by Dean, Rosie
‘Owen’s done brilliantly. He’s self-taught,’ I said, working my way back into the conversation.
‘That’s good. There’s nothing like building your business from the ground up. How are your profits?’
Owen – shrugged. ‘Not bad. We could always do with more.’
I frowned. ‘So, Duncan – how did you end up where you are?’
‘It’s a long story – not very interesting.’
‘I don’t believe that,’ I said. ‘Did you buy your first hotel or win it in a game of poker?’
He laughed. ‘I wish I could say the game of poker. That would make a good story.’
‘Wouldn’t it?’ I grinned, relieved he hadn’t taken offence. ‘They could make a film of your life story, and get someone like Gerard Butler or Ewan McGregor in the title role.’
‘If you’re casting Gerard Butler, can you fix me up with a date?’ Beth drawled from the doorway, where she stood with little Tom resting on her hip. She also had the Dawson curly hair, except hers was long, layered and highlighted with pink and purple streaks.
Duncan stood up. ‘Hi, I’m Duncan Thorsen,’ he said holding out his hand.
Beth’s eyes flashed. ‘I know. Wow! You’re even better looking in the flesh.’ She held onto his hand for an unnerving length of time. Unnerving to me, anyway. ‘So, are you going to get stuck in with Joshua’s theatre, then?’
Despite a momentary loathing of my sister for such directness, I studied Duncan’s reaction. With his hand still trapped in hers, he glanced over at me and said. ‘I’m thinking about it.’
‘Excellent. If Princess can’t persuade you, nobody can,’ she said, grinning at me.
‘Princess?’ he said, looking quizzically in my direction.
‘Long story. Childhood pet name,’ I said, smiling sweetly at my sister.
‘So,’ Beth continued, finally releasing his hand to pat Tom’s tummy. ‘Tom, are you going to say hello to Duncan?’
Duncan gave an encouraging smile. Tom buried his face in Beth’s neck.
‘He’s not big on audience participation,’ she said, just before the little pet stuck his bum towards Duncan and farted.
Duncan laughed. ‘I guess he’s going to be a comedian.’
‘Or a theatre critic,’ I suggested.
Lunch was a feast, as I knew it would be. Roast pork, stuffing, roast and creamed potatoes and five different types of vegetable, followed by a choice of apple crumble or chocolate mousse.
Along one of the dining room walls, Mum has photos of Grandee in various theatrical roles from his long career. It would have been very hard for Duncan not to feel the weight of his legacy. Maybe this was, in fact, the best place to gain his approval. He seemed pretty comfortable in our company. Even when little Tom launched a dollop of mashed parsnip in his direction, he laughed.
‘Tom, we need to put in some target practice,’ said Beth, leaning across the table and scooping the offending dollop onto her fork and eating it.
Thankfully, he didn’t lob anything else in Duncan’s direction but Mum was making up a song about parsnips, to the tune of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, which so excited Tom he shoved his spoon in her direction and knocked his beaker of juice over.
‘Oops, there we go!’ Mum trilled, catching the beaker and mopping up the spillage with her napkin. ‘No harm done.’
‘Sorry,’ I said for the umpteenth time. Why was I the only one apologizing?
‘It’s okay, I have a wee nephew, I’m used to it.’
Calm returned, momentarily, until Mum asked, ‘Which part of Scotland are you from, Duncan?’
‘Loch Tay, Perthshire.’
‘I’ve only visited Scotland, once. I had a romantic weekend at Portobello Beach, near Edinburgh. It rained. Persistently. But we decided to go for a walk, anyway – we couldn’t stay in our room the entire weekend, romance or no romance. Anyway, I had this crocheted handbag I’d made, and decorated with raffia flowers, which got soaked – naturally – and all the colour ran out of the flowers and into my boyfriend’s suede coat. He hid his irritation very badly. Needless to say, I dumped him when we came home.’
‘Because of his coat?’ Beth asked.
‘No, darling. He was a lousy performer.’ Beth and I both knew she wasn’t referring to his prowess on stage. Owen sniggered into his wine. ‘Right. I’ll clear the plates,’ she said, not missing a beat.
