Chloe's Rescue Mission

by Dean, Rosie

  ‘Excellent. Pleased to meet you,’ I said, not sure how a French travel company might mesh with a provincial English theatre. But he was friendly so perhaps I could cut my teeth on him. ‘So, you know why I’m here?’

  ‘Duncan mentioned your project to me. It’s an honourable venture but not, I think, one with which we can help.’ He delivered the news without a shred of regret.

  ‘Understandable. So, do you use these fabulous Thorsen Leisure hotels for all your events?’ I asked, neatly segueing to my assumed subsidiary role as a Thorsen Leisure champion. It was the least I could do for Duncan.

  ‘We do, occasionally.’

  ‘I’ve done a lot of events and this really ticks all the boxes,’ I gushed.

  ‘It’s a very good hotel, yes. And here’s the man behind its success,’ he said, looking beyond me to Duncan.

  ‘Philippe. Welcome to Hotel la Heradura.’ They shook hands, and Philippe clasped Duncan’s shoulder, suggesting they were good friends. Duncan nodded in my direction. ‘I see you’ve met Chloe Steele.’

  ‘Indeed!’

  ‘Have you told Philippe about your project?’ Duncan asked, like he was checking my homework.

  ‘Briefly, yes, but we were just talking about this hotel – it’s in such a great location, and the facilities are superb.’

  He smiled back at me, ‘Thank you. I like to think we learn something from every new hotel we work on.’ He turned to Philippe. ‘I trust you brought your golf clubs with you?’

  ‘Of course. Do you play, Chloe?’

  ‘Afraid not. When it comes to sport, I’m a water baby. Otherwise, I’m more of a song and dance kinda gal.’

  ‘Really,’ he nodded. ‘Then perhaps you will allow me the pleasure of dancing with you, tomorrow evening?’ I’d seen that kind of smile before. The smile of a player. I wondered if he was Duncan’s wing man on the international dating circuit.

  ‘Happy to,’ I said.

  Duncan glanced around the room, clearly not interested in our small-talk. He was even tapping his foot in agitation so I said, ‘Duncan, will there be a live band, tomorrow evening?’

  He looked back at me. ‘A live band and a flamenco show. I’m advised they’re very good.’

  ‘I love flamenco – it’s just so energetic and full of passion,’ I said then regretted it, as Philippe’s eyes nearly popped with anticipation.

  Duncan merely nodded and looked around, calling to a girl with a sleek platinum-blonde bob. She’d tucked the short side behind one ear and left the long side to drape over one eye. ‘Gemma, come here and meet Chloe.’

  Gemma was even shorter than I was, and wearing the kind of asymmetric dress that required confidence. It made me feel I’d dressed for a Sunday school outing.

  ‘Chloe, this is Gemma Cox from Cox & Lambert PR.’ We shook hands. Duncan continued, ‘I’ve sat you at our table, Gemma, because Chloe has a project I think you’re going to find very interesting.’

  ‘I heard about it. You were on TV, selling yourself for the theatre. Great hook!’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Her hand, chilled from her drinking glass, squeezed my arm. ‘Let’s sit down, these bloody shoes are killing me.’

  Duncan pointed out our table and Gemma headed for it at remarkable speed, before jettisoning her shoes and groaning in relief. ‘Why do we do it?’ she asked, rubbing her left foot. ‘Right, tell me more.’

  It didn’t take long for her to grasp the story. ‘That’s so cool, and there’s so much mileage we could get out of it.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Sure. We so want to get involved.’

  ‘I’m afraid the theatre couldn’t afford to pay you, though.’

  ‘Don’t worry. We’ll do okay out of it. Kudos goes a long way, babe.’

  By the time the table had filled up, Gemma was gamely helping to spread the word.

  Even though I tried very hard not to, my eyes kept meeting Duncan’s. At one point, somebody mentioned the open-air spa pool. Beth’s prediction of Jacuzzis rocketed into my brain. I choked on a swallowed laugh and blushed. Duncan must have read a whole different message in my reaction, as one eyebrow lifted and a glint appeared in his eye. So I broadened my smile and raised my glass.

  What was I thinking?!

