by Isabel Keats
“C’mon, guys. The party’s over.”
The long-haired man started to protest. His blood-alcohol level was clearly off the chart, so Leopold drew on all his diplomacy. The last thing he wanted was for someone of that size to get violent. “It’s Jake, isn’t it?”
The younger man tried to focus his glassy eyes on Sinclair. “How d’you know me?” he slurred.
“Man, I’ve heard a lot about you. Your deejaying’s incredible; I’ve never heard anything like it. David Guetta ain’t got a thing on you.” As he was talking, Leopold sprang into action, casually turning off the music and unplugging the cables. Feigning admiration, he continued, “Is this awesome rig yours? It’s a system and a half.”
“Fuck, dude, now we’re talking,” the big man replied, clearly flattered. He continued to sway back and forth unsteadily. Leopold gave Catalina a surreptitious wink. She was looking at him, amused, with that delicious smile of hers.
“Listen up, everyone, the party’s over!” Leopold’s deep voice reverberated through the apartment, and though there were a few grumbles, in the end, everyone left.
“Thank God!” Catalina exclaimed when the last guest had gone, leaning against the door and closing her eyes for a moment. Then she opened them and added, “And more to the point, thank you, Mr. Sinclair. You couldn’t have arrived at a better time.”
“And may I ask what Paul thinks about all this?”
“Uncle Pip? Bah. He’ll be away for ages; hopefully, he’ll never know,” she said with such a lack of concern that Leopold gnashed his teeth. “I’ll tidy up in the morning; hopefully, nothing’s broken. Good thing I put away the most valuable things before my friends arrived. Oh, I nearly forgot! I must let Milo out of the bedroom. I shut him in there, and he’s probably ready to smash the door down.”
Her neighbor went with her and had to endure the dog, happy to finally be freed from captivity, leaping on him and resting his giant paws on his chest. “I really don’t think you should be throwing parties when the owner of the apartment isn’t here,” Leopold said sternly as he pushed Milo down.
“Oh, a bit of fun never harmed anyone, did it?” Cat shot him a mischievous look. “Although things admittedly did get a bit out of hand. Word got around about the party and everyone showed up with someone, who in turn brought someone else, who brought—”
“I get it,” he cut in, annoyed by her laid-back attitude. “I just hope that when Paul gets back, he finds his place still intact,” he said, fixing her with a meaningful look. Catalina gazed back quizzically.
“I doubt there’s anything a good cleanup won’t fix.” She shrugged.
Unable to bear her innocent expression for a minute longer, Leopold replied sarcastically, “Do you really think that Paul won’t mind sharing his belongings with your chums? I suppose I just don’t understand such liberal relationships; I must be more old-fashioned than I thought.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she answered, seemingly baffled.
“You’re an excellent actress, Miss Stapleton; that ingenuous expression could win you an Oscar. But don’t worry, the arrangements my neighbor has with his lovers are no business of mine.”
Despite his anger, as soon as the words came out of Leopold’s mouth, he regretted uttering them. He really had no right to be so rude to the woman; no one had asked him to defend his cuckolded neighbor. Still, Catalina’s reaction surprised and irritated him. Not only did she not seem in the least offended, she began to laugh so uproariously that she was forced to sit on the sofa, tears running down her cheeks. Her odd behavior made Leopold lose his temper.
Though Catalina tried to contain her laughter, the disgruntled expression on his stern face proved too much. Fighting to get herself under control, she wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands and replied, “I’m sorry, Mr. Sinclair, but you’re so funny . . .”
“Oh, you think so?” said Leopold, his blood boiling. “Forgive me, Miss Stapleton. Your relationship with Paul is none of my business.” Ashamed, he awkwardly ran a hand through his short hair.
Cat should’ve been angry, but the situation seemed tremendously funny. Clearly, she’d offended her neighbor’s delicate sensibilities. Seeing his pinched expression and his strong clenched jaws, she took pity on him and gave him one of her most charming smiles. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing. It just tickled me that you thought I was Uncle Pip’s lover.”
