Читать книгу A Christmas Tail: A heart-warming Christmas romance - Cressida McLaughlin, Cressida McLaughlin - Страница 8

‘Dog walking? As a job?’

‘Yes, Polly. Taking other people’s dogs for walks. It’s a growing market – people who work all day, busy families, people like Elsie who might be temporarily unable to take their pets out. I bet there are loads of dog-owners out there who don’t even know it’s an option. Now it will be, because of me.’

They were sitting on the over-squashy, faded blue sofas in the living room of number nine Primrose Terrace, sharing a bottle of wine. Polly had come back late from Fairview vet’s, where she was doing the work placement for her veterinary nursing degree, and had changed into blue cotton pyjamas, her bare feet up on the coffee table.

‘And you’re sure Alison won’t have you back at the nursery, even if you grovel?’

‘I wouldn’t go back, even if she grovelled. I don’t think it’s the right job for me, not in a conventional nursery, anyway. Elsie’s right, this is perfect. Between the beach and the park this must be a prime doggy neighbourhood, and I can’t think of anything I’d like more than spending time walking other people’s dogs.’

Polly scrutinized her, her wide blue eyes unblinking in a way that Cat had almost got used to, despite the effect, along with her long blonde hair, of being a bit Midwich Cuckoos. ‘I’m sure you can do it,’ she said slowly, ‘but there are lots of things to consider. Lots. How much you’ll charge, how many dogs you can walk at a time. Do the owners let their dogs have treats? If so, what kind and how often? Will you pick them all up from their houses? Will they get on with each other? And think of all the poo you’ll have to pick up. It won’t be a walk in the park.’

‘Ha ha.’

‘What, I – oh!’ Polly grinned. ‘It’s true, though. I know you’ll think things through, but you can be…’

‘Impulsive, spontaneous?’

‘Excitable, a bit like a dog.’

Cat threw a cushion at her. ‘I get that I need to think about it like a business, but I’m excited, Pol. As excited as I was about moving here, finally getting to live with you. I think I can do this, and at the very least I can test the water, see if anyone nearby would be interested in a dog walker – other than Elsie, of course.’

‘You won’t charge her, will you?’

‘I said I wouldn’t, but she insists on it. She’ll be my first client and I’ll give her a special OAP rate.’ Cat sipped her wine and beamed, feeling a swell of something like accomplishment, even though all they’d really done was come up with an idea and the hard work was ahead of her.

‘Well, I think it’s pretty inventive,’ Polly said. ‘Inspirational, almost.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. You may not have intended to leave your job today—’

‘Get booted out, you mean?’

‘But,’ Polly continued, holding up a finger, ‘this could be better. And you’ll have a nearly trained veterinary nurse on hand, should anything go hideously wrong.’

‘What’s going to go hideously wrong?’ Joe sloped into the room, sat next to Polly and poured himself a glass of red wine. He was in his usual work outfit of jeans and a hoody, the current one navy with an orange goldfish on the front, his short hair sticking up in unruly tufts as if his day had involved a lot of head scratching.

‘There’s a tsunami heading towards Fairview beach. Think of the carnage it’s going to cause.’

Joe sat up, almost spilling his wine. ‘What? Who said anything about a tsunami?’

‘Calm down,’ Polly said, pushing gently against his chest. ‘Cat was having you on. No tsunami.’

‘Right.’ Joe glared at Cat and she grinned. Joe and Polly could almost be twins. They were both blond-haired and blue-eyed, Polly’s frame almost as slender as a boy’s, but Joe’s blond was more strawberry than ash. Cat had never found him unnerving, only annoying. ‘So what’s going to go wrong?’ he asked.

‘Cat’s new business venture – except it’s not, but if it does, then I’ll be on hand.’

‘To offer moral support?’ Joe noticed Polly’s feet up on the coffee table, and gently nudged them onto the floor.

‘To provide medical assistance.’

‘Are we going back to the tsunami? Why would you need medical assistance? Do your techniques work on people as well as animals?’ Joe rubbed his forehead.