  His eyes narrowed and he gave this knowing little smile before turning his attention to stirring his coffee.

  Sipping my wine I made a vow to myself: If you dare to look in his direction one more time tonight, I’m sending you to bed. Alone.

  Deliberately wrenching my eyes away, I noticed Philippe at another table. Instantly, he looked up and gave me an appreciative but oily smile. Yikes! Frying pan to fire.

  There was a movement close by, as Duncan came to sit in the chair next to me – recently vacated by the boss of a soft drinks company. He sat side on to the table, his whole body facing mine. He really did have very broad shoulders. ‘So, how’re you getting on?’

  ‘Pretty well, I think. Gemma says we’ll have no problem getting good PR, especially with the Thorsen Leisure connection.’

  ‘She’s very creative – and shrewd.’

  ‘Great. That’s just what we need. Thank you for the introduction.’

  He shrugged. ‘It’s why I brought you here. You’ll make a lot of good connections – if you work it right.’

  ‘Absolutely. Thank you, again.’ I swear another hot look crackled between us, so I pulled a face of intense professionalism – it involved a frown and narrowed eyes, probably even pinched nostrils. ‘You know, I can’t believe I hadn’t heard of you till last week. You must have thought I’d just come back from Mars not Costa Rica.’

  ‘Hardly anyone outside the leisure industry knew me before Business Angel. I liked it better that way.’

  ‘I can understand that. Grandee said, at the height of his fame, he sometimes felt as if his life wasn’t his own.’

  ‘Did he?’ he replied flatly.

  Now…I’d have expected more of a response to that…at the very least a nod of understanding, stretching perhaps to, “I know exactly what he means”. But no. Instead, he said, ‘Listen, I’ve a game of golf first thing so I probably won’t see you till your presentation at five. If you need anything, just go up to anyone in a Thorsen Leisure shirt and ask them.’

  ‘Thanks. I will.’

  He stood up. ‘I’ll say goodnight, then.’

  I watched as he made his way through the tables, stopping here and there to chat to his guests. Gemma was deeply engaged in conversation with Ross, who was the producer of Duncan’s TV programme. Too tired to jump on the networking train, my bed was calling. I’d need my wits about me to make the most of tomorrow. Duncan had generously given me a five-minute slot for the theatre appeal immediately prior to his closing presentation – which pretty much guaranteed a large audience and, I hoped, their full attention.

  In my room, I stood by the balcony doors and studied the lights along the coast, and wondered what might be going on down there. Drawing the curtains, I slipped off my earrings and prepared for bed. Minutes later, I turned out the lights and settled down to sleep.

  Or not to sleep.

  So much had happened this week. I didn’t want to think about Warren and the possibility I might be forced to work with him. Instead, I kept running over tomorrow’s presentation till I became bored with it – more than that, I found fault with it. I sat up, grabbed my tablet and started reworking it.

  Half an hour later, I looked at the clock: eleven-thirty. Why hadn’t I brought a decent book to read? Perhaps a walk would do me good. Pulling on the blue trousers I’d travelled in and a lilac shirt, I shoved my feet into my sandals, grabbed the room key and headed out.

  The terrace was still buzzing with activity. Along the perimeter wall, festooned with bougainvillea, was a series of archways, each leading to a quiet, shaded area. The kind of place you’d go for a bit of peaceful meditation – or if you wanted to recover from a hangover. I wandered into the farthest of these, where t
he garden was surprisingly different. Instead of tropical plants, there were roses and heathers – not at all the garden I would expect to see in the warmer climes of Spain.

  I wandered slowly along a curving path and bent down to smell the roses, which were sweet and fragrant like violets. I took a good lungful before standing up. There was a movement further round the path. I had company.

  Seated on a bench in the corner was Duncan. I couldn’t get away from the guy. If he hadn’t seen me, I’d have turned and scarpered, but even in the shallow, artificial light I knew he was looking directly at me.

  Chapter 8

  Jeez! I hoped he didn’t think I was stalking him. But if I turned tail and legged it now, how odd would that look? As I tried to find something cool and urbane to say, his husky voice broke the silence. ‘Couldn’t sleep?’