Now it was Leopold’s turn to look at her in astonishment. “He’s not your lover? Then why are you living here?”
“I don’t know why I should have to explain anything to you,” Catalina shot back.
“You’re right, it’s not my concern,” he said, his face rigid with annoyance.
Cat looked at him teasingly, the golden sparks in her eyes glinting with mischief. “Please don’t be angry, Mr. Sinclair. If you’re going to look at me with such disapproval, I won’t be able to resist the temptation to goad you.”
“I’m glad you’re having such fun at my expense, Miss Stapleton,” Leopold replied stiffly. He wasn’t accustomed to women laughing at him; quite the contrary—until now they’d devoted themselves to relentlessly pursuing him. He decided that he didn’t like Miss Stapleton one bit.
Yet in an instant, her attitude changed. Catalina lifted her contrite face toward him, and Leopold realized that her eyes were no longer teasing, but friendly and affectionate. In fact, she seemed to be lit up by an inner brilliance that made her the most radiant person he’d ever known. Something stirred inside him, but he attributed it to Catalina Stapleton just being an incredibly irritating woman.
“Call me Cat, please. I can’t bear so much formality. Can I call you Leo?”
Leopold nodded, surprising himself. He’d never allowed anyone, not even his best friends, to use a nickname, so why was he making an exception for this brazen young lady? He mentally shrugged.
“Thing is, Leo,” she continued casually, “Uncle Pip is actually my uncle. One day, he announced he was sick of the English weather and that he’d decided to spend some time enjoying the art and history in Italy, as well as the sunshine and food there. He’s letting me live in his apartment on the condition I look after it and Milo.”
“I can see how well you’re looking after it,” he replied sarcastically, trying to hide how utterly stupid he felt.
“That’s a bit below the belt,” Cat replied with no anger whatsoever, “but you’re right. If it hadn’t been for you, it could’ve gotten ugly. I promise I won’t throw any more parties.”
“What you do or don’t do is none of my business,” he said sharply.
“True.”
He was surprised that Catalina was not only unruffled by his scorn but that she was answering back; he was used to people treating him with a respect that bordered on fear.
“Well, it’s late,” she said. “You should go. I still have to tidy all this up.”
Again, he was taken aback to be dismissed with such indifference. Normally, he was the one who would leave, with women pleading with him to stay just a little longer. His good manners prompted him to offer to help, though it was the last thing he wanted to do.
“You’re a darling, Leo.” Catalina squeezed his arm affectionately, startling him a little. “But no thanks.”
Leopold spoke on an impulse that he immediately regretted. “I’m going sailing tomorrow around noon, if you’d care to join me. I’ll bring lunch and spend the day on the boat, but I don’t plan on returning late.”
He later wondered why he’d invited her. Catalina Stapleton unsettled him. She was unpredictable, and he found her incredibly rude. He was unsure whether he liked the way she stared at him with her mocking eyes. The most logical thing would’ve been to avoid any contact with her. And yet there he was, inviting her to spend the day with him.
Totally oblivious to his thoughts, Cat looked pleasantly surprised. “You’ll t
ake me?” she asked, bursting with enthusiasm. “It’s strange . . .”
“What is?” he pressed, when her voice trailed off.
Catalina fixed her expressive eyes on his and replied frankly, “I get the impression you don’t like me at all.” But before Leopold could politely argue to the contrary, she let out another of her unexpected chuckles. “Don’t bother denying it. Anyway, it doesn’t matter; I’ll be delighted to go sailing with you, and don’t worry about the food—I’ll take care of it.”
“That’s not necessary—”
Cat interrupted him, pushing him gently toward the door. “Relax, Leo. You seem tense. I’ll call on you tomorrow at noon bearing a massive bag of treats. In exchange, you take care of the drinks. Good night.” And without waiting for a response, she closed the door almost in his face.
Leopold stood motionless on the doormat, fuming. He was outraged at her total lack of civility. I’m going to teach her a lesson, he promised himself.
