by Isabel Keats
“And I’m delighted I came. Good night, Catalina.”
CHAPTER 6
Leo opened the door to his apartment, turned on the light, and looked around; everything was as it always was, gleaming, not a thing out of place, and for the first time since he’d lived there, he thought his home felt sterile. Unsettled, he shook his head, trying to erase that absurd thought. He liked his home; he’d hired one of the best interior designers in London to decorate it, and he had been pleased with the result. A couple of comments from your eccentric neighbor, Sinclair, and you change your mind as quickly as Berlusconi changes twenty-something mistresses, he scolded himself.
He couldn’t understand what was happening to him lately. He considered himself a reasonably happy man; he had planned his life around very clear goals and had steered toward them without drifting a single millimeter off course. And yet, for a while now, he’d felt a niggling sense of dissatisfaction, as if something was missing. But that has nothing to do with Catalina Stapleton, he told himself. It’s just shock. The shock of realizing that not only do I not love Alison, who I was considering marrying until only a few weeks ago, but that I don’t even like her.
Leopold had always felt completely self-aware, and he was at a loss as to how he’d managed to deceive himself about Alison for the last two years. Earlier that night at the gala dinner, the proverbial scales had fallen from his eyes. All of a sudden, sitting beside her at their elegant table, surrounded by the cream of English society, he had realized that Alison’s shrill laugh set his nerves on edge. Later that evening, she had made a couple of comments that made him sit even more rigidly in his chair. Everyone else laughed, but for the first time, he became aware that Alison’s sense of humor was offensive and cruel.
He recognized that she was a very beautiful woman and that men envied him for being with her. Perhaps that was why he’d been blind until now: he was flattered knowing that others coveted what he possessed. His whole life, he’d been proud of his successes, both professionally and personally, and yet, that evening, everything had suddenly seemed absurd, and he’d felt a terrible desire to flee the gala as quickly as possible.
Alison flew into a rage when he told her he wanted to leave. For once, she’d been unable to hide her feelings, and she exploded with such anger that Leopold became even tenser than he’d already been. It took all of his restraint to remain impassive to her comments, and he simply told her as politely as possible that he was leaving and that she could either stay there or let him accompany her home. Alison decided to stay, and immediately began flirting with one of Leopold’s biggest rivals, a man who’d been after her for months. Though incredulous, Leo realized he couldn’t care less. Profoundly relieved, he left the party and drove to the art gallery.
Upon arriving, he discovered Catalina in a corner with Diego, talking. Seeing the gallery owner’s arm around her waist, he stopped dead in his tracks and stood watching them for some time, unnoticed. He couldn’t discern even the slightest hint of flirtation in Cat; she was simply a woman who emanated such warmth that everyone around her gravitated toward her like moths to a flame. He noticed how readily she offered friendly words and warm gestures to everyone who approached her, how affectionate she was.
It wasn’t that he liked Catalina Stapleton. Far from it. It was just that something about her was refreshing. Despite his irritation at her behavior, when he was near her, his lingering sense of dissatisfaction immediately disappeared.
Balderdash, he muttered to himself as he took off his tux and donned his pajamas.
He was brushing his teeth when he suddenly froze, his eyes fixed on the bathroom mirror. For the first time, he noticed the subtle wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and he suddenly felt older than his forty-two years. Alarmed, he wondered whether Catalina saw him as a venerable old man; after all, he must be more than ten years her senior. Realizing where his ruminations were leading, he shook his head, annoyed with himself. What did he care what she thought? Catalina Stapleton meant nothing to him, so he’d better stop being a fool; it was late and he was catching an early flight in the morning. He rinsed out his mouth and climbed into bed, but his thoughts continued to stray, ungovernable, and it took a while for him to fall asleep.
Over the next month, he and Cat crossed paths only on a handful of occasions, barely exchanging brief hellos. Leopold had decided that he shouldn’t get too close to his neighbor. Ultimately, nobody should make him feel uncomfortable, especially not an insignificant woman who apparently didn’t have a penny to her name. They would have continued like this indefinitely had not Catalina, determined to talk to him, planted herself in front of the main entrance to their building just as he was returning from a run, sweaty and panting. “Hi, Leo. It’s been ages since we chatted,” she said cheerfully.
