Chapter 11 Glasshouse
GLASSHOUSE
PRESENT DAY
Aheadache blistered behind Catherine’s eyes.
She flicked off the computer monitor, unable to stand the glare any longer.
With its muted green walls and warm lighting, her office wasn’t an unpleasant space, but she’d been in the room so long the walls felt as though they were pressing in.
A light breeze flapped through the vertical blinds, which clattered against the window ledge, beckoning her toward the bright afternoon beyond the sash frame.
Fortunately, all her appointments were done for the day, but there were some fairly urgent case notes to type up, a diagnostic summary to send over to the university hospital, and a progress report to submit to a client’s insurance company.
These were all tasks the very capable Alice would’ve handled before things had gone tits-up.
Thanks to the Daltons, now she only had Stephanie, who was about as much use as a saddle on a snail, so Catherine would have to do it all herself.
She removed her reading glasses and cradled her pounding head in her hands for a moment, but before slipping into another negative thought pattern, she drew a decisive breath — sometimes she just needed to swallow her own advice… fresh air and a change of scenery.
Later, she’d pour a glass of something nice, pop dinner in the oven and power on through, but first she needed to get past the blinding pain behind her eyes. Scooping up her satchel with her laptop stowed safely inside, Catherine set out.
“I’m off for the day. See you tomorrow.”
Stephanie grunted an acknowledgement, but barely lifted her head, which prompted Catherine to take a mental note of another task: hire a new PA. Preferably someone with all Alice’s skills but none of her looks. At least that way the Daltons won’t get any more funny ideas.
Catherine shivered against the unexpected chill — the sunlight promising summer was being undermined by a breeze that still whispered winter.
Damn, she’d left her jacket hanging in her office.
Not wanting to turn back, she buried her hands in the warm comfort of her pockets and strode towards the park.
Avoiding the high street, she took her favoured route past the row of Regency townhouses, their gleaming facades striking against the backdrop of blue sky.
Pink blossom from the cherry trees flanking the park’s main avenue drifted in the air like confetti.
Catherine passed the fountains and the Jephson Memorial, then found herself gravitating towards the Glasshouse.
She’d only been inside a handful of times as it was closed during her early morning walks and too busy at the weekends.
But now, it stood quiet, like a giant glass lung holding its breath.
Inside, the fragrant air wrapped her in a warm hug, and the door swooshed closed behind her, trapping in the humidity.
She wandered over the bridge and stopped to admire a greedy ficus, which had tried to swallow its surroundings by growing up and around the railings.
Calm washed over her amid the vibrant green ferns and tropical plants, a few of which she could name without looking at the plaques — orchids, birds of paradise, pink powder puffs, and is that a banana tree?
Then, in the corner of her eye, a flash of red.
Red coat, red hair. It’s her. She sat on a bench overlooking a slate rockery packed with flowering cacti. Catherine’s stomach swooped.
Seriously? Get a grip! Her self-flagellation must have spilled into sound, disturbing the other woman’s peace as she turned around. For a second, Catherine wanted the greedy ficus to swallow her too, but that feeling evaporated when the woman’s lips lifted into a smile, and she waved.
“Hello, again. Are you following me or something?” Laughter laced her lovely voice.
Catherine shook her head as she walked towards her. “You keep turning up everywhere I am lately.”
“Well, I’ve recently moved here, so…”
“In that case, welcome to Leamington. It’s a beautiful spot.”
“So far, so good.” The woman’s eyes smiled as well as her lips.
Catherine swallowed. “It seems you’ve found all my favourite haunts at least.”
“Do you come here often?” The woman released a short laugh, as if realising how that sounded. “It’s lovely here. I mean, in the Glasshouse.”
Catherine grinned. “No, I don’t usually come in.” She motioned her arm in an arc around them. “But I do spend a lot of time in the park. I live close by, so…”
The moment stretched between them. There was something known within the hazel eyes of that unknown face. Catherine couldn’t shake the feeling they’d met before. She realised she was staring and broke eye contact, which seemed to snap the woman out of her own spell too.
“God, I’m sorry. Would you like to sit down? Here, let me…” She moved her handbag to make space on the bench beside her.
“Oh, are you sure? I’m not disturbing your peace, am I?”
“No, not at all. I just came in out of the cold for a bit. It’s bloody Baltic out there.”
Catherine laughed. “Granted there’s a chill, but it’s hardly Baltic!”
“It is when you’ve moved here from warmer climes.”
“Scotland?” Catherine teased.
The woman shot her a withering look, but her lips battled to pinch back a smile. “Barcelona.”
“Wow! That’s quite the move. I can see why you’re more comfortable in here.” Catherine chuckled. “So, why the big move to the Baltics then?”
She shrugged. “It’s a fresh start, I suppose. A new job opportunity came up, and a place to live, so it seemed the universe was pulling me back to the UK after all this time.”
Catherine surprised herself by asking another question, reservations overcome by the desire to dive deeper into this stranger whose name she didn’t even know yet. “What do you do?”
“I’m a flight attendant, at least for a few more days, anyway. I’ve got a couple of shifts to cover, but after that I’ll be making the switch to ground staff.”
Catherine pictured her up in the sky, all red curls and lipstick as she swooped down the aisle flashing her bright smile at passengers. “How very glamorous.”
