Chloe's Rescue Mission

by Dean, Rosie

  ‘Go on, help yourself. Mum’s always giving them away.’

  He reached across and selected marrow and ginger. ‘Thanks.’ He studied the label Mum had decorated with green squiggles. There was the ghost of a smile on his lips, which he pulled back and followed with a frown. ‘Right, I’ll be off.’

  I followed him into the hall, an odd kind of silence hung taut between us.

  He opened the front door and stepped outside.

  I stood in the doorway. ‘I see you have a new car,’ I said, by way of filling the silence.

  He paused on the drive and looked back at me. ‘It’s the one I keep in Bath.’

  ‘Oh. Of course.’

  Of course? I spoke with such authority – like I inhabited a world where one had a car for each of one’s residences.

  He stepped up into the vehicle and closed the door without another word. He did, however, manage a token wave as he drove away.

  Sleep. Delicious sleep. Hugged by the duvet and snug in the tranquillity of Juniper Cottage, I slept till Mum brought me a coffee at nine o’clock. She sat on the edge of my bed. ‘You’re in the papers, again.’

  ‘Ugh?’

  ‘Beth sent me a text. She’s going to bring it over, this afternoon.’

  ‘Great. Just what the theatre scrap-book needs. Chloe Steele shame-faced after snogging Dunc Juan.’

  ‘You know what they say…today’s news is tomorrow’s chip paper,’ Mum said.

  I pushed myself up onto one elbow. ‘So you don’t think I’ve completely screwed the theatre’s chances of a revival?’

  She shook her head. ‘They also say, you can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum. You’re a pal.’

  ‘Right, well you get yourself moving, because I need some help fixing the webbing on those dining chairs. I just need to pop into town to get some staples and a few bits and pieces.’ She moved off the bed and stopped by the doorway. ‘Oh, I had a look at that proposal of Warren’s.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, it reads like a load of corporate nonsense to me but then, I’m an old cynic,’ she said, throwing up her hands and leaving me to mull over the theatre’s prospects.

  Fluffy was eyeing me from the foot of the bed. I leaned over to pick her up. She was a reluctant cuddler but, now and again, she’d bestow seconds of her precious company upon me, if she thought I really needed it. Then she’d count to ten in cat terms before struggling to break free. This morning, it felt like she may have counted to fifteen.

  Later, I read the report at the kitchen table. Mum was right. The proposal was full of generic corporate twaddle, which I suspected came straight off a document template. After nine pages, I reached the significant part, Recommendations. It summarised an approach where King Lloyd Holdings formed a legal partnership with the theatre, and took on responsibility for the construction work. There was a bullet point list of tasks to be agreed and the note, in red letters, ‘Pending Review of Surveyor’s Report’.

  I sighed. I still hadn’t sent it off to Warren.

  Kandy’s head popped up at the scrunch of car tyres on gravel, and launched into a barking frenzy as she headed into the hall. Mum had just left for the hardware store, so I pushed myself off the chair and followed Kandy to open the front door.

  Warren stepped out of his car with a scowl on his face. It lifted the moment he saw me. ‘Good morning,’ he beamed then glanced at his watch. ‘Sorry, afternoon.’ He was such a bloody pedant. ‘How was your trip to Spain?’

  My heart sank. Mum had told him I was away till Monday. He must have seen the airport pictures in the newspaper. ‘Bog off’ was what I wanted to say, but I’m much too polite. ‘Quite useful, thanks.’

  ‘Great. Good to hear.’ He was on the doorstep, holding a hand forward to Kandy, whose barking had changed to delirious whimpers of recognition. If dogs were supposed to be good judges of character, then maybe I’d been too hard on him. I stepped back to allow him in.

  ‘Okay if I go through to the kitchen?’ he asked. In the past he would have walked straight through. Maybe he had changed. He made a beeline for the proposal, still open on the table. ‘Hey,’ he said, ‘you’re reading it, then? Sort of imagined you’d be a bit too preoccupied with all the other stuff going on to get around to this.’ He gave me a megawatt smile.

  ‘What other stuff?’

  ‘You know…sensational headlines, sleazy gossip.’

  I suppressed the urge to defend myself. That was the old Chloe – Warren’s girlfriend. I didn’t have to explain anything today. Instead I shrugged. ‘Oh, that stuff.’

  ‘Bit of a shock, I imagine. Don’t suppose you knew the cameras were there,’ he said with a note of concern.

  ‘Certainly didn’t.’ I turned away and picked up the kettle. ‘Can I offer you something to drink?’

  ‘No thanks.’ He put the proposal down and looked out of the window. ‘Wow, those tulips look fantastic. Your mum’s garden’s always been at its best in the spring.’

  He’d said that before. In fact, he’d always been the kind of guy to pass compliments. Even when we were at school, long before we’d dated, I’d noticed how polite and considerate he’d been. He’d stood apart from the rest of the crowd in that way. So was it any wonder that his criticisms of my performances on stage had cut so keenly?

