Chloe's Rescue Mission

by Dean, Rosie

  It was truly astonishing to discover how many people, of different nationalities, were familiar with Grandee’s work. Of course, I knew his films had been translated into other languages but it never really occurred to me that he would mean anything to an IT manager from Rotterdam or a journalist from Genoa. It was utterly fascinating and made the day pass very quickly. I didn’t get around to my second bar of chocolate till well after lunch but then, the prospect of presenting the theatre’s story to a packed conference hall turned my stomach in a different direction, so I parked the chocolate bar out of sight.

  At four-thirty, I sat at the front of the conference hall, fiddling with the programme on my lap. Odd how I used to find getting up on stage a real thrill, but the stomach churning anxiety that preceded each performance had increased in the last few years. Since Warren, actually. Today was even worse. Today, I was appearing as Chloe Steele and the quality of my performance might just clinch the security of Grandee’s theatre.

  Breathe, I told myself. Breathe and count.

  On screen was an impressive video showcasing Thorsen Leisure’s newly refurbished hotel in Mauritius. The sun-bleached sand against the aquamarine sea and cobalt blue sky was an absolute knockout. What lucky sales team wouldn’t want to hold its annual bash in Mauritius? I cast my mind back to the occasional sales conferences I’d been involved with in Gloucestershire. Not that there was anything wrong with my home county, but it hardly carried the cachet of a few days in the tropics.

  As the video came to a close and the lights went up, my internal organs lurched and my pulse increased. Any moment, I would receive the signal to take the stage. Over to the side I could see Duncan. He was looking relaxed in a grey suit and pink shirt.

  The hunk in pink.

  The punk in hink.

  The punky hunk.

  The pale pink punk with a hale hink…

  Stop it, Chloe!

  My brain went into freefall when I was nervous.

  He stepped confidently onto the stage. I swear he was walking super-fast. Time was accelerating. Applause was strong. Fast. Frenetic. Whistles came from the back. I might have whistled myself if my mouth hadn’t been so dry.

  After acknowledging the audience, he said, ‘Ladies and gentleman, many of you will remember the marvellous work of an outstanding English actor – Joshua Steele.’ There were rumbles around the audience. ‘I’ve recently had the pleasure of meeting his granddaughter, Chloe. Indeed, many of you may have already met her and perhaps, like me, you got a flavour of what a remarkable woman she is. A woman on a mission.’ Gosh, I sounded like I might be worth listening to. Was he genuinely impressed or just bigging me up? ‘Today, to tell you a little more about that mission, I’d like you to welcome to the stage, Chloe Steele.’

  There was applause and a couple of hoots. Pictures of Grandee and the theatre began scrolling slowly on the screen.

  I swallowed.

  I stood on legs like rubber. I managed to walk forward without bouncing like a puppet and carefully mounted the steps. As I crossed the stage, I focused my eyes on Duncan. I shook the hand he offered and hung on to it, hoping to leech his strength. He guided me into position at the lectern. I could see the opening line of my speech, waiting for me, on the autocue. My eyes darted back to his. Should I start or not? He nodded and smiled encouragingly.

  I drew a shaky breath, let it out slowly and breathed again.

  It’s amazing how, when the chips are down, years of practice can pay off. After a breathy start, where I took in more air than I let out, I remembered the training I’d given to others. So I paused, breathed out fully, and slowed down my delivery.

  As I closed my speech and the audience applauded, Duncan joined me on stage. He rested an arm across my back and leaned in to me. ‘You wowed them. Well done!’ his warm breath fanned my ear, causing a rash of goose-bumps to erupt all over me.

  ‘Thanks,’ I muttered, nodding to the audience before returning to my seat. The first minute of Duncan’s closing speech was completely lost to me but when I finally tuned back in, I got a grasp of why he was so successful. On a one-to-one level, his charm could be disarming, particularly when professionally he seemed so self-controlled – brusque even. Here, in such a public arena, charisma radiated from him. I found myself hanging on every word, watching each gesture, and falling deeply under his spell.

  And he’d said I’d wowed the audience.

  Finally, the audience applauded, and Duncan walked off to an eclectic anthem of Spanish guitars, bagpipes and drum. It was seriously foot-tapping and strangely mesmeric.