  ‘Too much going on up here,’ I answered, tapping my head. ‘You?’

  He nodded. ‘I’ve been sitting here – thinking – for far too long.’ I could only imagine the kind of concerns that might keep someone of Duncan’s status and influence awake. ‘So, I can either leave you in peace or…’ he shifted forward on the bench, ‘maybe you’d like to come for a drive down into Sitges?’

  Ooh…would I? A swift vision of where else it might lead put my common sense on red alert. All the same, I could handle it. I knew how to stay professional and keep my distance. In any case, the opportunity to cruise down into Sitges with Dunc Juan…

  Did I really want to put temptation in his way – or mine, for that matter?

  ‘Erm…Actually…’ I swallowed.

  Oh, what the hell. I probably wouldn’t be able to sleep now, knowing the chance to take a look at Sitges was on offer. ‘Sure. Why not?’

  He smiled. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t keep you out all night – I’ve to play golf with Philippe, first thing.’

  ‘Of course. A good walk’s all we need.’ Not that he was suggesting anything else, that was all my work.

  He stood and gestured with his hand to direct me out of the garden.

  One of the hotel’s cars dropped us in town. Despite being almost midnight, the place was heaving. Duncan led me down a busy street called Carrer del Pecat, which had shops and bars on either side. There was music pumping out onto the street and each bar was busy; people were chatting at tables and watching the world go by. Duncan headed for a quieter bar and ordered two brandies. ‘If the size of the brandy doesn’t put you to sleep, nothing will.’

  ‘I’ll go with that,’ I said. ‘Thanks for bringing me here. Not just to Spain but into Sitges. I really wanted to see the town and I didn’t think I’d have chance.’

  ‘You’re right to want to see it. It’s a super little town.’ He toyed with a beer-mat on the table. ‘If I’m absolutely honest, I was very happy to bring you down with me. I wouldn’t have wanted to come on my own.’

  Interesting. So not quite as confident and independent as I’d thought. On the other hand, maybe it was just evidence of his playboy persona – he needed to have a woman at his side, wherever he went. Then again, perhaps I should cut him some slack. Tabloid newspapers were notorious for giving people reputations they didn’t deserve. ‘I know exactly what you mean,’ I said. ‘It’s not much fun seeing places on your own, is it?’

  He studied me for a moment, as if trying to decide what to say. There was definitely laughter lurking behind those eyes. Why? Was he congratulating himself on picking an absolute sitter – it’s not as if I’d put up a single argument, had I? How had it gone? ‘Come for a drive into town.’ ‘Why yes, Duncan. Of course I will.’

  I frowned back at him. ‘What?’

  He turned his head and surveyed the activity around us, before leaning towards me, giving me a lungful of his spicy, masculine scent and allowing the smile to spread across his face. ‘Just give it a few minutes. You’ll get the idea.’

  What idea? Was he waiting for the power of his magnetic personality to take effect and divest me of my virtue? Or was he banking on the large brandy working through my system and loosening my knickers? Beth and all the media must be right.

  I stiffened in my seat, poised to get up and leave if necessary. I could feel my brow puckering as I put on my stern face. ‘Maybe I don’t want to get the idea. Maybe I’m just here on business.’

  ‘Hey – I’m not trying to proposition you,’ he said.

  A corner of my brain questioned, why not? But his bloody smile was mocking my vivid imagination.

  ‘Chloe, just humour me for a moment and take a look around.’

  My heart rate had increased and I was a bit concerned, up this close, he might spot the throb of a vein in my neck. I humoured him. I looked up and down the street.

  It might have been late but there were still children out with their parents. Opposite, was a table with three men seated at it; all appeared to be in their mid twenties – and not remotely sinister. At the next table was a heavy set guy with short cropped hair and a moustache, maybe he looked a bit daunting but the young man sitting with him looked very fey. I noticed two athletic-looking men approaching, wearing tight vests tucked into equally tight jeans and…ah, holding hands.

  I looked back at Duncan. I whispered, ‘I’m the only woman in this bar.’

  Duncan nodded slowly and placed his hand on my wrist. It was just a gesture of familiarity…I think. He was confiding in me. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’ve nothing against gays but in Sitges, unless you want to make special new friends, men like me don’t really want to be sitting in a bar on their own.’

