Wellies and Westies (9 page)

Polly stared at her trousers, following the crease line with her finger. ‘He’s just not. I know it’s tough but…give it a few more months, maybe his mood will pick up and he’ll agree to it. Shed’s not that bad.’

‘Shed’s a grump.’

‘You’re a grump. I thought you’d be sick of dogs by now.’

‘Never going to happen.’ Cat lifted Dior onto her knee alongside Valentino, and she stepped neatly onto Polly’s lap to give himself more room.

‘Hey,’ Polly laughed, ‘what are you—’

‘Excuse me – excuse me?’

A young man hurried towards them, holding a dog in his arms. It was white and grey – it looked like some kind of terrier, but Cat couldn’t see it clearly enough to be sure.

‘Sorry, but are you vets?’ he rushed. ‘My dog, Rummy, he’s sick and I don’t know why.’

‘Oh, God, hang on.’ Polly nudged Dior onto the ground and hurried over to him. The man was taller than Polly, his black hair in tight, thick curls, and his face was fixed in concentration, as if he was willing himself to hold back his emotions. ‘Let’s get him inside,’ Polly said. ‘Rummy, is it?’

‘Yes, yes. I found him like this in his basket. He’s usually so full of energy and I just…I’m so worried.’

‘We’ll take care of him, Mr…’

‘Capello. Owen Capello.’

‘OK, Mr Capello, we’ll see if the vet can see him right away.’ She led the way inside, flashing Cat an apologetic glance, Owen and his stricken dog following closely behind.

‘Oh, sad,’ Cat murmured. ‘That poor dog didn’t look very well, did he?’

Coco looked up at her, Polly’s discarded sandwich sticking out of his mouth.

‘I knew you’d care. Come on, let’s get back to Jessica, see how many hundreds of books she’s signed while we’ve been gallivanting in the park.’ She untangled the brightly coloured leads and made her way back towards Primrose Terrace, the three Westies trotting alongside her.

Cat was, for once, dogless. Dogless and bootless, her muddy wellies by the back door at home. She was scouring Fairhaven’s clothes shops for something to wear to Jessica’s party. It wasn’t that she didn’t have anything to wear, but she’d never been invited to a celebrity party before, and with the possibility of new business for Pooch Promenade, she needed something special.

The centre of Fairhaven had most of the main chain stores and a few boutiques, but it wasn’t anywhere near as large as Brighton. She felt as if she’d been up and down the quaint, pedestrianized shopping streets several times, and had so far found a pale blue dress that was far too tight, and a black dress that was nice, but didn’t fit her ‘special’ criteria. But she was determined to embrace her new town, and the centre of Fairhaven was as far as she was prepared to travel today.

She rifled through the racks inside a small, vintage clothes boutique, moving past pinks and yellows that, despite being springlike, were not entirely her.

‘Can I help at all?’ the woman behind the counter asked. She was older than Cat, wearing a cream jumper and jeans, friendly and not in the least intimidating.

‘Uhm, I’m looking for something for a party. Something stylish, classic.’

As if the woman would be prepared to admit that any of her stock was unstylish. Cat resisted the urge to bolt out of the door.

She gave Cat an amused look. ‘Any particular colours, anything you want to avoid?’

‘Just…not too bright. And not too fussy. Or…’ Cat shrugged hopelessly. ‘It’s been a long time since I picked out a dress.’

‘Then you’ve come to the right place. Let’s start over here. I think some of these could really suit your taller frame. I’m Carol, by the way.’

Half an hour later Cat was strolling back to Primrose Terrace, holding tightly onto the cord handles of the thick cardboard bag containing her party dress. It was a black flapper dress with gold beading and a low, V neckline, the tassels finishing at the knee. It was stylish and stand-out, but not too obvious. Cat felt unusually elated at the thought of getting dressed up instead of being ankle deep in wagging tails. As she walked, she took a peek into the bag, at the pale blue tissue paper Carol had wrapped carefully round the thin fabric, and marvelled again at how lucky she had been to find the dress. Her reverie was sharply interrupted when she found herself being pushed backwards, firm hands on her upper arms.

Cat gasped and looked straight into the dark, amused eyes of Mark. ‘Steady.’

‘S-sorry,’ she stuttered. ‘I wasn’t watching where I was going.’

‘Clearly. It’s a good thing it was me you bumped into and not a woman.’

‘Why?’

‘Your forehead was aiming for here.’ He pointed at his chest, which was covered by a grey T-shirt, his leather jacket open. ‘Quite a good impression of a charging bull – a dainty one, of course.’