CHAPTER 3
Catalina tidied up and finally went to bed, exhausted. Fortunately, she never needed much sleep, and she set an early alarm to give her time to get everything ready.
The next morning, she felt good as new. She showered and washed her hair, letting it air-dry as she pulled on some old jeans and a warm jacket. She opened the fridge to find it completely empty. Undeterred, she leashed Milo and went out shopping. A few streets away, she found a convenience store run by an Indian couple and bought some groceries.
As she made her special sandwiches stuffed with secret ingredients, Catalina thought about Leopold Sinclair. From the outset, her neighbor had seemed cold and distant, his rigid posture and body language suggesting that he preferred to keep people at arm’s length. And yet he was too polite to let his disdain for other people show. Instead, his politeness had become a protective shell. It was obvious he didn’t like anyone to get any closer to him than necessary, but Catalina wasn’t the kind of person to let obstacles get in her way—and she decided to make her neighbor her new mission.
Catalina Stapleton possessed great empathy. Ever since she was a child, if she wasn’t rescuing a three-legged dog from the gutter, she was saving a mangy one-eyed kitten from a trash can. At school, any boy bullied by his classmates knew that the youngest Stapleton would have his back, standing up to children three times her size without hesitation. Her older brothers would tease her, calling her Saint Catalina of Assisi, and they laughed whenever they saw her come home with some pitiful creature trotting adoringly behind her.
I’ll do it, she promised herself, determined. I’ll show the poor man how to enjoy life a little. It’s so sad to see him so unhappy without even being aware of it.
Satisfied, she hummed a tune as she tidied the kitchen, then put fresh water in Milo’s bowl. She stepped out of her apartment and rang the bell at her neighbor’s place, holding the picnic hamper she’d prepared. The door opened and Leopold, impeccably dressed in pale Bermudas and a thick blue turtleneck, invited her in. Cat curiously looked around. The apartment was elegantly decorated, and it was patently clear that a good interior designer had taken care of every last detail. Not a single book was out of place, and everything was immaculate. In her opinion, it was as cozy as a sterile hotel room.
“What a fabulous home,” she said disingenuously.
Leopold stared at her for a while with his inscrutable gray eyes, and in his politest tone he finally replied, “You don’t need to lie.”
Biting her bottom lip, she gave him a half-embarrassed, half-cheerful look. “It’s beautifully decorated, it really is. Only, it feels a bit impersonal; I don’t know . . . it doesn’t seem like a home.”
He showed no sign that the comment irritated him. It wasn’t that he’d brought many women to his home; generally, he preferred to go to their place or to a hotel. But the few who had been there had congratulated him on the elegant décor. Catalina’s blunt opinion was a unique case of bad manners, he decided, and he, Leopold Sinclair, believed firmly in courtesy as the cornerstone to a civilized society. “I’m sorry it’s not to your liking.”
His veiled sarcasm did not go unnoticed by Cat. “Forgive me, Leo!” she pleaded, her hands pressed together theatrically. “As my mother would say: ‘Too much honesty is unforgiveable bad manners.’ I promise I won’t say anything else to upset you.”
Seeing her contrite expression, Leopold felt an almost irrepressible urge to stretch out his hand and stroke her soft cheek. He managed to stop himself with great difficulty, and he again wondered how it was possible that this unpredictable creature had made his feelings swing from annoyance to affection in a split second. What he felt was an emotion he was very unfamiliar with. “We should get going or we’ll miss the tide.” His relaxed tone masked the confused fluttering in his chest.
Leopold gave Catalina some rubber-soled shoes and a lifejacket, ordered her to sit at the stern, and assured her that he’d see to everything. Catalina readily obeyed, trying to be as helpful as possible. Out of her element aboard the boat, she was frightened of slipping and ending up in the rough and dirty waters of the Thames. She watched her neighbor with interest; he’d put on some more appropriate footwear, too, and was moving nimbly about the deck, tying and untying knots, and reeling in ropes using metal cranks. Before long, he was starting up the motor and casting off, and a few minutes later the boat slowly pulled away from the jetty.
