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 he 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. However, 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