“Hello, Catalina. Yes, I’ve been incredibly busy lately. I was just about to have a shower—I’m worn out.”
Leopold started walking again, but she blocked his path, stretching out a hand and grabbing hold of his sweaty arm. The gesture, as effective as being shot with a Taser, stopped him dead in his tracks. “Working so much can’t be good for anyone,” said Catalina, fixing her velvety brown eyes on his cool gray ones.
“Nonsense,” Leopold said dismissively. Cat’s hand remained on his arm, creating an odd tingling sensation that made him stiffen up even more. As much as he would’ve liked to, however, he seemed incapable of detaching himself from her grasp.
“It’s not nonsense, Leo.” The way she addressed him, as if she were speaking to a pigheaded child, made Leopold want to give her a good shake. “Life shouldn’t be all work, work, work.”
“Why not? It’s what I like doing most,” he replied defiantly.
“Poor thing . . .” The compassion in her voice seemed genuine, which only fueled his irritation.
“For your information, Catalina Stapleton, I should feel sorry for you,” he said gruffly.
“Oh, really?” She gave him a smile that seemed to make her entire being light up and, dazzled, he had to blink.
“Yes. A twenty-something woman—”
“Thirty-three,” she corrected him, though the warm fizzle in her eyes was at odds with her apparent gravity.
“Who squats in her uncle’s home,” he continued, as if he hadn’t heard. “With a job that can’t bring in more than a thousand pounds a month—”
“Nine hundred and fifty, to be precise.”
The woman truly was exasperating. “What future do you have? What would happen if you became ill? Do you have any insurance, a retirement plan, a—”
“For the love of God, Leo, stop. You’re depressing me.”
“I wanted you to reach your own conclusions about which of us deserves pity. It’s obvious, isn’t it?” he said triumphantly.
“But there’s one thing that’s makes all the difference.”
“Oh, yes?” he asked. It was clear to him that she was refusing to give in out of sheer stubbornness.
“I’m enjoying the present. I love my work, just as you do, but it’s not just about numbers—it’s about people. People I’m in contact with every day, who share their emotions and warmth with me. You have a big company, which I’m sure is getting bigger all the time, but all that effort—what’s it for? Who’ll reap the rewards of a lifetime of sacrifice?”
“That’s all just sentimental rubbish. I work with people, too. Thanks to my sacrifice, as you call it, thousands of those people have jobs, which allows them to enjoy life. And as for when I’m gone, I hope that by then I’ll have a family and children to whom I can pass on the legacy of so many years’ work.”
“Family? Children? Do you intend to marry the ineffable Alison?” Catalina inquired.
“My love life is none of your business.” His gray eyes shot an icy look her way, but Cat remained unperturbed.
“So tell me, dear neighbor. When will you find the time to get
married, let alone have children? Is the captivating Alison prepared to bring into the world such serious obstacles to her career?”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about!” He was so angry that he was unable to stop himself raising his voice.
“Oh, really?” She raised an eyebrow mockingly.
Making a Herculean effort not to completely lose his head, Leo took a deep breath and gently removed her hand from his arm. In a calmer tone, he answered, “I don’t wish to talk about this with you anymore. I’m going in for a shower. Good night.” Stiff as a board, he turned around and headed toward the door, but he could not keep the voice of his insufferable neighbor from following him.
“Leo, Leo! I’m sorry! I promise I’ll mind my own business from now on!” Despite her apology, he thought he detected a touch of glee in her voice and, furious, he clenched his fists. “If you’re back in time on Friday, come have dinner and a game of chess!” Catalina shouted before he closed the door behind him, without a backward glance.
That woman’s crackers if she thinks I’ll spend Friday night in her apartment just so she can keep insulting me, Leopold thought to himself, lips pursed.
