Chloe's Rescue Mission

by Dean, Rosie

  ‘Surely, you shouldn’t be travelling in your condition, should you?’ I said, registering a slight pallor below the tinted shades.

  ‘It’s only a short flight,’ he said, reaching out for two, purple, state-of-the-art titanium crutches.

  ‘Please, don’t get up.’ I urged.

  The terrace was cobbled, I didn’t want him falling over and breaking something else.

  He leaned back and looked over at me, making me acutely aware of my summer dress, beneath which I hadn’t bothered to wear a bra.

  I folded my arms. ‘Have you come for your pound of flesh?’

  ‘Shylock – is that really how you see me?’

  I shrugged. ‘Let me think…even though my contribution to your company must be fairly insignificant compared with all your other staff, you still want to sue me because I took a few days off.’

  ‘Eight days, so far, and I believe you’ve no intention of rushing back.’

  ‘And you think suing me will benefit Thorsen Leisure? Well, your company must be in pretty bad shape to want to take someone like me to court. Apart from my old car here, you know I’ve hardly anything to pay you with.’

  He removed his sunglasses and studied me for a moment, before his eyes drifted to the building behind us.

  ‘Don’t even think about claiming this! It’s not mine.’

  ‘No, it’s yours and Beth’s.’

  I gasped. How did he know that?

  ‘Look!’ I said, dragging the letter from my pocket and holding it out to him. ‘This is a note from a French doctor, confirming I’m not fit to work. Go on read it – if you can – it’s in French!’

  He let out a bark of laughter.

  ‘What?’ I snapped. ‘It’s perfectly legal.’

  He was shaking his head. ‘I’ve no doubt it is. Perfectly legal and completely blows my case to pieces.’

  ‘Then, why are you here?’

  ‘Oh, Chloe.’ He looked at me steadily now. His skin was pale and his eyes dark, but there was a heart-tugging expression in them that caught me off-guard. He swore to himself. ‘I wish I could move more easily!’ he said, shifting on his chair.

  ‘Don’t! I’ll sit down.’ I dragged one of the wooden chairs towards him.

  He levelled a look at me. ‘I have absolutely no intention of suing you.’

  ‘What? But your lawyer…’

  ‘Was out of order. No, actually, by the letter of the law I could have a small case against you for taking undeclared leave but it would never end up in court. Laurence Craig is a very good lawyer, but pedantic. I’m afraid he took things too literally.’

  There was a mild tingling at the top of my spine, as it occurred to me, Duncan wasn’t quite as unspeakable as I’d imagined.

  ‘So, I’m not in trouble, and the programme will still go ahead?’

  ‘Only if you sign the contract. Although, there is another option.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘If you feel it’s too much for you, your family suggested Beth could front the programme. She’s funny, she’s athletic, she’s a Steele.’

  Non-plussed, I gazed back at him. ‘You’ve discussed this with my family?’

  ‘Who else was I supposed to talk to?’

  He had a point. ‘Does Beth want to do it?’ I asked, realising I might have been martyring myself for the cause unnecessarily, when perhaps I could have shared the load more.

  ‘I think she was prepared to do it if you didn’t want to. Jennifer’s not too keen on running around in a Lycra jumpsuit.’

  That made me smile. He smiled back. We were still friends, it seemed.

  ‘Maybe Beth and I could work on it together.’

  ‘Maybe you could.’

  ‘Then…I guess if you’re still behind the project, I’m happy to do the programme.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  There was a pause. I wasn’t sure if this meant we’d covered everything he’d come to say. I hoped not. I didn’t want him to go just yet. ‘I don’t understand why didn’t you get Mum to tell me all this. She could have posted the contract to me.’

  ‘Why?’ he repeated. ‘Because it was important for me to tell you myself. I didn’t want you thinking the worst of me and my company. Again.’ He looked uncertain. I’m not sure I’d ever seen him so full of doubt. It truly mattered to him what I thought.

  ‘I don’t think the worst of you, Duncan. I don’t think anything bad about you, at all.’

  He nodded his head. ‘Good.’

