that good-looking in real life.’
‘He’s got a smug chin and razor-sharp observation. I don’t stand a chance.’
‘You’re underestimating yourself, Cat Palmer. I say throw caution to the wind – it’s a party after all.’
Polly clinked her glass, and Cat felt as though she’d been given approval from the person whose opinion she cared about most. Sadly, she wasn’t sure she still 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
‘He’s got a smug chin and razor-sharp observation. I don’t stand a chance.’
‘You’re underestimating yourself, Cat Palmer. I say throw caution to the wind – it’s a party after all.’
Polly clinked her glass, and Cat felt as though she’d been given approval from the person whose opinion she cared about most. Sadly, she wasn’t sure she still 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
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