During her walk, Catalina continued to think about Leopold Sinclair. She had tried every trick she knew to get him to fly off the handle, and though she’d come close, she hadn’t managed it. Her uptight neighbor was a tough one to crack, his well-mannered shell almost impenetrable, but Cat promised herself she’d find a way in, even it meant she had to play dirty.
Cat raised her fist to the dark sky like a modern Scarlett O’Hara and swore, “Milo, as you are my witness, that proud Leopold Sinclair will have no choice but to begin enjoying life a bit more, whether he likes it or not.”
The dog looked at her adoringly and wagged his tail in excitement.
That Friday, Leopold arrived home at around eight in the evening. He’d just returned from New York, and despite his exhaustion, he knew he’d be unable to sleep. As he opened his front door, he saw that someone had slid a note under it, marked with unfamiliar and rather chaotic handwriting. Like its owner, he thought, looking at the signature.
Dear Leo, I hope you haven’t forgotten our game . . .
Nothing else. He was about to tear up the note and throw it in the trash when his cell vibrated and he saw that his friend Harry had left him a message. Leopold, it said, if you’re back in time, I have a table booked at Mason’s for 8:30 p.m. tonight. It’ll be us, the Georges, and a woman who wants to meet you.
Damn, he thought. Shouldn’t have told Harry that I’d broken up with Alison.
The last thing he felt like doing just then was going on a blind date. Another option was to stay home and channel-surf until he felt sleepy, but that wasn’t too appealing, either. Perhaps the best thing to do, after all, would be to pay his neighbor a visit. He could have some supper, play a game of chess, dispatch his opponent in about five minutes, and have an early night. Yes, that’s exactly what he’d do.
She hadn’t written a specific day or time on the note, so he took a leisurely shower, then pulled on some worn-out jeans, a white shirt, and a pair of suede moccasins. He looked through his wine collection and chose a white, then, with bottle in hand, he rang her doorbell and waited. Annoyed, he kept pressing the doorbell for a good while until finally the door opened. “Hi, Leo. Sorry, I couldn’t hear you with the music on,” Catalina greeted him breathlessly. Glancing at her watch, she became flustered and exclaimed, “Goodness! I didn’t realize it was so late!”
Leopold took in her messy hair, red face, and anxious expression. Her usual torn jeans and cotton top, despite being protected by an apron, were dotted with stains that could have been blood or, more likely, tomato sauce.
“You look like a three-ton tank’s driven over you,” Leo said.
She smiled, unoffended, and brushed the tangled hair away from her face with a not-very-clean hand. “Thank you, Leo. You, on the other hand, look impeccable, as ever.”
Leopold thanked her with a slight nod and walked into the apartment, curiously looking around. He hadn’t been there since the party, and he noticed that everything was much tidier now. Yet small touches, such as a book on the table and some open magazines scattered about, a vase stuffed with flowers, the dog snoozing in front of the lit fire, and the faint smell of food wafting from the kitchen, gave it a homely feel that his own apartment lacked.
“What’s the emergency?” he asked, quite relaxed.
“I wanted to show off,” Cat admitted. “So I borrowed Fiona’s book of Venti deliziose ricette italiane thinking it’d be easy, but this stove hates me, it’s conspiring against me. I’ve followed the instructions to the letter, but everything comes out more disgustose than deliziose.”
Leopold noted her desperation with amusement. “Let’s go to the kitchen,” he said, and his neighbor led him there, dragging her feet.
The kitchen looked like a battlefield: tomato sauce splattered on the walls, bits of vegetables on the floor, and utensils and used dishes of all shapes and sizes all over the place. “Goodness me. Did you do this all by yourself?”
Cat sighed, ashamed, as he examined the recipe and the various ingredients strewn around the room. “I think I can do something with this.”
“Really?” Catalina instantly brightened, and Leo felt as if the sun had just come out in the middle of the chaotic kitchen.
“Go and take a shower. I’ll sort out this code red.”