“No, really, it isn’t. The hours are shite, the jet lag is brutal, and don’t get me started on passengers who press the call button for a bag of nuts during takeoff!”
“Right, I hadn’t really considered any of that.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’ve loved it, and it’s taken me places I never thought I’d go. But I’m beyond done with my life being measured in landings and layovers, drifting from one soulless hotel room to the next. I think it’s all caught up with me. I’m not getting any younger.”
“That’s a universal truth.” Catherine puffed her cheeks out before letting loose a laugh. “Good on you for figuring out what you want and going for it. It’s not always easy to see the path ahead, let alone find the courage to follow it.”
“You sound like a therapist.”
Catherine cocked her head.
“Ach, you are!” The woman bit her bottom lip. “I can see why; you’re very easy to talk to when you’re not frowning.”
“Ha! People pay me good money to listen, frown or no frown.”
“But this was free, right?” She traced a finger through the air between them.
“I don’t make a habit of charging for unsolicited conversations, particularly if I’m the one gatecrashing someone else’s peaceful moment.”
The distant sound of laughter pulled the woman’s attention. She glanced at her watch and jumped up.
“Sorry, I have to dash. It was really lovely chatting to you—”
Catherine stood. “Yes, lovely to meet you again.”
“Likewise,” she said, before focusing on something above Catherine’s head. Catherine looked up but saw nothing aside from the vaulted glass ceiling.
“What is it?”
“You have a little…” She plucked a pink petal from Catherine’s hair and held it out on her fingertip.
“Oh!” Catherine took the petal. “Thank you.”
A smile rose on the woman’s lips. “I’ll see you around, then?”
“I hope so.”
She turned, her red coat swishing like a brushstroke sweeping off a canvas before she disappeared. Catherine stared after her, the petal still perched on her finger.
I didn’t ask her name.
After the pink petal encounter with the lady in red, Catherine practically floated home. She swung by Snoots to treat herself to a coffee and mid-afternoon snack — a little incentive to help her power through her to-do list.
Coffee cup balanced and paper bag clenched between her teeth, she felt around for her keys in her pocket. As she moved to slot the key in the lock, she found the door already open.
What the—
She took a tentative step into the entrance hall, peering around the door for an intruder.
It was a small space with nowhere to go, other than her apartment off to the right, the shared storage and meter box cupboard under the stairs to the left, or straight up the stairs to the apartment above.
Catherine tiptoed in, quietly placed her coffee on the radiator shelf and grabbed an umbrella from the stand.
She gripped the newel post and craned her neck, squinting into the shadows.
There’s no one up there.
She stepped towards the cupboard. Perhaps a homeless person was living under the stairs, jimmying the lock to get in and out as they pleased, poor soul.
Eyes wide and alert, she tensed and reached for the door, but it was latched from the outside.
She clicked it open anyway, umbrella at the ready, but the only things living in the cupboard had eight legs and she wasn’t about to argue with them.
She turned back to check her own front door — definitely locked.
I must be losing it, she thought — but she distinctly remembered double-checking the main door when she’d left that morning.
She shook her head as she replaced the umbrella in the stand and grabbed her coffee and croissant from the shelf.
Her heart lurched when she spotted something on her doormat — a white envelope, pushed under the door.
Innocuous enough, but evidence that her marbles were not yet lost. She scooped it up, closed the door behind her and strode through to the kitchen.
Catherine placed the envelope on the counter and stared at it while she sipped her coffee, her brain working overtime.
Someone had been inside the shared hallway even though she’d locked — and checked — the door.
Someone had placed an envelope under her door.
And that someone knew her name. She traced her finger over the sloping letters in blue biro.
Should she open it? Should she take it to the police?
What would she say? Someone has broken into my home — with no sign of forced entry — and left me a note. Ridiculous.
Curiosity wrestled her restraint to the ground, and she tore the envelope open. Inside was a single sheet of pink paper.
Thank you so much for taking care of Juniper. He’s a clever boy! In my absence, he’s managed to assemble flatpack furniture!! Did he learn that from you?
I’m sorry to ask for another favour. Please can you pop into Juni again? It’s just for two more nights.
Yours gratefully, J x
P.S. Can you let Juni know that there’s a chest of drawers waiting to be assembled in the bedroom xx
Catherine exhaled a laugh as she re-scanned the words.
It was cheeky, but there was something undeniably endearing about it.
Just as there was something endearing about Juniper — Juni.
Catherine wasn’t entirely displeased that she’d get to spend a little more time with him. The flatpack was a bonus.
But she’d have to have a word with her new neighbour about leaving the main door open and scaring her half to death.
As Catherine drained the coffee cup and tucked into the croissant, it occurred to her that the note was just signed ‘J’.
Where was the W for Will? Was he no longer on the scene?
The postcards she’d read were recent, so that must have meant they’d only been married for a few months.
Surely it hadn’t ended already? Catherine had seen enough relationship drama in her career to dismiss that na?ve question.
Sometimes people got married to fix something that was already beyond repair.
Perhaps that was why J had moved here — to get away from crass, globetrotting Will.
God, she was spending far too much time thinking about these strangers, which was a sure sign that she needed to — as Penny would phrase it — get a life.
She picked up her phone, because now was a respectable time to text her friend.
Are you free for a swim tomorrow? Breakfast afterwards? I’ve lots to fill you in on x
A response pinged through immediately.
Penny:
Sounds perfect x