This morning she was doing a simple, three-Westie walk. Jessica was off to Brighton to do some filming for a regional ITV programme about this year’s summer flavours, and had asked Cat to take her ‘little darlings’ out for an hour. Cat loved picking them up, loved the titbits of Jessica’s life that she was given, allowing herself to fill in the gaps. She knew that Jessica was ‘most definitely’ staying in Fairview, but had yet to establish what had made her change her mind – if it had anything to do with a certain dark-haired man. It was none of her business, but she couldn’t help trying to join the dots.
Did they know each other? Was Mark the reason for Jessica’s recent enthusiasm? Did Mark just have a flirtatious nature? Cat had been told on many occasions that her curiosity only ever got her into trouble, but it was a switch that was set permanently to on. And while she kept telling herself that she was only looking out for Jessica, it had been a long time since a man as attractive as Mark had shown an interest in her. If she discovered that they were only friends, or didn’t even know each other, what possibilities did that open up?
She left number nine, strode out into a bright, blustery morning and drank in the elegant terrace, the verges which were a sea of delicate primroses, the wide pavements drying quickly after the night’s rain. As ever, Cat slowed her pace as she reached number four. It was a rented property and didn’t look as polished as Elsie or Jessica’s houses or the boutique bed and breakfast at number three. The paint on the windowsills was cracked, and the front steps were beginning to crumble at the edges, but the front door was a vibrant, seaside blue with a gold number ‘4’. As she approached, a sleek looking Audi pulled up outside, and the object of her curiosity climbed smoothly out of the driver’s seat.
Mark opened the back door and Chips bounded up the front steps. Cat found herself coming to an automatic halt. She’d been right, at least, about where he lived.
‘Cat,’ he said, folding his arms and leaning against his car, amusement in his barely there smile. ‘The Cat who loves dogs.’
‘It’s Catherine, actually. But my friend Polly said that – that Cat was easier.’ Mark didn’t need to know that her best friend had given her the nickname because she was so endlessly curious. ‘How are you?’
He was wearing dark jeans, sturdy boots and his leather jacket, this time with a dark grey scarf wound tightly round his neck. It looked incredibly soft. Cat had daringly decided to embrace spring and dig her royal blue bolero jacket out of the closet. She was feeling the wind at her throat as a result.
‘Good, thanks. I’ve just taken Chips to the cliffs above the lighthouse. Lots of grass to run on, incredible views, clear, fresh air.’ He breathed in deeply. ‘Do you ever go there with your dogs?’
‘No, I don’t have a van, and it’s too far to walk.’
‘And dogs falling off cliffs is harder to recover from than dogs up trees?’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘The park does provide fewer obstacles.’
‘But today you’re dogless.’
‘I’m on my way to Jessica’s. To take her dogs to the risk-free park. Do…do you know her?’ Chips barked from the porch.
‘Who?’ Mark frowned. He took a step closer to her, and Cat could smell his aftershave. It was subtle, it smelled expensive. Cat swallowed.
‘Jessica Heybourne. She lives at number one. I thought you might have bumped into her.’
He was staring at her, his lips curved into a smile. ‘I just need to let Chips in, hang on.’ He climbed the steps, unlocked the door, waited as the collie raced inside, then turned to face her. ‘I don’t know many people in Fairview, I’ve not been here very long.’
‘Right.’ Cat couldn’t ask him again without it sounding obvious. ‘But you like it?’
Mark nodded and descended the steps. ‘It has many plus points, many striking views. Lots of things to recommend it. Primrose Terrace seems like a great place to live. Are you near here?’
‘I’m at number nine,’ Cat said. ‘It’s a very friendly road. I know Elsie at number ten, the owners of the bed and breakfast seem lovely, and of course there’s Jessica.’
‘Of course,’ Mark said. He took Cat’s upper arm and pulled her towards him. Her breath caught in her throat until she heard the pushchair rumble past and a woman calling: ‘Thank you.’ But by then her face was inches from his, and her stomach had discovered it could do somersaults. Never mind her finding out if Mark was being unfaithful to Jessica, she was about to be the unfaithfulness. ‘We’re blocking the pavement,’ he said, not taking his eyes from her face.