‘Not for the people, silly,’ Polly said, ‘for the dogs.’

‘Dogs?’ Joe sat up again, this time keeping careful control of his wine. ‘What dogs?’ There was an edge of panic in his voice that Cat might have found amusing, except that it was his aversion to dogs that was stopping her from having one of her own at Primrose Terrace.

‘All dogs.’ Cat threw her arms up. ‘I’m going to walk the dogs of Fairview. I’m going to look after them all, from chihuahuas to Great Danes, give them exercise and love and the freedom they deserve, and I’m going to get paid for it!’

Joe took a sip of wine, his movements slow and measured. Cat had, in the two months she’d been living there, discovered that this meant he was formulating an argument, considering his point carefully before he expressed it. Spontaneity was not Joe’s thing. Cat was expecting a carefully crafted attack on all things canine. It didn’t come.

‘So your time at the nursery,’ he said softly, ‘it’s…come to an end?’

‘How did you know?’

‘I didn’t. But…it seemed slightly inevitable.’

‘Why?’

Joe gave a quick smile. ‘Because every time I asked about your day, you gave me an elaborate description of all the things you wished you’d been doing with the children – some of which would have got you sued, by the way – because the real answer was too boring to talk about. I guessed that you weren’t that happy there. Sorry if I’ve got the wrong end of the stick.’

‘Stick,’ Polly said. ‘Ha ha!’

‘What?’

‘Y’know, dog walking, stick…we’re collecting dog puns.’

‘Not intentionally,’ Cat said. ‘But you’re right, I didn’t last at the nursery.’

Since she’d been living there, it had become an evening ritual. Cat would tell Joe all the things she wished they’d been doing at the nursery, and Joe, a freelance illustrator, would go on about how wonderfully cooperative his clients were to begin with, and how it would take him half a day to lovingly create a drawing of a single person, only to be told by the client that they looked too angry, or too insipid, or too posh. Joe was currently working on websites, marketing and branding for small companies and, at the moment, a local magazine that was probably the cause of the hair pulling.

‘Whose decision?’ Joe asked.

‘What?’

‘Did you jump, or were you pushed?’

The room fell into silence, thoughts drifting up towards the high ceiling as Cat tried to conjure up the best way of explaining what had happened. She didn’t need to.

‘Cat took Disco to the nursery in her handbag, and she escaped during music time. It gave the children more excitement than Miss Knickers-too-tight could handle.’ Polly poured more wine, put her feet back on the table and took them off again at Joe’s instant glare.

‘You took a puppy into a nursery in a handbag?’ He narrowed his eyes.

Cat nodded.

‘And expected chaos not to rain down upon you?’

‘I was hopeful.’

‘You were deluded. No wonder she fired you.’

Cat pressed her lips together and gave a small nod. ‘Maybe. But look where it’s led me.’

‘What, to a bottle of wine and some pie-in-the-sky idea about becoming the local Dr Dolittle?’

‘Hey!’

‘Joe,’ Polly chided, ‘that’s not fair. If Cat sets her mind to it, then I think she can do it.’

‘Well, I’m looking forward to seeing how it turns out.’ He raised his glass, and Polly and Cat did the same, though Cat could see amusement glimmering behind Joe’s serious expression. His rather large ginger cat, Shed, took the opportunity to stalk into the room, shaking out his back feet in turn as if discarding distasteful footwear, and positioning himself on the coffee table. He nudged the bottle of wine close to the edge with his tail.

‘How come Shed’s allowed on the table and not my feet?’ Polly asked. This was not a new argument, and Shed gave her a look that said just that: I’m allowed, you’re not. Get over it.

Joe shrugged. ‘It’s harder to get him to behave than you.’

‘So your battles are based on the effort it takes to achieve the required results? That’s a hopeless way to live your life, Joey.’

‘Yeah, well. I’m older than you are.’

‘But not wiser.’

‘It’s my lease, so I get to make the decisions.’

‘I’m paying the same amount of rent.’

‘Do you always have to be so argumentative?’

