Catrin sighed. Her friend was right. She thrived on the excitement of meeting new clients and helping Liam to make new deals, of eating out at fancy restaurants and attending events where she sat in reserved seats with the best views. As an only child who’d lost her father during her time at university and with a mother who spent most of the year in Spain with her latest fling, she had little else in her life. She had to admit it, her job was her life. Plus – her heart sank – she had so much debt. University loans were crippling her and hung over her horizon like thick black clouds. Her Cardiff Bay apartment was everything she had dreamt it would be but the rent was extortionate. She needed the meagre wage that the internship paid and could really do with the pay rise a permanent position would offer. Maybe then she could quit working at the Venus Lounge at weekends. She shuddered.
“Whatever happened to that guy from Swansea?” Sarah broke into her thoughts.
Catrin picked at a cuticle. “He wasn’t for me.”
“Why ever not? You always find something wrong with them, Catrin. At this rate you’ll never settle down.” Sarah wagged a finger at her though her lips twitched at the corners.
Catrin shook her head. “You sound like a mother hen! Totally unlike my own mother the last time she phoned.”
“More of her repetitive warnings that men and children ruin your life?”
Catrin nodded. “Same as always.”
“All the sangria.” Sarah shook her head. “Rotted her brain cells.”
Catrin’s cheeks filled with heat.
“Oh I’m sorry.” Sarah squeezed her hand then lifted her coffee and took a gulp. “I know she gives you a hard time about it. About everything. And that’s not what I meant to do. You know I’d never say anything to hurt you. Anyway…look at me…the eternal Bridget Jones!”
Catrin laughed with her friend. At twenty-five, neither of them had to worry urgently about biological clocks and finding ‘the one’, though she knew that Sarah was, in fact, in love and had been involved with another woman for the past six months. She had confided all in Catrin one drunken night. Her fear of her parents’ reaction to the relationship meant that she’d kept it quiet and not spoken of it again, maintaining her happy-go-lucky attitude and carrying on as if nothing was wrong. It was tragic that such an open and honest person felt the need to conceal her true self. Yet, Catrin mused, here she was, sitting on her own little pile of secrets.
“So are you in love?” The direct question shocked Catrin. She hadn’t really thought about it. She’d only known Henri a week and that was far too brief a time to fall in love. Wasn’t it? They had great sex and she enjoyed his company, she loved the way she felt when he enveloped her in his strong arms, but she didn’t even know him very well. She had no idea what his parents’ names were, what size shoes he took, even what music he liked.
Her stomach lurched. She’d fallen into his arms and into his bed, caught up on such a powerful wave of lust and longing that she’d thrown all caution to the wind.
“I’m not sure.” She finished her coffee. “I’m smitten but I don’t know if it’s love. It’s too soon. He’s a client.”
She looked at Sarah but her friend’s face was warm with understanding.
“I gathered that.”
“He’s a rubgy player. He’s good,” she smiled, “really good.”
“Rugby, eh?” Sarah grinned, her eyes full of mischief. “Big thighs, tight ass, abs? Yummy! And have you…”
The question hung between them, floating above the empty cups and half-eaten muffins like steam from the coffee machine.
Catrin nodded. “He’s amazing! I’ve never been with a man like him…he’s…”
She bit her lip. Strange. She would usually share much more about her latest beau with Sarah but there was something different here. Henri. Catrin didn’t want to tell Sarah about the level of intimacy she’d shared with him. It was…special, important, theirs. Hers and Henri’s. To discuss their sexual exploits would be like betraying him and she didn’t want to do that.
But she could show him off!
She reached into her bag and pulled out her iPad. She cleared the cups to one side and placed it in front of her friend then opened the celebrity client folder. When she found the right file, she pulled up Henri’s photograph.
“Wow!” Sarah sighed. “That is what I call a man and as you know I’m not all that fond of…” She cut herself short and looked at Catrin then started to giggle.
Catrin winked at her then gazed at the photograph. She tapped the screen to enlarge it and absently traced the strong jawline and dark hair which flopped softly onto his forehead and curled above his ears. He really was one of the best looking men she’d ever seen. She was consumed by an ache to hold him again and to be held.
“So when are you seeing him?”
“Tonight.” Catrin’s stomach flipped in anticipation. “In fact, I’m going straight there.”
“Well let’s go get you something nice to wear!”
Catrin grinned. “Really?”
Sarah nodded. “But promise me that you’ll be careful.”
“I promise,” she replied, well aware that caution had not been her strength of late.
As they stood up and donned their coats, Catrin allowed Sarah’s warmth and enthusiasm to warm her right through. She knew that the relationship with Henri was doomed, knew that it wasn’t going to go anywhere. She was breaking protocol and taking a gamble with her career. But Henri wouldn’t be in Wales permanently and once she got promoted to celebrity agent in her own right, she’d have no more to do with him. She’d build her own client list and this would be a fling she’d had one wet, miserable Welsh summer. Like the brief glimpses of sun that Wales celebrated in August, Catrin would savour Henri’s warmth. Until it was time to let go.
It must be something to do with the time of year, when love should be in the air -if you listened to the radio and believed the clichés in the magazines – and she’d let her emotions and her lust get the better of her. She’d enjoy what time they had, keep it all under wraps, then watch as he sailed off into the sunset. Make that rode off – on the Eurotunnel.
It would be as easy as that!
Wouldn’t it?
***
Henri paced up and down the length of his hotel room lounge with the frustration of a caged tiger. He just wanted Catrin to arrive so that he could immerse himself in her, both physically and mentally and shut out the nagging doubts.
He was a Frenchman in Cardiff. It might not sound as exotic as Sting’s Englishman in New York but it was certainly exotic to him. Everything was so different here yet so beautiful. He was just hours from his homeland and could be back there by train or plane whenever he chose but he had a feeling that he may not want to return.
He’d come to Wales to train with the Welsh team. Following their Grand Slam victory, everyone with international ambitions and any sense wanted to experience their training regime and to see for themselves the new improved team that the top New Zealand manager had created. They were tough, strong and fast. He’d debuted with his own local team in France but his mother had been Welsh, which gave him dual nationality – and a choice.
He was a skilled full back and sought after. Offers had been made and deals placed on the table. If only it could be as easy as playing for France and Wales but it wasn’t. The IRB stated that you had to choose which country you played for then stick with that country. He needed a strong agent to seal the best possible deal for him in order to map out his career. He had received proposals from both France and Wales and he had to make a decision before