  He came over to me as the audience began to disperse. ‘Well done. I see you managed to keep on top of your nerves.’

  ‘Was it obvious?’

  ‘No. A lot of people facing a big audience are a bit shaky, but you got into your stride. You did well.’

  ‘So long as I put the message across.’

  He was studying me like I’d sprouted another nose. ‘I’m surprised you get nervous, I’d have thought, with all your acting experience, you’d find reading an autocue a doddle.’

  I shrugged. ‘Some of the best actors get stage fright. It kind of goes with the territory. Don’t you get nervous?’

  ‘I get psyched, pumped, you know. Can wait to get out there and tell them what’s important.’

  I nodded. Lucky him. ‘I’ll work on it.’

  He put a hand on my shoulder. ‘You did just fine. Now, I’ve to meet someone else. See you later.’ He pulled a quick smile and headed off.

  Amidst the hubbub of people moving away from the auditorium, Gemma found me and clasped my arm. ‘Listen, I’ve been talking to Ross Arlington – he’s one of Duncan’s TV producers – and we think it would be absolutely ideal to do a programme about the theatre.’

  I had a feeling that might be coming. ‘On Business Angel?’ I asked, not sounding quite as enthusiastic as perhaps I should.

  ‘Why not?’ Today, she was wearing an emerald green dress with a huge, stand-up collar. As she shrugged, her head retreated into it like a tortoise into its shell. ‘He thinks it’ll make an interesting contrast with the let’s-do-this-for-profit approach.’

  ‘But we do want to make a profit. We need the theatre to work.’

  ‘Well of course, but look at the difference between what you’re doing and something like Widgets & Gadgets Ltd?’

  ‘Surely, we’re both running businesses, it’s just that ours is in the entertainment industry.’

  Gemma’s mouth flattened slightly. ‘Absolutely. Of course. Don’t worry. Ross will talk through the programme’s structure with you.’ She clutched my hand. ‘Isn’t this a great opportunity?’

  I nodded although, somewhere inside my head, a little warning light glowed red.

  ‘Catch you later,’ she said and beetled off.

  With nearly two hours until the gala dinner, I decided I’d earned some chill-out time. The hotel had a magnificent indoor pool with sauna and steam rooms I wanted to check out. Whenever I feel stressed, water – whether in the shower, down at the beach or in the pool – is the thing that soothes me most. Thank goodness I’d packed one of the bikinis I’d bought in Costa Rica. It was black and decorated with yellow and black plaiting. Most importantly, it held everything firmly in place.

  I stepped through the footbath and dropped my towel on a lounger before sitting on the edge of the pool to dangle my feet in the water. Slowly, I lowered myself in, loving the drop in temperature as it crept up my body. Once my feet touched the bottom, I continued to lower myself until I was fully submerged and the echoing voices were dulled by the water. It was like entering another world. I’d learned to scuba-dive at Marino Ballena in Costa Rica, and couldn’t understand why I hadn’t learned before. After a moment, I rose through the surface and launched ahead with a steady breast-stroke.

  Divine.

  After several lengths, I floated on my back, sculling gently, my eyes closed.

  The presentation was over. I could relax. N
ot only was it over, it seemed to have gone well. Even Duncan said he was impressed, which was a triumph in itself.

  I drifted.

  Duncan was undeniably hot. Maybe I could just allow myself to think about him for a moment. Every girl’s allowed a little fantasy in her life.

  Hmm. Drifting and thinking of Duncan.

  What if I’d grabbed him on the beach, last night, and kissed him? Not a bad way to spend a few idle moments.

  A deep voice transmitted through the water. ‘Chloe. You’re taking up three lanes.’

  Holy Scotsman! How long had he been there? I pulled myself upright and looked round. ‘Sorry. Miles away.’

  Duncan was sculling slowly round me, his hair slicked back and his eyes shimmering from reflections in the water. I struck out for the shallow end with a strong crawl, groaning into the water as I went. Moments after my hand touched the wall he was beside me.

  ‘Impressive,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure I’ve seen such a strong female swimmer outside of the Olympics.’

