Francesca affectionately apologises for both of their behaviour, and I shrug it off, desperate to reach the car. If Redford stresses me out, Battenwen makes me fuckingitch. Philip opens the car for us, and then we’re off.
Not five minutes into the drive, my phone buzzes with a message from Kai.
Kai
bro our trip got cut short
hamish got a call from someone and then we had to head to the police station
i’m sad, wth
didn’t even get to catch anything on my own
anyway, i’ll explain later bc it’s kinda juicy
could’ve heard wrong but i think francesca has a stalker???
A stalker.
I’m so fucking finished with the Sheffolks.
15
WHERE LIES THE HOAX
FRANCESCA
Caitlin Henderson—or Dr Browning, as she’s known professionally—proceeds to ruin my morning.
I’ve just finished getting ready to head to the castle for breakfast when I find her on my doorstep. Her bleached blonde hair is in its regular chignon, scraped back so tightly it’s practically given her a facelift. Her terra-brown Louboutin boots are nearly up to her knees, only centimetres away from the hem of her faux fur coat. She’s got a takeaway coffee cup in one hand and her phone in the other.
“Frankie-dear,” she greets in a heavy American accent, like she’s run into me at the mall and not outside of the cottage where I’m supposed to have breathing space.
Of all the people to waylay me on this fine morning, my childhood shrink would probably be at the bottom of that list, even beneath Godwyn’s fucking ghost.
She was my therapist from ages six to fifteen. Amongst the nobility of Sheffolk, mental health is considered a taboo word, something that you treat quietly or just completely ignore—which means Caitlin is one of only three psychiatrists they let into their circle. Therapy, according to them, is fine as long asthere’s a plaque on the wall with some Latin words and sessions are referred to as ‘a little chat with Dr This-and-That’.
I was subjected to those chats after the lake. Until I realised, of course, that I wasn’t a patient to her but some sort of entertainment. Begged Gran to cut it off after Caitlin decided my stories held more weight than her confidentiality clause. Little-Francesca had to be onto something, considering how Dr Browning’s reputation is currently going up in flames.
“Doctor,” I greet, locking the door behind me, and she barely allows space for me to pass. “You’re a long way from your office.”
She laughs that professional one that used to put me at ease. “Yes, I was called here actually. Had to cancel some last-minute errands, too. A chat seems best considering you’re housing such important guests. So, here in the cottage or the castle?”
And that’s the trigger:guests. Two princes. Two walking endorsements she can latch onto. There’s an excited gleam in her eyes, like she just can’t wait for me to spill everything, to tug on anything that may lead to the royal princes of Marzod. Of course being seen in close proximity to them could help prove that she’s still trusted, still allowed in important circles.
I’m buffering on what she’s just said. “Wait,calledhere?” Gran hasn’t requested a session in years. “No, I’m sorry, but you must be mistaken. I’ve got nothing scheduled with you for today.”
“Francesca,” her voice takes on a gentle approach. “Let’s not fight this. I know it’s been a while but it’ll be extremely negligent of me to ignore?—”
“Negligent,” I echo, stepping off the stoop and making my way down the path. She follows behind me. “Interesting word choice for somebody whose confidential patient stories keep finding their way into conversations.”
“People exaggerate.”
“Yes, I’m sure they do, but I promise I’m not at risk of weeping into my breakfast before the princes, Dr Browning. So you can be on your merry way.”
It’s almost funny how much of a polar opposite she is to her son. Charlie can be a nightmare at the best of times, but at least he’s not a busybody. His mother will start dragging back the floorboards if you leave her alone with it long enough. And if she had her way, she’d one day be my mother-in-law. Imagine that. Dr Browning at every holiday, sipping tea on my couch and writing down every single thing about my marriage.
Hard no, I don’t claim that future.