They motored out to a more peaceful part of the river. There Leopold instructed her to sit beside him, then he deployed the sails and they slid silently over the murky water on a course for Greenwich. Though she’d lived in London ever since her university days, Catalina had never boarded one of the tourist-stuffed crafts that traversed the river. It was the first time she’d seen the city from the Thames, and she thought the sight magnificent.
At first, it scared Cat when the strong breeze filled the sails and tipped the boat to the side, and though she said nothing, she gripped the metal rail so hard that her knuckles whitened.
“Don’t be scared, we won’t capsize, I promise,” Leo assured her with amusement as he skillfully used the tiller to harness every wisp of wind.
“I’m not scared,” Catalina objected, though her eyes betrayed everything.
“I can see that, Catalina,” he said mockingly.
“Please, call me Cat; no one calls me Catalina, only my mother when she’s angry.”
“In that case, we’re even. Nobody calls me Leo.”
She shrugged, and realizing that although the sailboat was listing they weren’t capsizing, she managed to relax and enjoy feeling the cool air caress her face and tangle her hair. Before long, the city’s tall buildings grew more infrequent and eventually made way for the picturesque English countryside.
“Do you want to try steering the boat?”
Cat looked at him in alarm. “I’m not sure I dare,” she admitted.
“Don’t worry, I’ll help you.”
Catalina cautiously took the tiller, and he placed his hand, large and warm, over hers.
“See? Move it gently in the opposite direction from where you want to go. If you move the tiller portside—to the left—the bow will turn right, and vice versa.”
“What a muddle.” Without knowing why, Catalina was discomfited by his nearness; he was so close that she could smell the subtle, pleasant scent of his aftershave.
Eventually, Leopold let go of her hand and allowed her to take the tiller by herself. Feeling the small vessel respond to the slightest movement, she was hit with a sense of power and freedom that made her cackle with joy. “It’s amazing!”
Leopold watched her face, rosy from the breeze and her enthusiasm, her hair windswept and her eyes ablaze. Once again, he couldn’t remember meeting anyone as full of life as her. Cat exuded passion through her very pores—a phenomenon as unsettling as it was captivating. In fact, he still couldn’t decide whether he liked the young lad
y.
After sailing for a couple of hours, Leopold decided to drop anchor on an idyllic stretch of river with views of an old stone church surrounded by green meadows dotted with cows grazing peacefully, totally oblivious to the vast metropolis just a few miles away.
They had been very lucky with the weather. The sky was overcast, full of threatening black clouds, but every so often the sun would appear, and the rain seemed to be keeping away, at least for the time being. While Cat unpacked the provisions she’d brought, Leopold made a bottle of wine and two glasses appear as if out of thin air. “I hope you like wine, Catalina. I brought a Spanish wine in your honor—a Ribera del Duero,” he announced, skillfully uncorking the bottle.
“I love it, but be warned: I mustn’t drink more than one glass,” she said seriously.
“Just one? Do you have some kind of allergy?” he asked, surprised.
“It’s more like a minor illness . . .”
“You’re starting to worry me!”
She shrugged. “It’s nothing serious. I just have no tolerance to alcohol. If I have one drink too many, I completely lose it.”
“Sounds interesting,” said Leopold, handing her one of the glasses.
“Believe me, it’s not.” She sighed, then took a sip of wine. “This is really good.”
“If it’s not too forward, may I ask what you mean by ‘lose it,’ exactly? Does it make you climb into bed with strangers? Strip off and do handstands?” Leopold pressed her teasingly.
“Don’t laugh. It’s not in the least bit funny. Though from what I’m told, I haven’t gone to those extremes yet,” she said earnestly, handing him a sandwich.
Leopold took a big bite. “Mmm, delicious!” he exclaimed.
“Really?” Her pretty face lit up again. “Sandwiches are my specialty. My only specialty, to be honest. I’m useless in the kitchen.”
“I’ve never tasted such a good sandwich. But going back to what we were talking about, how does alcohol affect you?”