  ‘That was really stupid of me,’ I said, smoothing the water off my face and blinking my eyes. ‘There were only a couple of people in the pool when I arrived. I’m so sorry.’

  He frowned. ‘People tend to use this pool for fitness training. There’s a spa pool through the archway if you just want to relax.’

  ‘Oh, of course. Thanks.’ I looked around for the steps to climb out, even though I knew it would give him a panoramic view of my bum – which had never been my best feature.

  As he pinched his nose and ducked his head under the surface, I put my hands backwards onto the poolside and hauled myself out. As he shook his head free of water, I tucked my feet up onto the side, unfolded my body into a standing position and began reversing towards the sun-lounger. ‘See you later,’ I said, with a wave of my hand.

  He nodded and launched into a backstroke, his powerful arms pulling him through the water, very much like an Olympian, himself.

  Chapter 10

  ‘Note to self: Duncan is no fun.’ I announced to my reflection later, as I sat at the dressing-table, folding my hair into a French pleat. He may look pulse-bustingly sexy but his dry, uptight attitude was a major passion-killer. Only social climbers and gold-diggers would be mad enough – or dull enough – to attempt a relationship with him.

  Truly.

  But then, I had seen a lighter side to him last night at the bar in Sitges. And there’d been more than one occasion when I’d noticed the glitter of mischief in his eyes.

  In any case, he was too focused on business. How would he find the time to love and cherish someone like they truly deserved?

  ‘Aargh!’ I exclaimed, jabbing a hairpin into the thick springy mass. ‘I shouldn’t even be thinking this way!’ I reached for another, folding one leg of it with my teeth, to make a letter zed, and rammed it home. ‘It’s utterly futile.’ I tilted my head, this way and that to check my bee-hive. ‘Good, I’m glad we’ve sorted that out.’

  My dress was another vintage number in lavender silk crepe, with a halter neck and fishtail skirt. I’d borrowed it from the theatre wardrobe and added Mum’s sapphire and diamond drop earrings. I applied a raspberry coloured lipstick for a touch of drama. I stood up, smoothed my hands over my hips and announced, ‘Networking calls,’ before clutching my evening bag and heading for the door.

  The dining room had been transformed with vast flower arrangements and ingenious lighting effects. The colour palette was orange, yellow and cream. Two guitarists were playing classical Spanish music. All the tables were set around the outside of the room leaving the centre for dancing.

  As I took a cocktail from the waiter’s tray, Gemma appeared beside me. ‘Chloe, you look fantastic!’ she said, air-kissing both my cheeks. She was wearing a cream cat-suit, with a dangerously plunging neckline; I imagined several metres of toupee tape had been deployed to keep her boobs in check. A choker with massive green stones defined her neck and her earrings were at different lengths. ‘Now, come and talk to Ross. He wants to outline the TV show to you.’

  Ross was seated at the terrace bar, cigarette and beer glass in one hand, the other tapping a two packet stack of Benson & Hedges with a disposable lighter. He wore a dinner jacket that looked around the same vintage as my dress, except it had seen more outings. He slipped off his stool to greet me. I flinched as his cold, damp glass came into contact with my naked back.

  ‘Sorry, Chloe love. Here, have a seat.’ He pushed the stool towards me.

  ‘It’s okay, I don’t mind standing.’

  He explained how the Business Angel programmes were structured and the level of commitment I might be expected to give. ‘Although, we’re really just going to be shadowing you at work, anyway. So we won’t be stopping you from doing anything you normally would.’ He tipped his head as he drew deeply on the cigarette, his eyes half closed against the smoke.

  I nodded slowly. ‘What does Duncan think about it?’

  Ross blew the smoke out of the side of his mouth. ‘Duncan’s fine with the whole series. We just need you to sign up and we’re away.’

  Gemma chipped in. ‘You can’t buy publicity like this, you know.’

  I chewed my lip. ‘I suppose it depends when the series is being screened. We need publicity now.’

  Gemma glanced at Ross, who scratched the side of his nose with his thumbnail, causing a drift of ash to scatter down his jacket. He replied. ‘They’re scheduled for the autumn.’

  I thought for a moment. We needed to staunch the outflow of funds more quickly than that. But if we were receiving help in other areas, and could get a stay of execution on the theatre before autumn, perhaps the series might just come at the right time to increase its profile.