‘Only when I’m standing up for my rights.’ Polly crossed her arms.

‘Your rights to have your feet on the table?’

‘I had a shower when I got in, so they’re perfectly clean. Cleaner than Shed’s, I bet. And he’s got his bum on the table.’

Joe looked sideways at his sister. ‘Fair point. Come on, Shed.’

He prodded Shed’s back, and the cat glared at him and stepped onto his knee, kneading his paws into Joe’s jeans.

‘Ahhh – aaaaaaaaaah, not there, Shed!’ Joe tried to move the cat but he refused to budge, and Cat hid her laughter behind her glass. She made the mistake of catching Polly’s eye, and they both shook silently while Joe tried to rescue his private parts. Small portions of near-harmless revenge were very satisfying, even when they came from an unlikely source.

The bottle of wine was empty, Cat’s eyes were blinking sleepily and Joe had long since disappeared to do more work or fume, silently, behind his office door. Polly switched off the television and drummed her fingers on the table.

Cat sat up. ‘What?’

‘He’s not always been like that, you know.’

‘Who, Shed?’ Shed was asleep in Joe’s place on the sofa, a big orange fuzz, his face buried under his tail. Cat imagined he was secretly plotting ways to get her into trouble, playing the perfect pet against her role of irritating new housemate.

‘Joe,’ Polly said. ‘You’ve got the worst of him at the moment, that’s all.’

‘The two-month bad patch?’ Cat raised an eyebrow and grinned at her friend’s exasperation. ‘Sorry, I know things weren’t that great for him before I moved in, but I – I mean, I don’t know the whole story.’ She spoke gently, thinking of all the times she’d tried to get the truth out of Polly, knowing that it wasn’t fair to level her curiosity at her new landlord, but unable to help it.

‘It’s probably time to tell you. He was really stung by Rosalin. No, not stung, that’s not fair. Sometimes it’s easy to think of Joe as a grumbling, emotionless lump, but he’s not like that. He’s broken-hearted.’

‘She left him?’

Polly nodded, hesitated for a second, and then sighed. ‘For his business partner,’ she added. Her tone suggested she still couldn’t believe it, and Cat could understand the incredulity.

‘Alex did the first break-up. They’d been running Magic Mouse Illustrations for nearly five years, and he told Joe he’d been headhunted by a company in London, some global corporation with a fat salary and all the extras, and he was going to take it. That was hard, not only because Alex was leaving, but because Joe thought he wouldn’t be able to do it without him. Alex was always better at the graphic design – Joe’s skills are mostly straight illustration, which he’s worried is a dying art. It’s crushed his confidence to think Alex got poached, even though I’m pretty sure Alex wasn’t telling Joe the whole truth.’

‘What do you mean?’ The temperature had dropped, and Cat put a cushion over her feet, too wedged into the sofa to go and get warmer clothes.

‘I think Alex was exaggerating. I think he wanted out – he was about to steal Joe’s girlfriend – so he applied for the job and got it. I’m sure there was no headhunting. Anyway, a few days after that Rosalin told Joe she was leaving him, that she was moving to London with Alex Duhamel, smooth and French and, from that moment on, no longer Joe’s friend. It’s put him off French things for ever – Brie, Paris – and women, and…some other things.’

‘That’s horrible.’ Cat felt instantly guilty, felt the usual sweep of shame at her curiosity.

‘He lost everything in a few days,’ Polly continued. ‘He’s kept Magic Mouse going, he’s got his head down, but he’s not coping as well as he’d like us to believe. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I don’t like introducing him as “my heartbroken brother”. People shouldn’t be judged on their back story, so I didn’t fill in the blanks.’ Polly sat forward, elbows on her knees. ‘Also, I didn’t want to worry you. It used to be me, Joe and Rosalin here. Joe was fine about you moving in – or he claimed he was – but you’ve still replaced Rosalin in this house, so you might be getting a harder time of it than you should.’

‘He’s not being actively mean to me.’

‘But he’s miserable, sarcastic, pessimistic. I thought it was about time I explained. I don’t want you thinking I’ve mis-sold you the Primrose Terrace experience.’