  I was looking into the eyes of a man who genuinely wanted to help, a man of his word. Above all, a man who’d said he was falling in love with me.

  He held his hand out. ‘Do we have a deal?’

  I placed my hand into his and felt the warmth of his fingers close around it.

  ‘We have a deal,’ I said quietly. The tingling was travelling through my body at speed. I looked from his hand to his face. ‘I’ve missed you,’ I added.

  He closed his eyes, momentarily. When he opened them again, they locked with mine. ‘I’ve missed you, too.’

  I slid from the chair, not taking my eyes from his. I moved forward and placed my free hand onto his shoulder. Up close, his eyes appeared more indigo than usual. But there was no mistaking the intensity and warmth they generated.

  Duncan J Thorsen was sitting there, having dragged his broken body all the way from England, for me.

  Before I lost my nerve, I lowered my lips to his. Releasing my hand, he guided me onto his good leg and pulled me into him, holding tightly as I wrapped both arms around his neck and kissed him some more.

  Eventually, when we pulled apart, he was frowning over a smile. ‘Are you sure you meant to do that?’ he whispered.

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘Do you feel ready?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘What about my reputation?’

  ‘What’s the matter, Duncan, are you afraid I might tarnish it?’

  ‘The reputation of a bachelor playboy – what’s to tarnish?’ His face broke into a smile – the wicked one. It was like the sun coming out and warming my soul.

  He stroked my cheek with his good hand, before slipping it around the back of my neck and caressing the soft spot beneath my ear with his thumb and then focussed on my mouth, before sealing his lips over mine. I felt another delicious sensation as his hand moved down and his fingers curved over my breast. I squirmed on his lap, eager to satisfy an insistent longing deeper within me.

  He let out a groan, pulling back from me momentarily. ‘Do you think we might go somewhere more comfortable?’

  ‘Of course. Are you in a lot of pain?’ I stood up carefully, apologising profusely as I gathered the two crutches from beside the table. ‘I should have asked before. I’m so sorry but you kind of took me by surprise.’

  ‘That was my intention,’ he said, looking lazily up at me, and running a hand down my thigh. ‘And I’m fine, just a little sore...maybe a little stiff.’ He grinned and I giggled.

  I helped him up from his chair. As he balanced himself he said, ‘Do you mind if I just do one thing?’

  I looked up at him. ‘That depends…’

  He grinned. ‘Come here.’

  As I stepped closer, he raised one hand and released the clip at the back of my head, pulling my hair down over my shoulders. Taking one of the corkscrew strands in his hand, he kissed it. ‘Please, Chloe, don’t ever chop these off.’

  I smiled, running my arms around his waist. ‘I couldn’t, I’d look like Coco the Clown!’

  ‘I doubt that. Although…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Those were pretty amazing trousers you were wearing the day we met.’

  ‘They were, weren’t they?’

  He stooped to kiss me again, tenderly at first but quickly accelerating to the level we’d hit in the Spanish garden.

  When I finally managed to draw away from him I whispered, ‘You’re in luck. My room’s downstairs.’

  As shafts of
light from the setting sun worked their way into my bedroom, I trailed a finger along Duncan’s collarbone, waking him gently from a drowsy snooze. There was still strapping around his chest, so we had made love very carefully – which had somehow heightened the pleasure of it. He raised his hand to capture mine, and pressed my fingers to his lips.

  I murmured, wriggling as close to him as I could without hurting him. ‘By the way, how did you get here?’

  ‘Jet and car.’

  ‘Of course,’ I smiled. ‘Obviously, my double-crossing sister gave you clear directions.’

  ‘Your mother, actually. I brought her with me.’

  I sat up and leaned on one elbow. ‘What?’

  ‘I was worried that if it didn’t work out between us, you might need some emotional support.’

  ‘So they all knew about this?’

  He smiled at me with sleepy, loved-up eyes. ‘How else do you think I got them to break their silence? I was a desperate man.’

  I shook my head in disbelief. ‘So, where’s Mum, now?’

  ‘A few miles down the road, in a hotel. We probably ought to call her. Although, she’s a bright woman, I’m sure she’ll have worked it out by now.’