  I smiled. ‘Well, if Duncan’s okay with it, I guess I am.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Ross enthused. ‘We’ll have everyone talking about The Josh Steele Theatre by Christmas.’

  I winced. My grandfather had never been called Josh, not even in the family. He thought it sounded too much like ‘tosh’. Still, I’d put Ross right some other time.

  The familiar and striking figure of Duncan appeared in the mirror behind the bar. His immaculate white shirt, black tie and tuxedo put him right in James Bond territory. He had that same solemn look I’d first seen in the Green Room. What a pity he couldn’t lighten up. I turned to him and smiled.

  He gave me a brief nod.

  Ross held out his hand to him. ‘Evening Duncan. Pleased with the event?’

  Duncan shook his hand. ‘Very pleased. Yes.’ He turned to Gemma, offering her a peck on the cheek. ‘You look sensational, as ever.’

  I was next in line. He was approaching, stepping right inside my bubble. I noticed his eyes had softened at the corners. I inhaled the warm, spicy scent of him. Good fragrance. Classy. His hand touched my arm and his cheek connected with mine, briefly. ‘Chloe’, he said, his voice deep and hypnotic in my ear.

  With a pang of disappointment – not to mention chagrin – I spotted that he hadn’t told me I looked sensational. Not even nice.

  I smiled at him, anyway. ‘Ross was telling me about including the theatre in your Business Angel series.’

  An eyebrow flickered and lowered. He looked over at Ross, who was grinding out the cigarette. ‘It could really work, Duncan. And Chloe would get her publicity.’

  Duncan’s mouth knotted slightly. ‘I thought we already had enough companies for the series. Do we need another?’

  I immediately held up my hand. ‘Wait a minute. Duncan, if this idea doesn’t have your approval that’s fine by me.’ I could kick myself for being taken in by Ross’s smarmy manner. And now Duncan might think I’d deliberately tried to talk my way into it.

  Duncan’s eyes narrowed as he looked from me to Ross, who leaned forward and touched him on the arm. ‘It’s always good to have one in reserve, in case any of the others don’t work.’

  In reserve? An understudy?

  I shifted from one foot to the other and b
ack again.

  Duncan looked at me. ‘Do you want to do it?’

  Although part of me wanted Duncan’s approval, the other part recognised just how valuable the publicity might be – which is exactly why I’d come into this arena. I fingered the pendant. ‘If we’re definitely going to be included, it could help secure the theatre’s future. So, yes, I want to do it.’

  ‘Fine. We’ll see how it goes.’ He glanced momentarily down at the pendant in my fingers, then turned away. ‘Excuse me. I hope you enjoy your dinner.’

  I put his lack of cheer down to the pressure of hosting the weekend’s event. God forbid it was due to any burgeoning disinterest in our project.

  My mood had a slow puncture. What if he was having second thoughts? I knew people in business could be ruthless and fickle. The shady spectre of King Lloyd Holdings suddenly loomed rich and powerful in the wings. It was essential I forge other relationships. Tonight provided the ideal opportunity to sign-up new contacts. I drew in a deep breath, took a slug of my cocktail and slapped on a broad smile. The show must go on.

  Dinner was excellent, with huge platters of seafood and mixed salads to start, followed by fine slices of pork in orange sauce. Having discovered I was seated at a different table from Duncan, I could relax. My fellow diners, now aware of my project, were keen to chat about it and, of course, plenty wanted to hear about life with Joshua Steele. The mounting collection of business cards would never fit in my walnut-sized evening bag.

  Once the dessert had been cleared, the Flamenco group filed into the centre of the room. There was a scuffle as people turned their chairs to watch. Two women, in the most magnificent crimson and white dresses, with embroidered shawls, walked regally into the spotlight. Behind them, stood a single man in a white suit and black shirt. With syncopated clapping and stamping of feet, the performance was underway. It was breathtaking. I knew how much training and fitness was required to achieve such rapid footwork and learn the traditional routines. Yet, across the room, someone else was fighting for my attention – Duncan – as he watched the performance. It only took a shift in focus for me to study him and vice versa. It was taking all my concentration to maintain interest in the dancers.