“Not on your life, Leo,” she protested. “I can’t leave you on your own with this mess. You’re my guest, and I can’t let you do everything. I’ll order a pizza.”
Leo put his hands on the young woman’s shoulders. “Catalina.” His tone of voice made it clear that he wouldn’t accept any objections. “Go and have a long shower. There’s no need to rush.” Then he turned her around and, with a delicate slap on her backside, directed her toward the kitchen door. She turned indignantly and glared at him, but didn’t protest. All things considered, she was tremendously relieved that he was going to take control of the disaster zone.
Heeding her neighbor’s advice, she took extra time to wash her hair, where much of the tomato sauce had ended up. After blowing it dry, she put on some basic clothes.
CHAPTER 7
When she returned to the kitchen, she could barely believe her eyes and briefly even wondered if she’d got the wrong apartment. Everything had been tidied up, the floor was freshly mopped, and a delicious smell emanated from a pair of saucepans bubbling cheerfully on the stove. Leopold was stirring the food with a wooden spoon; he’d rolled up his sleeves and tied a clean apron around his waist. Catalina decided he was one of the most attractive men she’d seen in her life. “It’s a miracle!” she exclaimed, amazed. He looked at her without saying a word. Despite how tired he’d felt a few hours earlier, he’d decided that going to his neighbor’s place had proven to be a good choice. It was strange, but cleaning up the mess that Catalina had made and making supper had relaxed him—he loved cooking, and it was much more enjoyable doing it for someone other than himself. As usual, his neighbor was wearing the slightly hippyish clothes that suited her so much, her honeyed hair shining and her face lit up with joy once again. Just looking at her made Leopold feel oddly comforted. “It smells fantastic. What’ve you made?” She came close enough to the stove for him to smell her own delicious aroma.
Leo gripped the wooden spoon, and trying to keep an even tone, he replied, “I just adapted the recipe in the book, to use up the vegetables you’d chopped. I’ve renamed the dish ‘Post-Tsunami Pasta’; what do you think?”
Cat gave a contagious laugh, and he was forced to smile. “You’re a real gem, Leo. Turns out that Alison’s a lucky woman after all.”
“Let’s not start,” he warned sternly.
“Of course not, dear neighbor. Do you really think that after all the work you’ve done I’d pick a fight with you? I
’m eternally grateful for this evening, Leo, and if you should ever need my help, you can count on it.” Cat stood on tiptoes and gave him a peck on the cheek. She opened the fridge, took out the bottle that Leopold had brought, uncorked it, and poured two glasses, handing one to him. “To the magnificent cook!” she toasted with an affectionate smile on her lips.
“And to his scatterbrained neighbor!” said Leopold, clinking his glass against hers, still feeling a slight tingle on his cheek.
“I’ll set the table. That’s one thing I can do.” Catalina rushed out of the kitchen.
As he carried the bowl of pasta out to the living room, Leo understood what she’d meant. The room was dimly lit, the golden glow of the fire and a few strategically placed candles the only light. Rather than laying everything out on the giant dining-room table, Cat had placed a smaller table near the hearth, though not so close that the heat would be unpleasant. She’d used one of her uncle’s best tablecloths, along with his finest dishes and glassware. The silver cutlery sparkled, and a pair of tiny glass vases with a single flower in each decorated the table. It was as if they were about to dine in an enchanted palace.
“A beautiful mise-en-scène,” he said in his deep voice.
“Don’t you think?” Cat surveyed her work with satisfaction.
“One of the loveliest I’ve ever seen. You could do it professionally.”
“At first, I worried it might be a bit over the top. I didn’t want you to think I was planning a romantic evening, intending to seduce you over dessert.” She winked wickedly at him. “But then I decided that after all you’ve done this evening, you deserve the very best.”
“I’m much obliged, mademoiselle.” Still holding the bowl of pasta, Leopold gave her an elegant bow.
“I’ll bring some water and bread,” Cat said, and when she returned, she refilled her neighbor’s glass with wine. “Sit down. I’ll take over from here.”