Cat laughed. ‘You haven’t, and I’m really happy here, I promise. If I wasn’t then I’d be in Brighton trying to get my old job back. But I’m really going to give dog walking a go. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before – it’s perfect for me! And your brother may be down in the dumps, but he sometimes makes an effort to be nice to me, and he’s definitely got his uses.’

‘Like what? Scooping up unfinished wine? Being gullible about natural disasters?’

‘Those too,’ Cat said. Her mind was whirring – it hadn’t stopped since Elsie had suggested that she could strike out on her own and do something she really believed in. ‘But I’ve also heard he does quite a good job of prettying up websites.’

‘Ah.’ Polly’s thin, pearly lips lifted at the corners. ‘Yes, he does have that going for him, whatever his insecurities are. And he is throwing himself into work to take his mind off things.’

‘So his heartbreak could play to my advantage?’

‘It could, but I wouldn’t start your negotiation with that. “Hi, Joe, seeing as you no longer have a girlfriend to spend time with, could you just…” Maybe focus on his skills as a designer, his great visionary mind, his intellect in general.’

‘Good plan.’ Cat leaned forward and fist-bumped Polly. ‘The two of us could really make a go of this dog-walking thing!’

‘Two of us?’

‘Of course. If you want to be a part of it?’

Cat and Polly had lived together at university in York ten years earlier, and discovering that they had grown up only a few miles apart had made their friendship stronger. After graduating, life had inevitably got in the way, but they’d remained firm friends, meeting up regularly. Cat had jumped at the opportunity to move the short distance from Brighton to Fairview and move in with Polly, and including her in her business idea was the logical next step. Polly was calm, measured and organized. Cat thought they would be a perfect match.

Polly chewed her lip. ‘I – I’d love to, but at the moment I have so little time. Studying, the work placement. I’m so close to graduating now, I can’t mess it up.’

‘Just get involved when you can. And it’s not all about the walking. There’ll be admin, marketing, accounts. There’s loads of things to consider – it’s not going to be a walk in the park. Now,’ Cat raised her eyes to the ceiling, ‘which clever person told me that?’

‘All right,’ Polly laughed, ‘you’re on. I’d love to be involved. And first, the most important decision for any new business.’

‘What’s that?’

‘A name. What, Cat, is your dog-walking business going to be called?’

‘“@PoochPromenade. For all your dog-walking needs in the Fairview area of Fairhaven. No dogs too small (or big).” What do you think?’

‘Sorry?’ Joe turned over a page of the newspaper, his head bent towards it as if trying to block out the rest of the world. He was sitting at the dining table which, along with the sofas, was in the house’s one giant living space. Cat thought it must have been two rooms that had been knocked through by some previous owners, or maybe the landlord Joe rented the house from.

‘For my bio, for Pooch Promenade. I’m setting up Facebook and Twitter accounts.’

Joe took a moment – Cat thought he was probably counting to three – before looking up at her. She was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, her laptop balanced on her knees. ‘Read it again,’ he said.

She did. ‘So, what do you think?’

He nodded, lips pressed together. ‘I’m impressed. Hardly any flippancy at all, a bit of humour, striking the right balance between friendly and businesslike.’

Cat grinned. ‘Thank you.’

‘Apart from the name, of course, which could still do with some work.’

‘But your suggestions were worse than ours!’ Cat said. ‘This one feels right.’

It had been a week since Pooch Promenade had been born, though it had taken a further four days to come up with the name. Polly had texted her suggestions from work: Doggy Daycare, Wonderful Walkies, Puppy Perks. They had interrupted favourite television shows, and Cat had woken in the middle of the night when an idea pushed its way to the surface. Joe had even got in on the act, though Cat wasn’t sure the Post-it note he’d left for her to find when he’d gone out for a run had been a serious suggestion. It said Bitchin’ Walks, next to a brilliant cartoon of a dog, lead in mouth, looking pleased. Cat had stuck it on the wall above her dressing table.