‘We should move.’ She stepped backwards, swallowed and put what she hoped was a breezy smile on her face. ‘I have to go and pick up the Westies.’
‘Do you ever think about things that aren’t dog related?’
‘Of course,’ Cat said, ‘lots of the time, but this is—’
‘What about right now?’ He raised an eyebrow, and Cat found herself looking at his lips. The half-smile, the jawline. She was thinking about his lips, and what they would feel like pressed against hers.
‘I’m thinking about…’
‘What?’
Her mind had stopped cooperating.
‘Those big brown eyes are like saucers,’ he said. ‘You’re panicking.’
‘I’m not.’
‘You really can’t think of anything else, can you?’ He looked satisfied, as if he’d proved his point.
Cat folded her arms. ‘I wasn’t thinking about dogs, actually.’
He leaned towards her and whispered in her ear. ‘I know.’
Cat gawped and Mark looked away as a car started further up the terrace. When he turned towards her again, his smirk was firmly back in place. ‘So it’s going well, the dog walking?’
She knew he’d thrown her a lifeline, but she was too flustered to do anything but take it. She was on much safer ground with dogs.
‘It is. It – it’s better. Disco’s getting bigger, she’s lots of fun still, but not quite so haywire, and I’ve been working out schedules, planning the walks around size, number and type of dogs. Squirrelgate was a one-off.’ It was true. She’d sat down with Polly and drawn up a rota – there weren’t enough dogs to fill it yet, but Cat could do three walks a day, two at weekends when the demand was less, and shouldn’t run into any more problems if she spread out her clients efficiently.
‘Glad to hear it. Although I’m not too disappointed you were having a bad day when I found you.’
‘Do you take pleasure from other people’s misfortunes, then?’
‘Only if it means I can rescue them.’
‘Are you a secret, wannabe Superman?’ Cat knew where this was going, and was trying to work out if she liked it or not. She was kidding herself – of course she liked it, but should she like it? She had never been a cheater, and if Mark and Jessica were together…
‘I think Superman was less picky about who he rescued. He was an all-round, genuine superhero.’
‘And you?’ Her mouth was drying out.
‘I’m not as squeaky clean as Clark Kent. I only rescue people I want to get to know better. Sod the rest of them.’
‘OK.’ She swallowed.
‘That was a hint. Quite a big one, I thought.’
‘T-that would be lovely,’ she rushed. Why did he have the ability to turn her into a stuttering schoolgirl? Could what he had in mind be described as “lovely”? And she was going to be late for Jessica. God, Jessica. She couldn’t do it. ‘Look, sorry, I really need to get going.’
Mark nodded and smiled, unperturbed by her sudden change of direction. ‘Of course. Good to see you, Cat.’
‘You too.’
‘I’m already looking forward to the next time.’
She gave him a quick smile and hurried away, pulling her jacket tightly around her. She realized that he had neatly avoided answering her question about Jessica.
‘Oh, gorgeous Cat –’ Jessica flung open the door, the dogs at her feet – ‘come in for a moment.
I’ve lost Dior’s lead, and he won’t wear the black one.’
Cat hadn’t been invited in before, and stepped tentatively over the threshold, wondering how clean her boots were – they were dog-walking wellies, not suited to polished wooden floors. Jessica’s wide hall was magnificent, with walls covered in a cream and pale green floral-print, and a vase of fresh daffodils and a vintage telephone on a cream dresser. Pistachio-coloured rugs on the floor picked out the detail of the wallpaper.
Cat couldn’t imagine how a house with three dogs could cope with pale green rugs but, like everything else, they looked pristine. A wooden staircase curved elegantly towards the upper reaches of the house, where skylights let in lots of sunshine. Jessica must have had the house completely remodelled when it was extended, because it looked nothing like where Cat lived.