  ‘Don’t you think she might be concerned that I might have broken your other leg?’

  ‘She might be.’

  ‘No wonder she’d sounded so vague on the phone, this morning.’

  ‘Aye, you caught her in the middle of her packing.’

  ‘You were there?’

  ‘What do you think?’ he asked grinning back at me.

  I shrieked. ‘I ought to break your other leg, for that.’

  ‘Nice one, Chloe. Then it’ll be weeks before we make love again.’

  ‘Good point. Although I imagine a playboy such as yourself could be pretty creative if he had to be.’

  He interlaced his fingers with mine. ‘We’ve plenty of time to find out.’

  Chapter 32

  On the thirtieth of April, the Joshua Steele Theatre had its official re-opening ceremony. At the appointed time, I took to the stage, standing in front of the brand new burgundy red curtains, and made a brief speech of thanks and hopes for the future. Finally adding, ‘And now, all the way from Hollywood, Alicia-May Golding is here to open the show!’

  Down went the lights, back went the curtains, and bam! went the brass section as the spotlight shone on A-May and she launched into a sizzling three-number routine.

  Because the Challenge programme had been such an unprecedented success, we had cameras all over the place and a theatre full of sponsors, workers and supporters. What’s more, Beth had really shone as a TV presenter; she was way more sassy and daring than I was, and already had offers for more work.

  After Alicia-May had given her final shimmy, local dignitaries and friends of the theatre milled around, chatting and taking photos.

  In the hubbub Duncan suggested we go outside.

  As we descended the steps, I smiled at the neat little bushes which now ran alongside them. They would bloom in June, and give a wonderful display of miniature apricot roses. When I’d discovered they’d been Lorna’s favourites, I’d insisted on planting them – out of respect for her memory and my love for Duncan.

  Yes, we were still in love! Despite all my misgivings. In a couple of weeks, we were moving in together. Of course, Beth would just love it if we’d found a castle, but those are dusty old things with far too many rooms to wield a Dyson round. Instead, we’d settled for a modest manor house in south Gloucestershire, with a sweet, old-fashioned herb garden and raised vegetable beds. Duncan was planning on very low-key self-sufficiency – growing stuff he could cook in our lovely new kitchen. He was travelling abroad far less and, when he did, tried to tie it in with my schedule so we could go together.

  In September, I would be going back to college, and there were plans afoot to link up with a number of charities to offer courses for raising self-esteem and increasing assertiveness, all these courses would be sponsored by a trust set up by Duncan.

  At the bottom of the steps, he turned to me and said, ‘Do you realise it’s exactly a year since you stumbled into my life?’

  ‘You mean, when I thought you were a stuffy politician?’

  ‘No you didn’t.’

  ‘Yes I did.’

  ‘That’s not all you thought,’ he said, drawing me to him.

  ‘Okay, I thought you were kind of sexy.’

  ‘There you go.’ He fastened his hands together behind my waist, holding me close. ‘That was some speech you gave in there.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Brilliant. Eloquent. Superbly delivered. Not a glimmer of stage fright, either.’

  ‘No, well…I’m getting on top of that, now. I’ve been practising thinking of much worse things than facing an audience.’

  ‘Like what?’

  I wanted to say, ‘Living without you.’ I’d imagined the misery of facing a future without him and, compared with that, getting up on stage was a doddle. As I gazed back into his eyes, wondering whether or not to confess to this, Beth came running down the steps.

  ‘Less of the canoodling, you two! Check this out!’ she said, gesturing her arm to present the man who used to be Owen. No longer hiding behind a heavy curtain of hair and cheap, steel-rimmed glasses, he had short, cropped, spiky hair with subtle highlighting and wore bold, olive-green frames around his eyes…vivid green eyes, I noticed for the first time. In place of his shapeless t-shirt and faded jeans, he wore a white collarless shirt, grey linen jacket, and black jeans.

  ‘Wow!’ I held my hand out to him. ‘Owen, is that you or your secret twin? You look fantastic!’