‘A bull?’ She felt her cheeks burn, realizing how obvious she was, skipping back from town with a posh boutique bag. She felt like a teenager.

‘I did say dainty.’

‘How’s Chips?’

‘Pining. She’s livid that I’ve come into town without her. I’ve been thinking about your offer.’ He raised an eyebrow.

‘My offer?’ Cat scanned her memory, her heartbeat quickening. She hadn’t said any of those things out loud – had she?

He held her gaze, his eyes fixed so firmly on hers that she started to fidget. ‘To walk Chips.’

‘Oh,
that
offer. Of course, but I thought you didn’t need me – my services, my…’ She shook her head, her cheeks flaming at the thoughts that had been running through her head. ‘Pooch Promenade.’

He looked away. ‘It seems I might have to go back to London for a couple of days. Unexpectedly.’

He didn’t sound thrilled and Cat thought of George. Maybe Mark was a Spooky after all. ‘I can take care of her.’

‘I know. Thank you.’ He squeezed her hand quickly, and Cat shuddered as his touch sent a thrill through her, all the way to her toes. ‘It could turn out to be exactly what I need.’

‘Sure,’ she said quietly. She could see flecks of green in his brown eyes, the direction of the hairs in his stubble, and it seemed that, for that moment, he was scrutinizing her as much as she was him. She felt breathless.

‘Anyway,’ he said, breaking the spell, ‘I’d better…’

‘Of course, right.’

‘We should take things off the pavement next time. Go for a coffee.’

‘I’d like that. It was nice to…bump into you.’

He grinned, walked past her and then turned back. ‘For Friday night?’ He pointed at her bag. ‘Looking forward to seeing you there. I’ve heard Jessica’s parties can be on the wild side.’ He widened his eyes in mock horror, turned away and strode up the road, leaving Cat flummoxed. She wouldn’t be surprised if Carol was in his spook network, and he was on his way to find out exactly what dress she’d bought.

He’d confirmed that he knew Jessica well enough to be invited to her party, but how well? And was he flirting with Cat just so she’d look after Chips, or was there more to it? Did he have to go back to London unexpectedly on official spy business? Cat shook her head – she couldn’t let George’s madness infect her.

She had new information, but she also had more questions, and, more importantly, she wasn’t meant to be interested in any of it. ‘Curiosity killed the Cat. Curiosity killed that Cat.’ She said it over and over, like a mantra. She wished Polly was at home, or she at least had a dog to talk it over with. She was sure Disco would tell her exactly what to do.

Chapter 5

It was two days until the party and Cat had spent hours rehearsing what she would say, how she would introduce herself and Pooch Promenade, imagining the photos they would show her of their under-walked Labradoodles, Pomeranians and Dalmatians. Since she’d been spending so much time in the fresh air, with no emails to respond to and only dogs for company, Cat had become a perpetual daydreamer. Which meant that all of her party scenarios ended with her in Mark’s arms, out on a beautiful fairy-lit pagoda in Jessica’s garden.

She turned to say goodbye to Elsie, but she’d been daydreaming so hard that she hadn’t noticed the older woman put her coat on. ‘Where are you going?’

‘I’ve not been out today, and the doctor says I need to keep the knee moving if it’s going to recover properly.’

‘Doesn’t it hurt?’

‘There’s no gain without pain, Cat. Coming, Disco?’ Disco was at her feet like a shot, and Elsie deftly clipped the lead onto her collar. ‘Chalky?’ Chalky lifted his head, then placed it back on his front paws, his disinterest clear. ‘He’s getting old.’

‘You only notice that because you’ve got Disco. Hey –’ she put her arm round Elsie – ‘what’s wrong?’

‘Oh, nothing,’ Elsie muttered into her collar and gave a loud sniff. ‘He just reminds me that I’m getting old too.’

‘You are not. You’re the most sprightly fifty-year-old I know.’ She teased, even though Elsie was well into her seventies.

Elsie smiled at her. ‘Flatterer. If I knocked twenty-years off
your
age you’d be eleven, and you wouldn’t be invited to the party at all. Come on, I’ll walk you to your door, then go to the end of the road and back.’

Twilight had cloaked everything in shadow, the Victorian street lamps flickering on one by one, masking the stars that had begun to wink on in the night sky. The air was crisp and clean and Cat breathed it in, feeling a twist of excitement low down in her stomach. ‘Have you got your outfit sorted for Friday?’

‘Oh, shush. People my age don’t spend time worrying about what they’re going to wear.’

