Chapter 26 Exorcism
EXORCISM
PRESENT DAY
Catherine stilled as she caught sight of the woman sitting at the bottom of the stairs, elbows perched on her knees. She’d know her anywhere.
“What are you doing here?”
Francesca stood, a wide grin spreading across her lips as she turned. She looked good, really good, in a pair of tailored slacks and a soft-looking chiffon top that fell elegantly around her neck. Her hair tumbled in loose curls to her shoulders.
“Waiting for you, of course.” Her lips stretched into a crimson smile.
“How did you get in?”
“The door was unlocked.”
Catherine rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath.
“I hope I’m not disturbing anything.” Francesca’s gaze flicked to the staircase.
“I’m having dinner with my new neighbour.”
“How quaint!”
“Yes, well… what can I do for you?”
“May I come in for a moment?”
Catherine’s eyes darted to her door. Behind it was her space.
Francesca must have sensed the hesitation. “Look, I won’t stay long, but there are a few things I need to say.”
Catherine sighed and unlocked the door, stepping in ahead of Francesca and hoping to contain her in the small hallway.
Francesca had haunted her thoughts for long enough; she didn’t want her haunting her home as well.
Except now, standing in the boxy space, they were awkwardly close, and Francesca’s heady perfume was overtaking Catherine’s senses.
“You look nice… I mean, at least better than you did the last time I saw you.”
Francesca chuckled. “That was a low bar, but yes, thank you. I feel much better now. Things are looking up.”
Catherine unclenched and accepted she’d have to invite the woman further into her home. Perhaps Penny knows a priest I could hire for an exorcism afterwards.
“Er, it’s just through here. You can help me pick out the most impressive bottle of wine from my collection.” Catherine’s eyes flicked to the ceiling.
She led the way to the kitchen, internally slapping herself for saying too much already, because give that woman an inch…
“Ooh, so you’re trying to impress this neighbour of yours.”
“Yes, I mean, no. She cooked dinner, so it’s only right I—”
“Well, you’ve always been good at sharing with your neighbours.” Francesca winked.
Catherine swallowed, grateful for the space between them now that they stood in the kitchen. Francesca glanced around, drinking it all in. In the soft glow from the under-pelmet lighting, Catherine watched Francesca slowly nodding her head as she leaned back against the marble countertop.
“You’ve done well for yourself, Trusty.”
“Things aren’t the measure of me, Francesca.”
“Don’t be so touchy. I’m saying I’m impressed, is all.”
Despite herself, the words lifted something inside Catherine.
It wasn’t that she needed Francesca’s approval.
No. But this was the equivalent of Francesca acknowledging that she’d underestimated her.
Recognition that they could have had a good life together if they’d both worked hard.
But Francesca had always trodden the path of least resistance, and that path had led her right to Jeremy’s trust fund.
She’d locked herself away in a gilded cage of her own making.
Catherine pulled out her fully stocked wine drawer. Francesca’s eyes flittered across the labels, but she passed no comment.
“Look, I won’t keep you from your… neighbour for too long. I actually came to say goodbye.”
“Oh?”
“We leave for Tuscany on Tuesday.”
“Wow, so soon? I know Jeremy has been lining everything up with the lawyers, but I thought it might take weeks yet, months even?”
Francesca waved a hand. “I haven’t been involved in any of that, but there isn’t anything Jeremy can’t resolve over the telephone, and he can always pop back if necessary. The villa is ready now, so why wait?”
Something like a faint sting of sadness registered in Catherine’s gut. Her life had been interwoven with the Daltons for so long, and now those ties were being severed as easily as plucking a grape from a vine.
“How do you feel about it all?”
Francesca inhaled a slow breath. “Good,” she nodded. “Really good.”
“Well, I’m happy for you. For both of you, I mean.” She didn’t know what else to say. Looking down at her mules, she was jolted by the sudden memory of her pink bunny slippers — Francesca never did return them.
