12

      It was 9.30 p.m. and Nick Douglas had still not arrived. The Flask pub on the edge of Highgate’s tiny green had been cranked up to full Sunday-night volume, the air full of loud laughter, weekend gossip and the smell of beer and cigarettes. Cate had been lucky to find a seat in the corner where she sipped a glass of white wine and pretended to read a leaflet advertising yoga classes. She glanced at the Cartier Tank watch on her wrist and considered going home. She usually gave up waiting for people at half an hour, and if any of her other publishing contacts had shown the slightest interest in joining her fledgling company she’d have given up long ago and slunk back to her flat to watch Midsomer Murders. As it was, Cate was feeling very alone. The three publishers that she had approached had told her that they were unhappy in their jobs. The thing was, none of them were that unhappy that they wanted to take a risk with Cate. Even Cecil Bradley, while supportive of Cate’s ambition, had declined to come out of retirement. There was frankly only one person left: Nick Douglas. And even he couldn’t be bothered to turn up.

      ‘Cate Balcon?’

      She looked up to see a tall, slim man wearing jeans and a long, grey wool coat. His light brown hair was cropped, his hazel eyes were intense and his wide, full-lipped mouth was unsmiling. Nick Douglas had the sort of broody handsomeness and the lean skier’s build that usually made Cate drool. But without a word of apology or even a smile, Nick Douglas looked like the typical arrogant public schoolboy nightmare of her teenage years.

      ‘Nick? I was just about to go.’ She couldn’t stop the words coming out spitefully.

      ‘We said half past nine.’

      ‘It was nine, actually,’ said Cate, her smile thin and fixed. She took a deep breath. She didn’t want this to get off to a bad start. Nick certainly didn’t look particularly enamoured by his first impressions either.

      ‘Can I get you a drink?’ she said, trying to thaw the atmosphere.

      ‘No, no, I’ll get them,’ said Nick. ‘They know me here. White wine, is it?’

      ‘No more wine,’ said Cate, shaking her head, aware that she was feeling a little light-headed after drinking two large glasses of Chardonnay in quick succession. ‘Just a Diet Coke, please. Ice and lemon.’

      ‘A Diet Coke girl.’ He smiled and swaggered off. Cate felt her dislike of Nick Douglas increase. As he headed to the bar, Cate noticed that he had instantly attracted the attention of a pretty blonde barmaid. Maybe she had agreed to the meeting too hastily. He might be a friend of Tom’s, but Cate didn’t know Nick Douglas from Adam and now, here she was, half drunk in a London pub, about to show this cocky upstart her precious magazine dummy. How did she know that this Nick Douglas wasn’t going to steal all her ideas and then drop her like a hot potato?

      By the time she had drained the remnants of her wine, Nick had brought the drinks, pulled his coat off and squeezed into the tiny space beside her, the warm leg of his jeans pressing against hers.

      ‘This is a bit odd, isn’t it?’ he smiled for the first time.

      ‘How do you mean?’

      ‘Feels like a blind date.’

      Cate laughed nervously. ‘Well, it certainly felt as if I’d been stood up.’

      He took a sip of his Guinness, leaving a frothy white-foam moustache on his top lip. ‘Sorry about that. I did know it was nine o’clock.’ He grinned. ‘I was just watching, well, the end of Midsomer Murders, actually.’

      Cate snorted quietly, clinking her glass of Coke against his dark pint glass sarcastically. ‘Thank you. Glad to see you just couldn’t wait to meet me.’

      Nick bristled. He knew he’d been out of order arriving late, but he was the one doing her the favour, wasn’t he? He was only here because Tom had asked him to be. He was sure that Cate was going to be the career-bitch twin of her sister Serena, all blonde highlights and blue-blooded attitude. He’d witnessed his old schoolmate Tom being henpecked by Serena for years. He had no intention of falling into a similar pattern, but without any of the bedtime benefits.

      ‘Tom says you’ve been in America. Why did you leave?’ asked Cate.

      Nick looked at her. He could see no reason to try and impress this over-privileged princess, so he just shrugged and told her the truth. ‘Same reason as most people who leave a ridiculously well-paid job in New York for unemployment in London.’

      Cate smiled at him. ‘Fired?’

      ‘Got it in one.’

      ‘Well, you and me both,’ she smiled with a hint of embarrassment.

      Nick softened, looking at her wide smiling mouth. Her trying-to-hide-it nervousness was actually quite endearing, he thought. Shame she was such a pompous cow.

      Nick took a big gulp of Guinness and continued. ‘The funny thing is, it’s terrible being fired and all that, but I’m sort of glad. I was bored shitless, but I could have carried on for another ten years, with my nice West Village apartment and summer weekends in the Hamptons. It was nice. Really nice. But when things are too nice, you don’t take any chances.’ When he grinned at Cate, faint little creases crinkled around the corners of his eyes.

      ‘So, how far have you got with your publishing company?’ asked Cate, feeling as if she was interviewing him.

      ‘Is that what Tom told you? I had a publishing company?’ Nick laughed, draining his pint glass. ‘It’s less a company, more of an idea. You see, I’ve got great contacts in the ad world and I know some people in the City who might be interested in backing a media venture, but I don’t think I’ve quite got the product to present to them yet. When you’re a start-up company, the first product has got to be absolutely right, and I don’t think that Your Parrot magazine is going to set the City on fire.’

      ‘Your idea is for a bird magazine?’ said Cate, her heart sinking.

      ‘Parrots.’

      ‘Well, the pet market is huge,’ she acknowledged, not wanting to mock his idea.

      Nick started laughing – a deep, loud laugh. ‘No, I’m not doing a bloody parrot magazine. That was a joke.’

      It was Cate’s turn to feel riled. How dare he make her feel stupid when she was only trying to be kind? She bowed her head to stop him seeing her cheeks burn red and began to rummage around in her bag, trying to find her mobile to call a taxi. She’d had enough of this. Nick Douglas was obviously not the charmer Tom had described. Unable to find the phone, she pulled out a thin portfolio she had put together, full of layouts and mood boards, and put it on the table.

      ‘Is this it?’ asked Nick, craning his neck over to the side of the table.

      Before Cate could stop him, Nick was reaching for the black leather portfolio. She shot out her hand and put it on top of his.

      ‘I wasn’t giving you that,’ she snapped pulling it back.

      ‘Then why are we here?’ He looked up at the angry, determined line of her mouth, which he found, against his better judgement, quite cute.

      ‘Hey, don’t look so worried,’ laughed Nick more softly, putting his palms up in surrender. ‘I’m not the KGB! If you’re worried about me pinching your idea, which of course I won’t, I am quite happy to sign a NDA.’

      ‘A what?’

      ‘Non-disclosure agreement. Not that they are worth the paper they are written on, but I’m happy to sign one.’

      Cate took a deep breath and looked into Nick’s