  He pulled an embarrassed smile and glanced over at Beth, who was beaming with an air of self-satisfaction and – Holy Megabytes! How had I missed it? I looked from my sister to Owen and back again. I’d been so taken up with Duncan and the theatre I’d completely failed to spot Beth’s stealthy march on Owen. ‘When did this happen?’

  Owen shrugged, ‘I wanted something new for the big event, so Beth took me shopping, last week…’

  ‘Not the clothes, Owen! You two. When did you become an item?’

  ‘Like I said, Beth took me shopping last week.’ He and Beth exchanged a scorcher of a look as they reached for each other’s hand.

  ‘Let’s just say,’ Beth added, ‘the man needed help in the changing rooms and once his guard was down…’

  ‘And his clothes were off!’ I shrieked, noticing a rush of colour on Owen’s face. ‘Well good for you!’ I hugged them both and Duncan gave Owen’s shoulder a hearty squeeze of approval.

  Owen looked down at Beth. ‘Come on, I promised Tom I’d show him the lighting control room.’

  ‘Well,’ I said, looking up at Duncan as the other two headed back inside. ‘Would you have predicted that?’

  ‘I wouldn’t even have predicted you and me, and you were right under my nose.’

  I turned and wrapped my arms around his waist. ‘I know I’ve said it before, a thousand times, but thank you so much for helping us rescue the theatre.’

  He shook his head. ‘If you think I rescued the theatre, you rescued me.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘You were exactly what I needed to shake me out of my miserable, one-dimensional existence.’

  ‘Maybe Grandee had a hand in bringing us together. Maybe Lorna did.’

  ‘Hey, you know I don’t believe in all that stuff. We were just two people in the right place at the right time.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  As I threw my arms around his neck, and hugged him tightly, my heart lifted as two Holly Blue butterflies hovered over the roses, their wings the palest shade of lavender.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  Thank you for taking time to read Chloe’s Rescue Mission. If you enjoyed it, please consider telling your friends or posting a short review. Word of mouth is an author’s best friend and much appreciated.

  Thank you, again.

>   Rosie Dean.

  Acknowledgements

  Firstly, I’d like to mention the Romantic Novelists’ Association whose New Writers’ Scheme has been a real life-line to me in my writing.

  To my editor, Hannah M Davis, whose insights have helped me improve the story; and to my beta readers, Noëlle Chambers and Carolyn Gray, for their support, encouragement, essential input and observations.

  As always, to my fellow writers on the Costa del Sol: Maggie, Wendy, Albert, Mike and Trevor. Our meetings are always a joy, not least because we’re usually at the coast, sitting in the sunshine and drinking Spanish coffee.

  Once again, massive thanks to Joe Brown for his illustration and cover designs.

  Love to my own hero – Chris – for his continuing support.

  And to you, dear reader, I hope you enjoyed the journey.

  Also by Rosie Dean

  Millie’s Game Plan

  Does your life lack fun and love? Does work consume your time? Does your mother try to fix you up with her priest's middle-aged nephew?

  Millie's does – so she takes a grip on her own future and draws up a plan to find Mr Right.

  When the first guy who floats her boat, Josh Warwick, doesn't meet the criteria on her wish-list she moves on to wine merchant, Lex Marshall, who ticks all the boxes. Sexy, rich and unable to keep his hands off her, he seems like the man of her dreams. But when Millie faces danger and betrayal, she wonders if her dream man might not be Mr Right after all.

  So, who will be...?

  Also by Rosie Dean

  Vicki’s Work of Heart

  What would you do if you found yourself stranded at the altar and knee-deep in your charming but absent fiancé’s gambling debts?

  Shall I tell you what I did? That’s me, Vicki Marchant, humble art teacher and jilted bride. I decided to carry on with the wedding reception because I like a good party. Then I seized my new-found freedom by jacking in my teaching job to pursue life as a painter, in France. It was my time.

  I had no comforting arms to snuggle into and no darling babies to cuddle – but equally no husband to support, no ego to stroke and none of his nebulous business ventures to bankroll. Happy-ever-after for me would be found in glorious solitude and success.