A Christmas Tail: A heart-warming Christmas romance. Cressida McLaughlin

could smell his aftershave. It was subtle, it smelled expensive. Cat swallowed.

      ‘Jessica Heybourne. She lives at number one. I thought you might have bumped into her.’

      He was staring at her, his lips curved into a smile. ‘I just need to let Chips in, hang on.’ He climbed the steps, unlocked the door, waited as the collie raced inside, then turned to face her. ‘I don’t know many people in Fairview, I’ve not been here very long.’

      ‘Right.’ Cat couldn’t ask him again without it sounding obvious. ‘But you like it?’

      Mark nodded and descended the steps. ‘It has many plus points, many striking views. Lots of things to recommend it. Primrose Terrace seems like a great place to live. Are you near here?’

      ‘I’m at number nine,’ Cat said. ‘It’s a very friendly road. I know Elsie at number ten, the owners of the bed and breakfast seem lovely, and of course there’s Jessica.’

      ‘Of course,’ Mark said. He took Cat’s upper arm and pulled her towards him. Her breath caught in her throat until she heard the pushchair rumble past and a woman calling ‘thank you’. But by then her face was inches from his, and her stomach had discovered it could do somersaults. Never mind her finding out if Mark was being unfaithful to Jessica, she was about to be the unfaithfulness. ‘We’re blocking the pavement,’ he said, not taking his eyes from her face.

      ‘We should move.’ She stepped backwards, swallowed and put what she hoped was a breezy smile on her face. ‘I have to go and pick up the Westies.’

      ‘Do you ever think about things that aren’t dog related?’

      ‘Of course,’ Cat said, ‘lots of the time, but this is—’

      ‘What about right now?’ He raised an eyebrow, and Cat found herself looking at his lips. The half smile, the jawline. She was thinking about his lips, and what they would feel like pressed against hers.

      ‘I’m thinking about…’

      ‘What?’

      Her mind had stopped cooperating.

      ‘Those big brown eyes are like saucers,’ he said. ‘You’re panicking.’

      ‘I’m not.’

      ‘You really can’t think of anything else, can you?’ He looked satisfied, as if he’d proved his point.

      Cat folded her arms. ‘I wasn’t thinking about dogs, actually.’

      He leaned towards her and whispered in her ear. ‘I know.’

      Cat gawped and Mark looked away as a car started further up the terrace. When he turned back, his smirk was firmly back in place. ‘So it’s going well, the dog walking?’

      She knew he’d thrown her a lifeline, but she was too flustered to do anything but take it. She was on much safer ground with dogs.

      ‘It is. It – it’s better. Disco’s getting bigger, she’s lots of fun still, but not quite so haywire, and I’ve been working out schedules, planning the walks around size, number and type of dogs. Squirrelgate was a one-off.’ It was true. She’d sat down with Polly and drawn up a rota – there weren’t enough dogs to fill it yet, but Cat could do three walks a day, two at weekends when the demand was less, and shouldn’t run into any more problems if she spread out her clients efficiently.

      ‘Glad to hear it. Although I’m not too disappointed you were having a bad day when I found you.’

      ‘Do you take pleasure from other people’s misfortunes, then?’

      ‘Only if it means I can rescue them.’

      ‘Are you a wannabe Superman?’ Cat knew where this was going, and was trying to work out if she liked it or not. She was kidding herself – of course she liked it, but should she like it? She had never been a cheater, and if Mark and Jessica were together…

      ‘I think Superman was less picky about who he rescued. He was an all-round, genuine superhero.’

      ‘And you?’ Her mouth was drying out.

      ‘I’m not as squeaky clean as Clark Kent. I only rescue people I want to get to know better. Sod the rest of them.’

      ‘OK.’ She swallowed.

      ‘That was a hint. Quite a big one, I thought.’

      ‘T-that would be lovely,’ she gushed. Why did he have the ability to turn her into a stuttering schoolgirl? Could what he had in mind be described as ‘lovely’? And she was going to be late for Jessica. God, Jessica. She couldn’t do it. ‘Look, sorry, I really need to get going.’

      Mark nodded and smiled, unperturbed by her sudden change of direction. ‘Of course. Good to see you, Cat.’

      ‘You too.’

      ‘I’m already looking forward to the next time.’

      She gave him a quick smile and hurried away, pulling her jacket tightly around her. And realized that he had neatly avoided answering her question about Jessica.

      ‘Oh, gorgeous Cat –’ Jessica flung open the door, the dogs at her feet – ‘come in for a moment. I’ve lost Dior’s lead, and he won’t wear the black one.’

      Cat hadn’t been invited in before, and stepped tentatively over the threshold, wondering how clean her boots were – they were dog-walking wellies, not suited to polished wooden floors. Jessica’s wide hall was magnificent, with walls covered in a cream and pale-green floral print, and a vase of fresh daffodils and a vintage telephone sitting on a cream dresser. Pistachio-coloured rugs on the floor picked out the detail of the wallpaper.

      Cat couldn’t imagine how a house with three dogs could cope with pale-green rugs but, like everything else, they looked pristine. A wooden staircase curved elegantly towards the upper reaches of the house, where skylights let in lots of sunshine. Jessica must have had the house completely remodelled when it was extended, because it looked nothing like where Cat lived.

      ‘I won’t be two ticks,’ Jessica said. ‘If you could truss these ones up while I find Dior’s?’ She gave Cat the leads, red and blue velvet to match the jewelled collars, and Cat crouched to attach them to Valentino and Coco, giving them each a cuddle. The dogs barked and nuzzled her, and Coco, with his floppy ear, licked her cheek. Cat knew she would never tire of this, would never get over the warmth and friendship a dog could give, and the desire to have one of her own was stronger than ever.

      ‘It was in the fruit bowl, can you imagine?’ Jessica returned, holding the lead up, elegant as always in a navy skirt suit and dangling silver earrings, her blonde hair swept high off her forehead. Cat could never spot a single dog hair on Jessica, and wondered if she walked through some kind of vacuum closet before she went anywhere.

      When the three dogs were ready, Cat hovered in the hallway while Jessica applied coral lipstick in the mirror. ‘Is it in a library, then, your event?’

      ‘Oh, no, not at all.’ Jessica laughed, then cursed, blotted her lipstick and started again. ‘It’s in the Silver wine bar. Do you know it?’

      Cat had walked past it, but had never gone in. She nodded. ‘I didn’t realize author events happened in wine bars, but then I suppose it makes a difference if you write about food.’

      ‘Oh, they happen anywhere. But I do prefer these ones, a select few fans and journalists, a bit more sophistication. Lunch – one of my favourite recipes from the latest book, goat’s cheese and tangerine salad – then questions. I should say it gets tiresome, but it never does. I lap it up, don’t I?’ She bent and gave each of her dogs a kiss on the forehead. When she stood, Cat looked for a white hair on her navy suit. Nothing.

      ‘Now, Cat.’ She turned and smiled, and Cat felt the full force of her glamour. ‘Three weeks from now, at the end of April, I’m having a small gathering here. Nibbles, obligatory