approval from the person whose opinion she cared about most. Sadly, she wasn’t sure she had the guts to go through with it. Maybe more champagne would help…
The champagne kept coming, and the waiters circled with trays of tiny, exotic canapés: smoked salmon and horseradish, mushroom and halloumi, strawberry and balsamic vinegar. They were tasty, but not filling, and Cat had begun to feel light-headed. Polly was having an in-depth conversation with an older woman about horses, and as Cat knew nothing beyond Black Beauty and My Friend Flicka, she’d slipped away. She had only spoken to one person she didn’t already know, and that was to ask where the toilet was.
She downed her drink and, sighing, returned to Elsie’s permanent spot on the sofa. Her knee meant that she was having drinks, canapés and conversations brought to her, and Cat knew she was revelling in the attention. As she sidestepped through the crowd she saw that Elsie’s current companion was Joe. He was grinning, his jacket folded over the arm of the sofa, white shirtsleeves rolled up. She had never seen him so animated, and thought that he should find a party to go to at least once a month. Maybe she should hide his hoody collection.
‘Hey!’ She waved.
‘Cat! Come and sit down.’ Joe patted the seat beside him, and Cat sat gratefully between them. ‘Having a good time?’
‘Not as good as you are,’ she said, smiling. ‘How do you do it?’
‘Do what?’
‘Talk to people you don’t know. Approach them, launch into a conversation. I saw you with that woman earlier – I’ve seen you with lots of people.’
Joe shrugged and put his arm along the back of the sofa. ‘You have to treat it like your one opportunity, and not give a shit what people think. Say what you want to say, and if they like it, they’ll keep talking to you. If they don’t, they’ll walk away and you never have to see them again.’
‘But how do I know?’
‘You don’t. You could get a Jessica Heybourne or a Mr Jasper.’
‘Ugh,’ she shivered. ‘Don’t remind me about Mr Jasper.’
‘Or you could get someone in between,’ Joe said, his voice softer. ‘Like me. I’m not always that hard to live with, am I?’ He raised his eyebrows in what Cat thought – but would never tell him – was an excellent impression of a lost puppy. A Labrador.
‘No,’ she laughed. ‘Not always.’
‘Good advice from your housemate, don’t you think?’ Elsie patted her knee. ‘If it’s meant to be, it’ll work out. If not, then you’ve only lost a sliver of self-confidence which will come back anyway.’
‘Right, yes.’ Cat examined her knees. ‘Brilliant advice. Thanks, Joe, thanks, Elsie. I just…it’s hard, launching in. How do you bring up the subject of dogs at a party like this? I know the Westies are here somewhere, but…’
‘So host your own event,’ Joe said. ‘Organize a dog get-together, invite owners to come and find out about Pooch Promenade. But not at ours,’ he added quickly. ‘Somewhere large and dog-friendly. Maybe the café in the park. George likes dogs, doesn’t he?’
Cat stared at him.
‘What?’ he shrugged. ‘Look, if it’s a crap idea—’
‘It’s an amazing idea,’ Cat said, her eyes shining at the thought. ‘It’s perfect.’
‘There you go, then. Tell people that you’re having a great time and that you’re hosting an event soon, and the dog bit will follow naturally.’
‘You’re a genius, Joe!’ Cat squeezed his arm.
‘Knock them dead.’ Joe gave her his steady, blue-eyed stare. ‘You already do in that dress, so…go for it.’
Cat nodded, stood, and walked purposefully amongst the warm bodies. Joe was right – they all were. She was proud of her dog-walking business, and she was attracted to Mark. If it’s meant to be, it’ll work out.
She was going to talk to people about Pooch Promenade, and she was going to find Mark.
Half an hour later she’d spoken to six people she didn’t know, had mentioned Pooch Promenade to a couple who lived nearby and had two retrievers, and discovered that nobody had seen Jessica or Mark for the last hour.
‘Try Jessica’s study,’ Boris said, skewering an olive with a cocktail stick. He was tall and willowy, dressed in a green three-piece suit, his hair a shock of vibrant but (according to his eyebrows) natural orange. He ran the boutique bed and breakfast at number three Primrose Terrace with his partner Charles and two French bulldogs. He’d promised to follow Cat on Twitter and introduce her to Dylan and Bossy, and was now imparting invaluable advice about what she should do next.
‘Won’t she mind?’
‘Just knock. Jessica knows how to put on a party – if it’s not locked then it’s not out of bounds. First floor, end of the corridor.’ He pointed his glass towards the staircase.
Cat climbed it slowly, her sweaty palm slipping on the bannister. She shouldn’t be doing this; she should wait until they reappeared. But if she could get one glance, one sign that they were definitely together, then she could stop thinking about Mark and avoid the embarrassment of being rejected. The staircase curved and the hallway below disappeared from sight as Cat found herself at the end of a corridor. There were black-and-white photographs on the wall, mostly of Jessica herself, and the thick carpet was the same pale green as the rugs downstairs.
The door at the end was ajar, a glow of light coming from inside. Cat took a step towards it, then another. Voices and laughter drifted up from downstairs. She took another step, heard a familiar shuffling sound and looked down to see Valentino, his tail wagging like a metronome, black nose angled up towards her.
Panic flared in her chest. She crouched and stroked the dog behind the ears. ‘Shhhhh,’ she whispered. Valentino was panting slightly, dancing backwards and forwards, happy to have found his friend. ‘Stay here,’ Cat said, pointing her finger at the carpet. Valentino sat down. ‘Good dog.’
Slowly, so slowly, she stood and took another step towards the study. Something bumped against her leg. It was Coco, trotting beside her, and as soon as Valentino saw his brother he disobeyed Cat’s instructions and came to join them. Cat repeated the process, stroking, praising, and telling them both to sit. She scrutinized the corridor, but there was no sign of Dior. ‘Stay here, puppies,’ she whispered. The dogs looked up at her, clearly thinking it was part of a game. Cat would have to find a treat for them; she wondered if they liked horseradish.
She took the last two steps towards the door, silently thanking Jessica for her thick, sound-absorbing carpets. She peered through the gap.
Jessica and Mark were sitting side by side on a low cream sofa, bending forwards, looking at a folder that was open on the table. Mark’s elbows were on his knees, his face a mask of concentration.
Cat couldn’t hear what Jessica was saying, but they weren’t snuggled together, shoulders and knees not pressed close. Their body language didn’t scream Secret Tryst. And if they were a couple, if they spent their days locked in each other’s embrace, why pick the middle of a