‘I don’t believe you. I’ll come round tomorrow and you can show me.’

‘Isn’t that something you want to do with Polly?’ They stopped outside number nine, and Cat ferreted in her bag for her keys.

‘Polly’s not coming. She’s got to work on Friday night. It’ll just be you and me, kid.’ She punched Elsie lightly on the shoulder. Disco yapped, her bark louder and fuller than it had been a few weeks ago, and gazed up at Cat. ‘Sorry, Disco,’ she said, ‘I don’t think dogs are invited. Apart from the Westies, of course.’

‘What about Joe, isn’t he coming?’

‘Coming to what?’ Joe stood in the doorway, blocking out the light from the hall. His hoody of the day was a faded terracotta, his sleeves rolled up to reveal long, slender forearms that reminded Cat just how toned the rest of his body was.

‘Jessica’s party,’ Cat blurted. ‘I’ve asked—’

‘Roughly seventeen times,’ added Joe.

‘And so far, the answer has been no.’

‘The answer will continue to be no until Saturday morning, when I might consider it.’ Joe looked down as Disco licked his bare feet. His face was devoid of expression, as if the dog’s touch had turned him to stone, but he didn’t step back. Cat realized she was holding her breath. She saw his jaw clench, then he sighed and shook his head. ‘Are you coming in? You’re letting all the heat out.’

‘You opened the door!’

‘And I can close it again.’ He moved backwards and Cat put her hand on the wood.

‘Hang on.’ She gave Elsie a quick hug, Disco a longer one and then waved them back down the steps, wincing at Elsie’s pronounced limp. ‘I’ll come round tomorrow!’ she called after her.

‘Wine?’ Joe asked.

She followed him into the kitchen. ‘Thanks. How’s work going?’

‘Fine. Busy, so I can’t complain.’

‘Any exciting projects?’ She leaned against the counter, watching him as he got out glasses, took a half-open bottle of white wine from the fridge.

‘I’m still working on the designs for the local magazine and I’ve…had a request from Alison at the nursery, to help her redesign their website.’ His blue gaze was directed at her, and she struggled to keep her face neutral. She was happier than she’d been for a long time, but she still felt stung that he was working with the woman who’d fired her without hesitation.

‘Oh. That’s good, I’m sure you’ll do a great job.’ Cat found to her horror that her voice was wavering. She remembered Alison’s final words:
I can’t imagine you being successful anywhere else.
She swallowed.

‘It’s a good project,’ Joe said slowly, still watching her carefully. ‘I can just about fit it in, but I wondered if…if you’d mind.’ He poured the wine, handed her a glass. It was cool against her fingers.

‘Why would I mind?’ Cat asked. It came out in a high scratch.

Joe ran a hand through his hair. ‘You know why.’

‘You mean because I acted like a fool and she sacked me? It was my fault, Joe, and I’m much happier now. I wasn’t suited to that place. Don’t turn down work on my account.’ She’d recovered, had maybe even sounded convincing.

‘If you’re sure?’

‘Sure I’m sure. But thank you – for asking me. You didn’t need to. But I…’ She sighed, sipped her wine.

‘What?’

‘Nothing. Forget I said anything.’

‘You haven’t said anything. Come on, Cat, spit it out.’

They were leaning against opposite counters in the galley kitchen. She was still cold from being outside, but she could feel the heat from his body. ‘My business,’ she said. ‘I’m putting together ideas for a website – all good businesses have a website these days and dogs, cartoon dogs are so…The cartoon you did on that Post-it, when you suggested “Bitchin’ Walks”
,
was incredible. But I know you disapprove, so—’

‘I don’t disapprove.’

‘But the dogs—’

‘I admire what you’re doing. How you’ve not allowed what happened to dent your confidence, which is what I did after – after Rosalin.’ He winced, his eyes not meeting hers, and Cat bit her lip. ‘We’re not always going to agree, but I don’t disapprove, Cat. Far from it.’

‘Thank you,’ she murmured.

‘So you want me to design you a cartoon dog?’

‘Only if you’ve got time, and I can—’

‘Sure.’

‘Really?’ Cat’s heart skipped a beat.

‘I’d love to. Anything to help.’

‘Wow. Thank you. I’ll pay you, of course.’

Joe waved her away. ‘Not a chance. If I decided Shed needed daily walks you’d do it for free.’ He gave her a sideways smile and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. Cat couldn’t help it. She flung her arms round his neck and felt his hand press lightly against the small of her back. ‘Thanks, Joe, that means so much.’