With the combined eccentricities of my mother and sister, I could easily have forgiven Duncan for mistaking the announcement of ‘Dessert,’ as a call to action.
When the last serving of crumble had been polished off, he looked at his watch. ‘Jennifer, that was delicious. You can’t beat a good Sunday roast.’
Mum, mellowed by a few glasses of wine, leaned over and covered his hand with her own. ‘Duncan, it’s been my pleasure. This dining table doesn’t see enough young men around it, I can tell you.’
Beth raised her hand. ‘I’ll second that.’
I shut my eyes in silent supplication to a higher power to erase the last two comments from Duncan’s memory. He was here on business, not a blind date.
‘Well,’ he added, placing his napkin on the table, ‘I hope I can return the invitation, some day.’
‘Tell me,’ Mum began, ‘What made you consider getting involved with our humble theatre. What’s in it for you?’
I lifted in my seat at the tightening of my buttocks.
Duncan smiled and nodded. ‘Well, Chloe has some experience which might benefit plans I have for developing one aspect of our business – coaching people in the field of corporate presentations, public speaking, that kind of thing.’
Mum nodded. ‘Yes, she has some experience of that but there are far more seasoned people out there than Chloe you could employ.’
A blend of mortification and disbelief belted through my veins.
‘Although she is very good at what she does,’ Mum continued, barely improving matters. ‘And she’s very personable. People do warm to her. And of course, you’ll be getting a bargain if you do take her on.’
‘Yes,’ I said, trying not to sound sour, ‘this is our Spring Sale.’
Duncan smiled. ‘There is that but, to be honest, I confess I have a slightly more personal reason for my interest in your project.’
Here we go, I thought. Business Angel.
Mum’s eyes twinkled with interest.
‘My father took my mother to see Tahitian Paradise on their first date, and on their honeymoon in London, they went to see Joshua in Blithe Spirit.’
Mum beamed. ‘How wonderful. So you’re emotionally motivated as well as commercially. That’s nice.’
‘Oh, there’s more,’ he said, shaking his head and grinning. ‘Thanks to him, my middle name’s Joshua.’
Mum clapped her hands in delight. ‘Oh, my darling, welcome to the family.’
Beth raised her glass and nodded at me to raise mine. I did, and drained it.
When Duncan was leaving, the sun had moved and the front drive was mostly in shade. I folded my arms against the chilly air and Kandy stood politely at my side. I was holding my breath for Duncan’s verdict. Please let him tell me today.
He stopped by his car and turned towards me.
‘Okay.’ The smile was gone and his eyes were fixed firmly on mine. ‘About the theatre…’ Here we go. I took a deep breath, fingers crossed under my armpits. ‘I could just give you a bunch of money but that would only help you in the short term, wouldn’t it? And it might not necessarily be the best investment for me. What you need is long-term security, experience and support. So what I’m proposing, is introducing you to a bunch of people with money and expertise – people you can network amongst and encourage to get involved. How’s that sound to you?’
‘That sounds absolutely brilliant. Thank you.’ It was the best offer I’d had so far and, as Mum often said, a bird in the hand…
‘Good. What are you doing Thursday to Saturday?’
I thought for a
moment. ‘Oh, I’m being interviewed by the County Magazine on Friday.’
‘Tell them you’ll do it on Wednesday.’
I bristled. ‘I can’t just tell them when to interview me. It took me ages to get them to agree doing a piece on us. If I put them off I might not get them again for months.’
‘Listen, I’m just about to fly you to Barcelona to mix with some top execs in the field of corporate events. You’ll not get another chance like this for a while.’
My eyes, now focusing on the neck of his shirt, darted to the bonnet of his car and back again a couple of times, while I considered the implication. He cut across my thoughts.
‘Chloe, tell the magazine Duncan Thorsen’s taking you to Barcelona. Believe me, they’ll be round on Wednesday, like a shot.’
I could feel a smile tweaking the corner of my mouth. ‘I see your point.’ Our story would escalate from human interest to tabloid sensation, overnight. ‘What’s happening in Barcelona?’