  ‘I’ll tell her you said so.’

  He turned back. ‘Right then, what did you think to our proposal?’

  ‘I think I probably need to read it again. And Mum needs to take a look at it, too,’ I lied, buying time.

  ‘Of course. By the way, do you have the surveyor’s report?’

  ‘Err…no.’ I was lying again. ‘I need to get a copy printed for you.’

  ‘Don’t you have an electronic copy?’

  I did. I hesitated.

  ‘Email it to me. Save you the expense of printing.’ Mr Helpful, as ever.

  ‘Good idea.’

  ‘D’you fancy popping out for some lunch? I could really murder one of The Plough’s lasagnes.’

  ‘No, thanks. I’ve promised Mum I’ll help her with some DIY. She’s just gone to buy some stuff.’

  ‘Good old Jennifer. What’s she renovating, this time?’

  ‘Chairs.’

  He chuckled, and I remembered why I’d fallen for him. There was an awkward silence.

  Just as I was dreading how long he might loiter, he pushed himself off the table and converted his winning smile to one of resignation. ‘Right, well, I’ll leave you to it. I’m sure you must be tired after your trip.’

  ‘Exhausted.’

  ‘I thought you weren’t due back till tomorrow?’

  ‘No. Well, things changed.’

  He gave me a speculative look, and I could imagine how his brain might be whirring over the possibilities. I said nothing but silently pleaded, Don’t mention Duncan. He walked through to the hall. As he opened the door, he turned. ‘I think what you’re taking on with the theatre is brilliant.’ He put a hand out and briefly stroked the top of my arm. ‘Good on you!’ There was enough compassion in his voice to soften my thoughts. He might not be my boyfriend anymore, but there was still that indefinable chemistry; a recognition of shared experience.

  ‘Thanks. But you know, we really didn’t have a choice. It’s Grandee’s legacy.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, softly, and studied me for a moment. I could imagine how we might have once kissed. Might even do so now. It was like muscle memory – given the right triggers we would easily repeat the old pattern automatically. ‘Just be careful with Thorsen. He could really hurt you…and the theatre.’

  I stepped back. ‘I’ll be okay. The papers exploit these things because they’ve got column inches to fill.’

  He shrugged. ‘Don’t let him do a number on you. You’re worth so much more than that.’

  I smiled. ‘Thanks.’

  When Beth came over, that afternoon, I was forced to field a barrage of ‘I told you
sos’ and ‘I just knew its’. Batting each one away with an ‘It’s not like that’, she finally gave up with a shrug followed by a knowing wink.

  We studied the newspaper cuttings and the gossip sites.

  ‘The lens can be really mean to the unprepared,’ she said.

  ‘I look bloody haggard don’t I?’

  ‘Tired, babe, and a bit anxious, maybe.’

  ‘Do people really want to read this stuff?’

  ‘I guess. Listen to this, “Duncan Thorsen’s latest eye-candy, Chloe Steele, returns from their weekend in Spain.”’

  ‘Eye candy?!’ I yelped. I’d never been called that before. Mind you, if strapped to a lie-detector, I’d have confessed to being more than a bit flattered.

  She continued reading, ‘“Chloe Steele, granddaughter of Joshua Steele, appeared on Wake-Up! in a plea to find financial help for her grandfather’s bankrupt theatre. Seems she may have hit the jackpot with this sugar daddy.” Wow, they don’t pull their punches, do they?’

  I didn’t imagine ‘sugar daddy’ was an epithet Duncan would welcome, and I certainly didn’t like the implication – even if it was bordering on the truth.

  ‘If people believe this stuff, Beth, it could create even more problems for the theatre.’

  ‘You think? You mean you’d be happier if the focus wasn’t on your relationship with Duncan?’

  ‘There is no relationship with Duncan!’

  ‘Okay, okay. Just a sneaky snog behind the bike sheds, I get it.’ She looked at me out of the corner of her eye and dropped her voice. ‘Was it worth it?’

  ‘No!’

  She was incapable of suppressing a disbelieving grin. ‘Lousy kisser?’

  I sighed.

  ‘Come on, Chloe. Throw me a few crumbs, here. My social life revolves around toddler teas and Tumble Tots. At least let me imagine there’s another life out there to look forward to. Was he a good kisser or not?’

  I couldn’t come up with an answer.

  She leaned towards me. ‘Too good to put into words, huh? So good, you’re feeling horribly guilty because, secretly, you loved it, didn’t you?’

  I dropped my head into my hands.

  The ‘I knew its’ were back.

  Finally, I lifted my head and looked her in the eye. ‘Okay. You wanna know? It was very good. Seriously hot and, under the circumstances, totally inappropriate.’

  She looked triumphant.

