“No. If you do that, I might topmyself.”
Francesca responded with a hearty laugh, and Catherine hated that the sound still caused a swell of affection inside her. She opened the window to let in some fresh air and busied herself folding Francesca’s discarded clothes, gathering the wrappers and tissues into the bin before collecting up the dirty cups and glasses and popping them outside the door for housekeeping to ferry away. Finally, she straightened the bedsheets, smoothing out Francesca’s indent, like she’d once done with her life.Christ, why am I dredging that up now? It’s been decades.
Catherine swept a satisfied glance around the tidied room before calling through the bathroom door, “Are you alright in there?”
No answer came, so she tapped loudly on the door. “Francesca?”
There was another long pause before a loud splash of water, followed by a dramatic gasp.
“Is everything okay in there?”
“Come in and see for yourself, if you like.”
“No, I’m quite alright, thank you.”
Catherine reclined in the small lounge area and returned to frowning at an unfinished Sudoku puzzle onher phone. At the sound of the bathtub draining, she called an order through to room service — a chicken club sandwich, a side of house fries and a large pot of tea. She’d have a cup, make sure Francesca ate something and then excuse herself. No reason to prolongwhatever this was.
Steamy, fragrant air gushed from the bathroom, and Francesca came out dressed in a clean white robe. Catherine struggled to tear her eyes from the alluring stretch of Francesca’s swan-like neck, exposed as she towel-dried her wet hair.
She swallowed and forced her eyes back to her phone. “Feel better?”
“Mmm, yes. As much as it pains me to say it, you were right.”
“I’ve ordered some room service. It’ll be here soon.”
“Good, I’m starving. You were right about that, too.”
Catherine bit back a grin, which faded as Francesca threw her wet towel on the bed. She reclined at the opposite end of the sofa, her arms spread wide and draped over the edges.
Catherine tried her best not to psychoanalyse the woman in front of her, but it was hard not to — Francesca was a fascinating subject, after all. Catherine had wondered if that was what had kept Jeremy so rapt all these years. The irony hadn’t escaped her that they, two qualified medical psychotherapists, had once both fallen for someone they should have actually been studying.
Francesca’s lips twisted into a grin. “You’re looking at me and frowning. What?”
“Sorry, I was thinking about… Jeremy.”
Francesca rolled her eyes. “Of course you were.”
“Well, one of us should.”
“What are you implying? I love my husband dearly.”
“Let’s be real, Francesca; you love his wallet.”
“It’s his finest feature.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“You’re uptight.”
Catherine sniffed, ending their ridiculous rally.