“I wanted to apologise.” Francesca’s words were so low, for a second Catherine thought she’d imagined them. Her gaze met Francesca’s dark eyes. “I also came to say thank you.”
“For what?”
“For coming to see me when I wasn’t… well.”
“It was nothing.”
“It was everything.” Francesca fixed her with a withering glare. “Believe it or not, seeing you was what snapped me out of it.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, seeing you reminded me that a broken heart can heal.”
Ouch. Those words chafed an old wound, and Catherine winced.
Francesca pushed away from the countertop and stalked towards her with the poise of a panther.
She stopped just in front of her, half a head taller, but only because Catherine was still leaning against the worktop and ever-so-slightly reclining away from her.
“You were never very good at understanding me. I meant my heart, not yours. I was deeply in love with you.”
“What?” The word escaped Catherine’s throat, half-question, half-scoff.
“You were my first love… my first everything, actually.”
The declaration caught Catherine off balance. Her heart kicked in her chest.
“I thought I had it all figured out,” Francesca continued, “but it tore me apart when you chose not to be a part of my life. You were the one that got away.”
Catherine searched Francesca’s hypnotic eyes and released a shaky breath.
“I treated you badly, and I’m sorry.” The words settled between them like dust. Francesca tilted her chin up and, leaning in slowly, traced Catherine’s lips with the ghost of a kiss.
“Goodbye, Catherine,” she whispered.
Before Catherine dared to open her eyes, Francesca had disappeared from the kitchen, her low heels clicking as she retreated down the hallway.
Catherine held her shaking hands before touching a finger to her lips, still tingling with the sensation of Francesca’s ghost kiss, just like her ears were still ringing with that apology.
“Oh, and take the Chateauneuf-du-Pape, if you want to sleep with her,” she called out before closing the door and exorcising herself from Catherine’s life.
Fuck! Did that really just happen?
A tapping at the door pulled Catherine from her well of thoughts. She hesitated in the hallway, not sure if she could handle another round of Francesca Dalton being… whatever that was.
Relief washed over her when she opened the door to Jules standing there instead, shoulders rounded and hands buried deep in her pockets.
“I’m really sorry for being such a creeper and freaking you out, you didn’t need to leave…”
Catherine released a breathy laugh. “I didn’t intend for that to be a dramatic exit. I popped down for another bottle of wine, seeing as we finished the red.”
“Oh? You were gone ages though.”
“That’s because someone keeps leaving the main door unlatched…”
“Shit, did I do it again?” Jules winced and mouthed, “Sorry!”
“You did, and I had a little visitor to see to.”
“Is everything okay?” Jules asked, concern flickering across her face.
Catherine considered the question. Where to even begin explaining Francesca? A long story, maybe for another time, but now she found herself nodding.
“Yeah, it’s fine. I’m fine,” she said, then surprised herself by asking, “As you’re here, do you want to come in and pick a bottle? I have a few that I keep for special occasions.”
Jules’s face lit up with an adorable grin. “I mean, if you’re sure?”
Catherine stepped aside to let her in and then led the way to the kitchen.
“Your home is lovely.”
Catherine had received a similar compliment not moments ago, but this one felt different, perhaps because it wasn’t laced with surprise.
“I mean, obviously I popped in to get Juni the other morning, but I was pretty frantic so not really paying much attention.”
Catherine smiled, savouring the sight of Jules in her space, perhaps for a second too long, before jolting back to the task at hand.
“Oh, the wine is in here.” She opened the wine drawer and stepped away to give Jules space to look at the dozen bottles stacked in the rack.
“Ooh fancy! They all look dead posh; are you sure?”
“Honestly, just pick one.”
“Okay, er… this one then.” She pulled out a bottle and presented it to Catherine, who couldn’t contain her laughter when she looked at the label — Chateauneuf-du-Pape.