Polly had come up with Pooch Promenade while they were watching a period drama, the main characters strolling in the grounds of a grand stately home, parasols shielding them from the sun.

‘Does Magic Mouse have a Twitter account?’ Cat asked Joe.

‘Yup.’

‘So you’ve got lots of local followers?’

‘Yup.’ His head was back down, his fingers wrapped around his coffee mug. Cat made a face at him and started searching for it online.

‘I saw that,’ Joe said.

‘Good,’ Cat murmured, her attention drawn to the 2,500 followers Joe had managed to accumulate. ‘Wow.’ She began scrolling through them, clicking ‘follow’ on any that were obviously local to Fairview or Fairhaven. She recognized a couple of names, businesses mostly: Spatz Restaurant, the local library, Capello’s Ice Cream Parlour – Not Just for Sundaes. She found the nursery, hovered over the ‘follow’ button and then clicked on it. Alison could find out how proactive she was being.

She scrolled down through photo avatars and the occasional cartoon picture. Magic Mouse Illustrations was represented by a simple cartoon of a mouse – half computer, half cheese-eating. It made Cat smile every time she saw it, and she wondered if she could convince Joe to draw something for Pooch Promenade. Her company would be so much more recognizable if she had a cute cartoon dog as the logo.

‘You can’t just follow people,’ Joe said, ‘you need to say something useful.’

‘I will. But there’s no point saying it if nobody’s listening.’

‘Very philosophical.’

Cat was trying to come up with a witty reply when her eyes snagged on a familiar name. Jessica Heybourne. Why did she know that name? She clicked onto her page, where there was a photo of a glamorous blonde, probably a few years older than Cat, smiling warmly at the lens with a confidence reserved for the frequently photographed. She had pale skin, heavily lined eyes and fair hair piled and teased like a cloud of candyfloss around her face. She had 22,000 followers, and her bio read: Bestselling cookery writer, total foodie, love my Westies and living by the sea. THE HEART OF FOOD out now.

That was it! Westies.

Elsie had told Cat that Jessica Heybourne should be at the top of her list of potential clients. She was a well-known author, popular in the community as well as further afield, and had three West Highland terriers and the potential to provide Cat with more word-of-mouth custom than the Fairhaven Press. And, as Elsie had told her gleefully, she lived at number one Primrose Terrace.

Cat had walked past it often, her eyes lingering over the elegant primrose paint, the large porch and the gleaming glass extension that was just visible from the side of the house. Cat sat back and sipped her tea, wondering how she should approach her. Jessica would never notice a general tweet – she probably didn’t have much time to read Twitter, though she used it to promote her books and hook her adoring public. She’d have to send her a direct tweet. She could always follow it up with a personal visit.

Abandoning her laptop, Cat walked to the window. The rain was falling in a solid sheet, the terrace barely visible beyond the raindrops slaloming down the glass. It was a typical March day, and Cat didn’t mind it – she would have to embrace all weathers if she was going to be a successful dog walker – but she wouldn’t give a good impression if she knocked on Jessica’s door looking like a bedraggled Great Dane.

She returned to her computer, followed Jessica and began composing her tweet. Half an hour and two bitten nails later she clicked the ‘tweet’ button, sat back and waited.

‘What are you looking so nervous about?’ Joe picked up her empty mug.

Cat shrugged. ‘Nothing. Just…looking for some clients.’

‘Inside your computer?’

‘That’s where it’s at these days,’ Cat said breezily, just as she remembered Joe’s insecurities about traditional illustration being sidelined by digital design. He disappeared into the kitchen and Cat heard the mugs hitting the sink with excessive force. ‘Shit,’ she whispered, then called out, ‘but how do you do it? You’ve got so many followers.’

Joe appeared and leaned against the door frame. He shrugged, his blue eyes fixing on Cat. ‘I put stuff out there – what I’m working on, links to clients’ websites and work I’ve done for them, chat to people when they ask a question. Just be open, friendly and professional, funny sometimes. And always talk about key things – mention Fairview a lot, and dog walking. Gradually people will pick it up, find out about you through searches or retweets.’