‘I won’t be two ticks,’ Jessica said. ‘If you could truss these ones up while I find Dior’s?’ She gave Cat the leads, red and blue velvet to match the jewelled collars, and Cat crouched to attach them to Valentino and Coco, giving them each a cuddle. The dogs barked and nuzzled her, and Coco, with his floppy ear, licked her cheek. Cat knew she would never tire of this, would never get over the warmth and friendship a dog could give, and the desire to have one of her own was stronger than ever.
‘It was in the fruit bowl, can you imagine?’ Jessica returned, holding the lead up, elegant as always in a navy skirt suit and dangling silver earrings, her blonde hair swept high off her forehead. Cat could never find a single dog hair on Jessica, and wondered if she walked through some kind of vacuum closet before she went anywhere.
When the three dogs were ready, Cat hovered in the hallway while Jessica applied coral lipstick in the mirror. ‘Is it in a library then, your event?’
‘Oh, no, not at all.’ Jessica laughed, then cursed, blotted her lipstick and started again. ‘It’s in the Silver wine bar, do you know it?’
Cat had walked past it, but had never gone in. She nodded. ‘I didn’t realize author events happened in wine bars, but then I suppose it makes a difference if you write about food.’
‘Oh, they happen anywhere. But I do prefer these ones, a select few fans and journalists, a bit more sophistication. Lunch – one of my favourite recipes from the latest book, goat’s-cheese-and-tangerine salad – then questions. I should say it gets tiresome, but it never does. I lap it up, don’t I?’ She bent and gave each of her dogs a kiss on the forehead. When she stood, Cat looked for a white hair on her navy suit. Nothing.
‘Now, Cat –’ She turned and smiled, and Cat felt the full force of her glamour. ‘Three weeks from now, at the end of April, I’m having a small gathering here. Nibbles, obligatory fizz, music. It’s nice to do something as the evenings get lighter, I think, and it can get a bit…quiet in here sometimes. You’ll come?’ She thrust a shiny card into Cat’s hand. It had silver writing on a white background, a spray of blossom in the corner, inviting her to Jessica Heybourne’s spring party. A Friday night. Smart dress code.
‘Really?’ Cat’s mind was racing, thinking of all the potential clients, the introductions Jessica could give her. Would Mark be there? What would she wear?
‘Of course. And bring friends – it’s Poppy, isn’t it?’
‘Polly. And…and I also live with her brother.’ Would a party be Joe’s kind of thing, or would he hate it? She wasn’t sure, but she didn’t want him sitting at home while she and Polly swanned off to drink and dance with celebrities.
‘Bring them both! The more the merrier. Now, I think my car’s outside, I heard it tooting. This way, poppets.’ Jessica made go on movements with her hands, and Cat knew she was being included with the Westies, but she didn’t mind being shooed outside. Jessica’s party was an evening of endless possibilities. And if Jessica was with Mark, then surely she’d want to show him off. Cat knew that, in her position, she wouldn’t hide him away from the world for any longer than was strictly necessary.
Fairview Park was bursting into life, but Cat could hardly see it against the grit and hair being blown into her eyes. The wind was picking up, the sun disguising how cold and blustery it still was, and after half an hour even Dior, Valentino and Coco were looking as if they’d had enough. There were only so many leaves you could chase.
Cat headed towards the Pavilion café. It was a circular building with floor-to-ceiling windows so that, if you sat in the right seat, you could see most of the way round the park. It was perfect for people watching. There was also al fresco seating under a wide awning that provided shelter from sun, rain and wind, and the Greek owner, George Ambrosia, left bowls of water outside for the dogs. Cat tied the leads to her table leg so the Westies could reach the water, and sat down, rubbing her hands.
George was out in a moment, his white apron gleaming, his glasses on the edge of his nose. His beard and moustache gave the impression of great wisdom or wholehearted scruffiness. Cat hadn’t yet decided which it was.
‘Hi, George,’ she said. ‘Lovely day for a kite.’
‘Kites wouldn’t stand for this,’ George said. ‘All end up in the trees.’ His voice was low and gruff, the words getting lost in his beard. ‘What can I get you?’ He had his pen poised, his thumb pressed against the pages of his notebook to stop them from flying away.