‘We’re running a two-day event at one of our hotels. There’ll be some influential senior execs there who you might persuade to sponsor some part of your project.’
As he got into his car, he said, ‘I’ll ask Marlean to call you with the details.’
‘Thanks. And Duncan,’ I clasped my free hand round the ponytail at the back of my head. ‘I know this may sound cheeky – since you’re being so helpful – but I’ve found out quite a lot about Thorsen Leisure and…I’d hate you to feel you couldn’t make a financial contribution to the cause, as well.’
He started the engine and raised his eyes as he considered my suggestion. ‘It does sound cheeky. See you Thursday.’
I crouched down to hug Kandy as Duncan drove off. My neck hurt from being held in a state of tension all day. Over lunch, I had been at pains to maintain a semblance of sanity, as my sister lurched from one contentious topic to another, and Mum meandered down memory lane – and what a memory. I did wonder how much of her past she’d embroidered – I mean she was awfully good at making a silk purse out of a sow’s ear and so it followed she might be pretty accomplished at rewriting history to make it more entertaining. She also appeared to be on the verge of adopting Duncan.
‘Barcelona? You lucky mare!’ exclaimed Beth, as I sat on the sitting room floor, building a tower of plastic bricks with Tom. ‘Bet he’s booking you a his’n’hers suite with connecting doors and a private Jacuzzi.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous! He’s not the type,’ I snapped, not entirely confident I was right.
‘He’s absolutely the type. He’s one of the most eligible bachelors in the UK. The tabloids call him Dunc Juan! Chloe, he’s a playboy.’
‘Well, even if he is, that’s not why I’m going. If he has any other ideas, I’ll soon put him right.’
‘Are you mad? Chloe – he’s utterly gorgeous. And loaded.’
Single too, apparently, as Mum had discovered.
‘Tell you what,’ Beth continued, ‘you stay here with Tom and I’ll go and work my charms on Duncan. Purely in the interests of the theatre, you understand.’
A tinkling tune rang out as Owen twisted the hat on a musical monkey. ‘I thought he was a top bloke, very down-to-earth.’
I looked at him. ‘Really? Last week you said he was using small businesses as guinea pigs for his TV show.’
Owen shrugged. ‘Just goes to prove you can’t believe everything you read in the papers. Mind you, if I had his money, I’d be on the playboy circuit, myself.’
Beth laughed. ‘Is that right, Owen? So when you’ve made your first million, will you take me to Barcelona?’
Owen blushed. ‘I might.’
So, that was Thorsen Leisure on the hook, and King Lloyd Holdings coming up behind. If I could net them both, the theatre might well be saved sooner than any of us could have hoped.
I rattled through Monday and Tuesday on a surge of optimism. I tweaked my presentation, ready to show Ray Marsden, and wrote a news update for Owen to include on the website; the local radio station called me for an interview over the phone and County Magazine had agreed to swap their interview to Wednesday. Duncan was right, as soon as I mentioned his name, I swear I could hear the editor panting; she even asked if they could do a follow-up piece if Thorsen Leisure became a backer. ‘Maybe even do an interview with you both?’ she asked, hyperventilating at the prospect. Judging by her general switch in demeanour, I’d say I was in line to become her New Best Friend.
So when I waited in the foyer to meet Ray Marsden, it was in a more positive and relaxed frame of mind than when I’d waited for Duncan.
My phone rang. It was Ray. He was running late. ‘I can probably get there by nine, is that still okay?’ His voice was very husky – like he had a virus. I hoped not. I needed to be on top form for Barcelona.
‘Absolutely. I’ll be here,’ I replied. There were some tweezers in my bag, I could give my eyebrows a prune while I waited.
At twenty past nine, headlights swept across the car-park. I stood up and dropped the old magazine I was reading onto the box office counter. The headlights dimmed and the driver’s door opened. I surveyed the foyer, straightened a stack of leaflets, checked my reflection in the mirror and opened the door to greet him. He came jogging up the steps, wearing a large overcoat which flapped open and a Fedora hat dipped low over his eyes. He’d said he was a fan of the theatre, I hadn’t imagined he’d be quite such a ‘lovey’.
