Jessica said. ‘What are you doing in here, darling? Do you need to go outside?’
Cat inhaled and stepped back just as the door swung open. Coco raced into the study to greet his owner, and Mark and Jessica looked up at the same time. Cat was frozen in the doorway, unable to move even when Dior, following in the footsteps of the other two Westies, sat on her feet and started yelping.
Look who I’ve found, he seemed to say. Aren’t I a clever dog?
‘Darling Cat,’ Jessica said, ‘what are you doing? Is anything wrong?’ She half stood, but it was Mark who was up and in front of her in a second.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘You look terrified.’ He put his hand softly on her bare arm and a shiver snaked up it, her attraction towards him winning over the terror of the situation.
‘I-I’m fine,’ Cat stammered. ‘Dior was whining, he seemed upset so I – I was looking for you, Jessica. I’m so sorry to intrude.’ Dior chose that moment to be an unreliable sidekick by rolling onto his back, legs in the air, waiting for his tummy to be tickled.
‘Oh, they get like that, don’t you, poppets?’ Jessica rubbed noses with Valentino, holding his front paws in her hands. ‘I don’t think there’s anything to worry about, he was probably just after attention.’
Cat nodded, aware that Mark was still looking at her, still touching her. ‘Oh, th-that’s fine then,’ she said. ‘I’ll be off.’ She turned to go, but he squeezed her arm.
‘Why don’t you come in? Jessica was helping me out with a few contacts.’
‘Really?’ Cat hoped she sounded interested – all she could hear was the hammering of her heart.
‘An author friend’s having his book adapted for the small screen,’ Jessica said, sliding back onto the sofa and crossing one leg over the other. ‘It’s still very hush-hush, but it’s quite exciting. Mark’s looking for a producer for his latest screenplay, so I was passing on some contacts.’
‘You’re a television writer?’
‘Film,’ Mark said. ‘One indie success under my belt – critical acclaim but cult viewing figures – and one complete flop. I’m hoping for a resurrection with number three, and while my agent’s on the case, it’s always good to be on the lookout for other avenues.’
‘Wow!’ Cat said. ‘That’s exciting. Amazing, really. I didn’t know you were a writer.’ She thought of George’s fears, Mark spying on people and making notes in the café.
He laughed. ‘Why would you? I haven’t mentioned it before.’
‘What kind of films?’
‘Horror.’
‘Ah,’ Cat said. ‘Dawn of the Dead. Chips the dog. You love horror films.’
‘Exactly.’ Mark looked surprised, as if he hadn’t expected her to remember. Maybe she should have pretended to forget. ‘George Romero is one of my heroes.’ He smiled down at her, and for the first time Cat couldn’t see amusement or challenge in his eyes, just warmth and genuine interest. Should she ask now?
‘We shouldn’t be up here.’ Jessica stood and shooed her dogs out of the study. ‘I got carried away. It’s unthinkable of a hostess not to be present at her own party.’ She indicated the door, and Cat followed the Westies into the corridor. ‘Are you having fun, Cat? You really shouldn’t worry about the dogs tonight – they’re utter divas. They’ve had me to learn from, after all.’ She wrapped her arm around Cat’s shoulder. ‘I meant to ask you about your housemate, Joe?’
‘What about him?’
‘Is he single?’
Cat gawped, momentarily unable to respond. Mark was descending the stairs, looking back at her. ‘He, uhm, he’s had a bad break-up recently.’ The moment she said it, she felt as if she was betraying Joe. Would he want Jessica to know?
‘The poor darling. He’s seriously sizzling,’ Jessica said. ‘And an excellent kisser.’ And with that bombshell Jessica followed Mark down the stairs, leaving Cat next to a black-and-white photo of the hostess with her three dogs. They were captured in a rare moment of calm, their furry bodies placed elegantly round Jessica’s seated form, looking up at her as though she was a goddess. Maybe she was, thought Cat. After everything she’d seen, it wasn’t entirely implausible.
It was after three in the morning when they made it back home. Cat flopped onto the sofa next to Polly, kicking off the shoes that had, earlier, caused so much panic. Joe put the kettle on.
‘Urgh,’ Polly moaned, ‘I have to be up early for lectures. Why didn’t I leave earlier?’
‘Because it was an amazing party,’ Cat said, ‘and it was impossible to leave.’
‘Elsie managed it.’
‘Yes, but she is older. And I think she was all talked out.’
‘Did you find Mark again?’
‘What, after my lucky escape?’ Cat hid her head in her hands. ‘What was I thinking?’
‘Maybe,’ Joe called from the kitchen, ‘like usual, you weren’t. You could have lost them both as clients – and friends – if they’d realized what you were up to.’
‘I know,’ Cat murmured. ‘I was being ridiculous.’
‘Did you ask him out?’ Polly asked, her eyelids fluttering.
‘No, because Jessica was there, and I only saw him briefly as he was leaving.’
‘But you will?’
‘I will,’ Cat said, but she wasn’t entirely convinced. She felt out of her depth now she knew he was another writer. Jessica was much more suited to him than she was. They had similar interests, they moved in the same circles of producers and agents and glamorous dinners, they were both attractive and dynamic. How could she compete with that?
But then, when he’d said goodbye, he’d put his hand on the small of her back, brushed his lips against her cheek and handed her his iPhone. When she looked, he’d already added her name into his contacts, the cursor blinking next to the mobile entry. Grinning, she’d typed her number and held the phone out to him, her heart racing when he’d purposefully brushed his fingers against hers and kissed her for a second time.
Joe put three cups of tea on the table and sat on the arm of the sofa. A couple of his shirt buttons had popped open, and Cat thought he looked happily dishevelled.
‘You had a good time, Joey?’ Polly asked.
He nodded. ‘I did. Better than I expected – thanks for asking me, Cat.’
‘Sure.’