‘Oh,’ Cat said, surprised by Joe’s openness and lack of sarcasm. ‘Thanks, that’s really helpful. Funny?’

‘Funny’s good. Funny will get noticed much more than a straight tweet. And I know you can be funny.’

‘But…funny to you, maybe. Not intentionally.’

‘I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. Try it, see what happens. I’ve got to get to work.’

Cat listened to him pad gently up the stairs. His office was at the front of the house, above the living room, as it had the biggest windows, the most natural light for him to work with.

Once he’d gone, Cat felt the silence like a weight. She wasn’t used to being at home during the morning. And Joe thought she was funny? She rubbed her forehead, reached out for her mug that was no longer there, and hit the ‘load new tweets’ button.

Jessica Heybourne had followed her – and replied! Cat bit her lip. @PoochPromenade: A dog walker in Fairview? Are you new? I need to know more! Message me. Cat’s triumphant squeal filled the room, echoing off the high ceiling, and she thought she heard Joe’s office door open, wait a beat, then click shut.

Twenty minutes later, against a darker sky and even heavier rain, the doorbell rang. It was a high, optimistic trill and Cat rushed to answer it. In a series of direct messages, Jessica’s enthusiasm for Cat’s new business had almost surpassed her own, and the celebrity author had insisted on visiting her personally, right away. Cat had changed out of her dressing gown into a cream ruffle-collared shirt and smart jeans, run a brush through her short hair and framed her large dark eyes with mascara.

She opened the door to see Jessica – even more attractive than her photo – smiling up at her from beneath the hood of a wide-belted navy trench-coat, a cloud of white, soggy fur at her feet.

Cat glanced behind her, listened for a second and then welcomed them in a little way. ‘Hi, Jessica, thank you so much for coming. I’m Cat.’

‘Lovely to meet you.’ Jessica slipped off her hood, and her blonde hair cascaded down her back. ‘And this is Valentino, Coco and Dior.’ She gestured to the Westies in turn as they snuffled at Cat’s bare feet, their wet noses tickling her skin, and explored the new space with enthusiasm. One of them took hold of Joe’s running shoe, and Cat gently prised it from the dog’s mouth, checked it for tooth marks and put it on the stairs. She prayed that Shed wouldn’t appear, that Joe wouldn’t decide he needed a top-up of coffee. If he realized she’d let three dogs into the house…she pushed the thought away and stroked each of the dogs in turn. They responded without a hint of shyness, all keen to lap up the extra attention.

They were wearing different-coloured velvet collars dotted with sparkling stones, which Cat thought probably weren’t made out of glass. One of the dogs – was it Coco? – had his right ear bent over, as if affecting a slight vulnerability. Cat stroked the ear; the fur was unbelievably silky. They were friendly, pure white bundles of love, and Cat could feel her heart giving way.

‘They’re beautiful. How often do you walk them?’ Cat stood so she was back at eye level with Jessica.

‘Well, at least once a day, and it’s easy having Primrose Park so close by, but I do sometimes run out of time, and I’m sure they’d like more.’ Jessica’s voice was low and breathy, even though she’d only walked a few hundred yards, and Cat wondered if it was deliberate, along with her ditziness – she’d lived in the area long enough to know what the park was called – as part of a persona. ‘I’m on my own, you see,’ Jessica added, ‘and it’s hard sometimes.’

Cat nodded. ‘I know what that’s like. Is it…recent?’ She held her breath, wondering if she’d pushed it too far.

Jessica studied her dogs for a moment. ‘Quite recent. I…I’ve had a bit of a time of it, but I’m coming out the other side, emerging, slowly, from my chrysalis. Things are looking more positive, exciting almost. But I couldn’t have done it without my designer dogs. They’ve kept me sane, and they deserve the best.’

‘Well, I can definitely help with that,’ Cat said softly. ‘I’ll treat them as if they were my own. I – I’m sorry I can’t invite you in. My housemate’s working.’ She gestured towards the living room.