‘Welcome to the Joshua Steele…’ My hand tightened on the door as he lifted his head. ‘Oh, Jeez!’ I gasped. ‘What are you doing here?’
Ray Marsden was, actually, Warren Porter. My ex.
Chapter 5
Warren the Cling-on, as Beth had taken to calling him, looked older, somehow. Maybe it was the super-short haircut that had replaced the gelled ‘up-do’ I remembered. And his brown eyes looked darker, heavier.
‘Chloe, please…’ Warren gave me an imploring look, and held up his hands to suggest he meant me no harm. ‘If I’d told you I wanted to see you, you’d have bolted like a startled horse. You know you would.’
‘No, I wouldn’t,’ I said without conviction. I’d have made damn sure I’d brought back-up, though. ‘But surely, even you can understand how weird this is? You actually set up this meeting under a false name.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just wanted to make sure you saw me.’
‘Do you even work for King Lloyd?’
‘Yes, yes I do.’ He handed a business card to me. It seemed legit. ‘Look, I’m worried about you – about the theatre. I know how important it is to you and your family. A friend told me about your plea on TV so I watched it on-line. Maybe I can really help you.’
‘How?’
‘King Lloyd is huge in construction. I’ve already spoken to a couple of people. I can get them on-side to help with the rebuilding work. I’d take responsibility for it, of course – you know – chief liaison between the theatre and the company.’
A peal of alarm bells was ringing in my head. No matter how much I wanted to save the theatre, partnering with Warren was a very high price to pay. ‘How sure are you that they’d want to get involved?’
‘Very sure. Part of my remit is looking for King Lloyd community projects. There was something similar last year, with a bridge in Shropshire. Here.’ He produced a piece of folded paper from his pocket. He’d printed a page from the King Lloyd website, detailing their investment and assistance in securing the old bridge and rendering it safe for use.
‘I see,’ I said briskly. So what if he was legit? It didn’t make me feel any more comfortable. ‘Okay, tell me more.’
‘Well, let’s go in and have a chat about it,’ he said eagerly. I was still propping the door open with my body. Reluctantly, I stepped back into the foyer and let him in.
Just over a year ago, he’d camped at my apartment…literally. I’d come home late one evening, let myself into the apartment block, then into my flat; I was preparing to go to bed when there was a knock at the do
or. It had to be a neighbour, since the main entrance was always locked and nobody had pressed the entry buzzer for my flat. Without a second thought, I tightened the belt on my dressing gown and opened the door.
Standing in the hallway was Warren.
‘How did you get in?’ I asked.
‘Aren’t you even going to say “hello”?’
‘Warren, you didn’t ring the bell. How did you get in?’
‘Someone left the door open.’
Since the door was on a self-closer, and I was probably the last in, I didn’t believe him. I held my hand out. ‘Give me the key.’
‘I don’t have a key.’
‘I don’t believe you.’ He’d given me his keys when we split up, but he could easily have taken copies.
‘Look, I really don’t have a key.’ He sighed. ‘I came in a couple of hours ago. One of your neighbours recognised me and held the door open. I guess he thinks we’re still together. Which we should be.’
‘A couple of hours ago?’
He looked at his watch. ‘Well…half-nine. Aren’t you going to let me in? I could do with a coffee.’
My heartbeat had tripled but not in a nice way. ‘The kebab van’s open till two, get one there.’
‘Come on, Chloe, you never used to be this hostile. Only a few weeks ago, we were lovers.’
I didn’t want to think about that. ‘Where have you been since nine-thirty?’
‘In the utilities room.’
With the rubbish bins. How appropriate.
‘Warren, I’m not letting you in. I have nothing left to say to you. I’m sorry but we’re over. Please go.’ I started to close the door. He moved to stop it. I threw my body at it and slammed it shut, with him on the other side. He let out a cry of frustration or maybe even pain. I didn’t much care. I shot the bolt on the door, and leaned against it.
Bang!
I leaped back as Warren hit the door in frustration. ‘Chloe, please, I just want to talk.’
‘I have nothing left to say, Warren. Go now or I’ll call the police.’
‘Don’t. I love you. You can’t call the police.’