Jules grimaced. “Oh no, have I picked something ridiculous? You really should choose. I probably wouldn’t even notice if you gave me the cheap stuff after all those years spent drinking the vinegar we pass off as wine on flights.”
Catherine looked from the wine bottle to the woman standing in front of her, all flustered and unsure of herself. Perhaps it was the wine she’d already drunk, or maybe Francesca’s visit had stoked her confidence, but with a slow smile, she said, “No, this one’s perfect.”
Whilst Jules plated up dessert — a lemon tartlet with a heaped spoonful of mascarpone — Catherine uncorked the wine and poured them each a glass.
They probably wouldn’t finish the bottle; more to the point, they probably shouldn’t finish the bottle, but she didn’t regret opening it.
She’d have been silly to walk away from Jules before really getting to know her, plus the woman had owned up to and apologised for the online stalking, which took some guts because Catherine wasn’t about to admit to reading her postcards and eyeing up her underwear.
They settled on the sofa, sinking back into the plush cushions once the dessert plates were clean.
The slow bloom of alcohol softened the edges, loosening muscles and tongues.
Jules was a wonderful mix of curious and captivating.
She listened with genuine interest as Catherine talked about Truscote & Dalton and the changes that lay ahead with Jeremy’s imminent departure.
Catherine tried to sound positive about it all, but in truth, she felt a little rudderless.
Swallowing down the onset of rising panic, she quizzed Jules about the places she wanted to visit, hanging on every word as Jules reeled off a shortlist of weird and wonderful-sounding cities.
She found herself leaning in when Jules enthused about Barcelona — the place she’d called home for over a decade.
Her elaborate descriptions of the vibrant culture increased Catherine’s desire to visit the city someday soon.
Jules’s eyes danced when she talked, and Catherine loved the way her accent wrapped itself softly around some words and fortified others.
She could listen to her all day, and she couldn’t stop staring at her mouth, which seemed to twitch into a little smile every time Catherine’s eyes dropped to it again.
“Where would you most like to visit?” she asked.
“Now that you mention it, I’ve been thinking about Barcelona a lot lately.”
“Oh, yeah?” The lines around Jules’s eyes crinkled in a way Catherine found incredibly endearing.
“Yeah, not just because of you and those lovely chocolates… okay, maybe a little because of the chocolates…” Catherine grinned.
“It just sounds so… different from here. I think I’ve been in a bit of a rut, and now, with all the changes at work, maybe it’s time to spice up my life — take a trip, get a little perspective. ”
“At least you recognise it and want to change it. It took me years to see that I was in a rut and needed to mix things up.” Jules reached out and gently squeezed Catherine’s hand. The simple gesture sent a pleasant shiver up Catherine's arm.
“But here you are.” Catherine squeezed back. The warmth radiating from Jules was intoxicating.
“Here I am.” Now Jules was looking at Catherine’s mouth, and biting her own bottom lip, and it was so damn…
Juniper chose that precise moment to jump up into the space between them.
They laughed as he stretched up and softly headbutted Jules.
He kneaded his claws into one of the scatter cushions before curling up on it.
“I think that’s Juni’s unsubtle way of telling us it’s time for bed.” Jules’s voice was husky, her gaze still locked on Catherine’s. The air crackled with the electricity between them.
At the mention of bed, Catherine stifled a yawn, her restless nights finally catching up with her.
Jules brushed a warm hand over Catherine’s knee. The sensation sent a wave of heat rippling through her. Suddenly, she was wide awake again, senses alive to the woman in front of her. She could only hope her face was behaving itself, because her body certainly wasn’t.
Before she had time to stop it, her reckless mouth was asking a question her brain hadn’t yet processed. “Do you have plans tomorrow?”
Jules glanced up as if checking a mental calendar. “Er… no, actually. No plans.”
“Okay, I’d like to take you somewhere that wasn’t on your list.”
A stunning smile widened across Jules’s face. “I would love that.”
“Great. Good, yeah. Okay… next question. Have you ever been wild swimming?”