‘Oh, no, of course. I can’t stay long anyway, but I did want to meet you. And I wanted you to meet my boys.’ She gave an exaggerated flourish, but her smile was warm, her pale eyes meeting Cat’s easily.

‘They’re lovely. Really, really lovely. I’d be very happy to walk them as frequently as you needed – on a trial basis, and then more permanently if everything works out. I can’t see why it wouldn’t, but the trial is just so we’re all happy – you, me and your Westies.’

‘What other dogs do you have?’

‘Two mini schnauzers at the moment, but I’ve only been going…’ She stopped, thinking about Joe’s insistence that she be professional. ‘We’re a very new business, so we’re still building our client list.’

‘Sounds perfect! I love mini schnauzers.’

‘They belong to Elsie, next door.’

‘Oh, I think I’ve seen them – one’s still a puppy.’

‘That’s Disco,’ Cat said. ‘She’s a handful, but worth every bit of trouble.’

‘They all are.’ Jessica’s beautiful face broke into a grin, and Cat felt herself warming to her. ‘So, how about tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘I have to go to London, and these poor poppets will be left alone. Your tweet has come at the perfect time! Could you collect them about eleven? I’ve got a spare key.’ She pulled it out of her pocket and dangled it on an elegant finger.

‘Of course.’ Cat took the key, surprised that Jessica was so instantly trusting. ‘And they’re OK with treats?’

‘They’re smothered in treats,’ Jessica confirmed. ‘They’ll be very put out if you don’t give them any. Won’t you, darlings?’

Valentino looked up at his owner, waggled his hind legs and let out a short, loud yip.

‘Fantastic!’ Cat squealed, glancing behind her, and Jessica took a step backwards. ‘That’s brilliant. Thanks so much for coming, Jessica. I’ll pick up Valentino, Coco and Dior tomorrow.’ She grinned, hoping her words would have the desired effect. ‘We can sort out payment and a proper schedule after that.’

‘Perfect,’ Jessica said softly. ‘Lovely to meet you, Cat.’

‘And to meet all of you.’ She bent, ruffled each of the Westies behind the ears, then felt her shoulders relax as Jessica put her hood back up and opened the door. The dogs trotted happily out into the rain and Jessica turned, planted a highly perfumed kiss on Cat’s stunned cheek, and stepped into the shallow porch leaving a trail of Coco Mademoiselle behind her. She made her way carefully down the front steps, and Cat saw that she was wearing boots with four-inch heels. Cat gave the author a final wave, closed the door gently behind her, leaned against it and shut her eyes. She exhaled loudly, and felt her breath catch as the landing floorboard creaked.

She opened her eyes.

‘Joe.’

He had his arms folded, his blond brows lowered. ‘Was that dogs? In here?’

‘Joe, I’m so—’

‘You know how I feel about them, Cat. And what do you think would have happened if Shed had come in? For God’s sake, don’t you ever think? How many were there? More than one from all the snuffling and the – the smell.’ He came slowly down the stairs, and Cat could almost feel his fury growing.

‘Three,’ she said. ‘They belong to Jessica Heybourne and she – she wants me to walk them. I’m sorry they had to come in, but it was raining, and it was only for a few minutes. She’s my first proper client.’

He was one step above her, looking down, and Cat could see more than just anger in his expression. She felt her excitement shrivel, Joe’s disappointment crushing her more than she had thought it could. He nodded, and for a second Cat thought he was going to back down, to agree that yes, it had been justified, and hooray for her new client.

‘Don’t bring dogs in here,’ he said instead. ‘I don’t ask too much – I think I’m pretty reasonable – but please, please don’t bring dogs into this house. If you think that’s going to be hard because of Pooch Promenade, well then…’ He glanced away, looked back at her and then slid past her into the living room, his shoulder grazing hers.

Cat stayed where she was, feeling hurt and wronged and indignant, and pretty sure that she understood what Joe’s unfinished sentence meant: work out a way to run Pooch Promenade without bringing dogs here, or find somewhere else to live.