  That hand was warm and, this close, Duncan’s aftershave was forming a chemical reaction with something in my bloodstream. Those eyes: he could be reading my thoughts right now, and even predicting my actions. Trouble was – could I predict my own actions, and was I capable of remaining detached and professional?

  Hang on. Did I say, professional? How many business meetings did he conduct holding hands?

  Too late. He released me as the waiter placed a couple of small paper doilies on the table, followed by two large bulbs of brandy.

  ‘Wow! I wouldn’t want to have to pay for these down at our local,’ I said.

  He held his glass up. ‘To the Joshua Steele Theatre.’

  ‘Joshua Steele Theatre.’

  A moment later he was studying me again. ‘So, you seemed a bit tense, a moment ago. What did I do to piss you off so much?’

  I felt my face flush. There was absolutely no avoiding the subject. ‘Well...I have to confess, my capacity for over-reaction is somewhat legendary. I blame my hyperactive imagination.’

  ‘Is that the same with all you drama queens?’

  I was about to react, then caught the teasing look in his eye. I screwed my face up in recognition.

  He chuckled. It was a warm, breathy sound and unutterably sexy. ‘It must be quite a fertile imagination. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look so offended.’

  I dropped my head into my hands for a moment, before surfacing to say, ‘Well, you do have a bit of a reputation as a playboy.’

  ‘Oh, that. So you thought I had improper motives?’

  ‘Yes. No. Maybe.’ I waved my hands to try and erase the mistake. ‘Sorry. You must be really offended.’

  ‘I’m not used to women reacting to me quite like you did. But you know, playboy’s just a label the tabloids have given me. Sensational, isn’t it? So long as the investors and clients can see I’m doing a good job, that’s all I care about.’

  ‘I guess you’re doing a pretty good job. Thorsen Leisure seems successful to me. Not that I know much about commerce,’ I added.

  ‘We’re doing okay.’

  After that, I decided to quiz him on how his company gained from the events he ran and what plans he had for development. But he was soon coming back at me with questions about my experiences in Costa Rica, which must have grown more entertaining as the quadruple brandy infiltrated my bloodstream, because he said, ‘It seems the story-telling gene has been passed down
from mother to daughter,’ which, in my intoxication, I saw as a great compliment.

  Further down the street, a noisy crowd was making its way into one of the restaurants. Amongst them were two men in white suits, with lilies in their buttonholes. ‘A wedding. How optimistic,’ I said, raising my glass.

  ‘Hey, that’s touch cynical, Chloe. You do surprise me.’

  ‘Really? So you don’t think all that hearts and flowers, for ever after stuff is a mug’s game?’

  He sat back. ‘No, not for every one. Clearly, you do.’

  Duncan, the playboy, was actually calling me out on this issue.

  ‘So, do you believe in true love, the kind that lasts for ever?’

  ‘Yes. Once in a lifetime, I believe some people get lucky.’

  ‘Some people. Not everyone, right?’

  He shrugged and finished his brandy. ‘Let’s get the bill, and go for a walk down to the seafront, eh?’

  The town was even busier than when we first arrived. So we wove between the couples and groups who were cruising bars as if the night were still young. At the bottom of the hill, he guided me across the road and up onto the promenade. Standing behind me, he took my shoulders and turned me to see the view to my left.

  I tried not to sway. The brandy had reached my knees, and the close proximity of this red-blooded male, pounding with testosterone and rocking with power over my future – correction, Grandee’s theatre’s future – wasn’t improving matters. I planted my feet squarely on the ground and focused.

  Rising up at the end of the road, and built high on the sea wall, was a beautiful church and tower, gloriously lit to best effect. ‘Wow! Can we go and see it?’ I asked.

  ‘Sure.’

  Palm trees lined the centre of the road and there was a lone flautist sitting at the foot of the sea wall, playing the sweetest tune. As I climbed the two flights of stone steps up to the church, I held onto the balustrade for fear of falling flat on my now flushed face. I couldn’t tell if it were the lights or the stone but the church was glowing the most romantic shade of pink.