‘A large tea, please.’
‘Milk, no sugar.’
‘Right.’ Cat grinned.
‘A nice cake? Muffin, or Bakewell? Slice of lemon sponge?’
‘No, thanks.’
George nodded and reread his notebook, as if Cat had ordered an eight-piece breakfast rather than a cup of tea, then disappeared inside. Cat checked on the dogs – who were taking turns at the water bowl, their white tails wagging, pink tongues lapping quickly – and scanned the park.
It was busy, despite the bluster, and Cat could see why. It had just the right amount of open space and shelter, the tall trees providing a barrier against the outside world. She hadn’t yet been here during the summer, though she’d come walking with Polly occasionally when she visited her from Brighton. She knew that the park would be as popular as the beach for picnics, ball games and sunbathing.
But now, on the edge of spring, People were hunched into their coats, hands deep in pockets. A young family raced with a small spaniel, the mother pushing a pram behind the elder children. Cat peered, thought she might recognize them from the nursery, but was distracted by a tall, striding figure walking ahead of a collie, tennis ball in hand.
Cat inhaled, then jumped when she saw that George was standing silently next to her table, holding her mug of tea. He put it in front of her, followed her sight line and nodded slowly. ‘The man, the one with the dog. Saved you from the squirrel.’
‘Y-yes. Although you make it sound like I was being attacked, like the squirrel was enormous, with big teeth and claws.’ She started to laugh, but George was still looking at Mark.
‘You need to watch that one.’
‘Sorry? I need to watch who?’
‘The man.’ George nodded his head towards Mark.
‘Why?’ Cat’s mouth went dry, sure George was about to impart a piece of the jigsaw puzzle.
‘Watches people, writes it all down. Sits in here with coffee, black, no sugar, and a macaroon.’
He said it as if that, in itself, was suspicious. Those treacherous macaroons. ‘And…?’ Cat prompted.
‘He watches people, writes it in his book. Big, leather, silver fountain pen. Spying maybe, taking notes, reporting back. Too quiet, brooding. Just like that programme, Spookies. Maybe he is one, a Spooky?’ George turned to Cat, a bushy eyebrow raised.
Cat bit back her laughter, wondered if she should point out that George was doing just what he was accusing Mark of: spying on people, reporting his observations to others. ‘I’ll make sure to be wary of him. Thanks, George.’
‘No more squirrels, young lady.’ He said it with sudden fervour. ‘The squirrels lead you to the man, and to all sorts of trouble.’
‘The squ
irrel wasn’t my decision.’
‘Take more care, avoid the squirrels.’ He wagged his finger at Cat, then each of the dogs in turn, before going back inside.
‘Wow,’ Cat murmured. ‘That was intense, wasn’t it?’ Dior looked up and gave a single, affirming bark. ‘What do we think? Do we think George has a point? What is Mark up to? Is he spooky, or just sexy?’ Cat bit her lip, refused to acknowledge that she’d said it out loud and then realized that, only an hour before, Mark had been walking Chips close to the cliffs. She knew collies were energetic, but did she really need another walk quite so soon? Had he been lying to her? Maybe George was right; maybe she needed to take a step back, leave Jessica and Mark to their own lives and concentrate on her own. After all, she had enough to think about with Pooch Promenade, skirting around Joe and the upcoming party. Jessica’s party. Cat sighed, stroked Coco’s wonky ear and blew on her tea. Spooky Mark had disappeared amongst the trees.
She found Polly sitting on the wall at the side of the Fairview vet’s surgery, eating a cheese sandwich and trying to keep her long hair out of her face.
‘Can’t you eat inside?’ Cat asked, making Polly jump.
‘They’re redecorating the kitchen, so it’s full of burly builders and smells of paint. I don’t mind being out here, apart from when small dogs try and eat my lunch.’ She snatched the other half of her sandwich away from Dior, and then gave her an affectionate stroke to make up for it. ‘So these are Jessica’s dogs? They’re very pristine.’
‘Just like she is.’
‘And well behaved?’
Wellies and Westies Page 6