  ‘Beth, please, this is so not the time for me to be doing anything like that. I deeply regret what happened, last night, because if it jeopardises the theatre project then the whole trip was a complete waste of time. In fact, the project could be over before it’s begun.’

  ‘What if it hadn’t made it into the papers – would you be quite so bothered?’

  ‘Yes! Yes, I would. Because we’re both agreed, we shouldn’t have done it.’

  ‘All the same, you did do it. You’re just miffed you got found out.’

  ‘No. As soon as it happened, he stopped it. I stopped it. We stopped it. The journalists getting hold of it has just turned a simple mistake into a complete disaster.’

  ‘Not entirely. It’s evident he likes you. Unless he’s some weird, serial kisser, which is so not likely. Why don’t you just go for it?’

  I jumped up. ‘Because I don’t want the complications! Let me carry on dealing with the theatre project – lord knows that’s going to be tricky enough – and when it’s sorted, then I’ll address the rest of my life. Until then, let’s drop the subject and get back down to business.’

  Beth fastened her lips between her teeth and nodded. She knew better than to press me any further.

  I walked away and shut myself in the loo, to think.

  I had to get things back on track, and I knew a very good way to do that.

  Just as soon as dinner was over, I would send the surveyor’s report, in an email, to King Lloyd Holdings.

  Thorsen Leisure would not be the only company in the frame.

  Chapter 15

  On Wednesday, I was back at Thorsen Leisure’s offices and being led, by Marlean, into the company’s boardroom to be introduced to Rusty Gayle, a tall black woman, with hair neatly trained in cornrows and a smile that lit up the room. I judged her to be in her late thirties. Her responsibility was overseeing marketing on all new projects at Thorsen Leisure. Next to her was Hugo Hart, a short, tidy-looking but very beige man in his forties. He was from the Estates Department.

  For nearly an hour, we discussed all aspects of the project. I tried to measure their interest by the position of Hugo’s eyebrows, which were very expressive. Rusty, on the other hand, smiled generously at most of my suggestions.

  My proposal to hold fund-raising shows elicited a weak smile from both of them and a quiver of Hugo’s brows. ‘And maybe we could make more use of the theatre’s bar – serve teas, coffees and snacks throughout the day.’ The eyebrows twitched again.

  As we broke for lunch, I felt supercharged with energy. They were taking me seriously and we were making progress. The prospect of saving the theatre was finally tangible.

  A young girl brought in a trolley laden with an impressive buffet. As I watched her arranging the food at the end of the table, the familiar figure of Duncan appeared in the doorway.

  I’d wondered whether he would be joining us, and now the sight of him, in his open-necked shirt and navy chinos, made my pulse kick and my spine tingle. No amount of reasoning with myself that this guy was wrong for me seemed to have any bearing on the visceral effect. I frowned. Maybe, if he were more accessible, I might not be so keen.

  ‘Hi!’ I said brightly and stood to shake hands with him. ‘Good to see you again.’

  ‘Chloe,’ he responded, shaking my hand and crinkling his eyes into a smile.

  What, I wondered, would the other two make of this formal greeting, bearing in mind there was evidence of our massive snog-fest all over the papers. Probably par for the course in their eyes.

  ‘How’ve you been getting on?’ he asked.

  ‘Great! I think.’ I turned to the other two for confirmation.

  Hugo, with a sandwich approaching his mouth, sat forward and glanced at the papers in front of him. ‘There are a few concerns here, regarding the building works, but nothing that money can’t resolve. We just have to raise sufficient funds.’

  Duncan nodded. ‘Good. Well, if Chloe’s initiative and drive is anything to go by, you won’t be without motivation.’

  I glowed at this verbal pat on the back. He moved past me to the table and helped himself to a chicken satay, before continuing. ‘I had Ross Arlington on the phone about the Business Angel programme. I’m not sure pulling this project into the series is a good idea. What do you think, Rusty?’

  My heart dipped. What did he have against it?

  Rusty sat back in her chair and raised her chin as she considered her answer. ‘I agree. This is wholly different from the others. For a start, it’s already been associated with Thorsen Leisure, while the other companies are relatively anonymous. No, this doesn’t fit.’

  So, that was it then. The Joshua Steele Theatre wouldn’t be getting further publicity through the TV series. And I would have fewer reasons to see Duncan, which was probably for the best. Although…I leaned forward. ‘Surely, what this project needs, is a dedicated documentary.’

  Had I really said that?

  Duncan looked at me, his eyebrows raised slightly.

  ‘Is it possible?’ I asked, my voice fading under his scrutiny.

  He swallowed the piece of chicken he was chewing and waved the satay stick. ‘It’s possible. In fact, that’s exactly what I was thinking.’

  ‘You were?’

  ‘Why not? It’s the kind of reality TV the public loves. Let’s face it, the building work is only the beginning. You need to make sure of continuing business, and the only way to do that, is raise the theatre’s profile and make it a desirable venue. Put it on the map, so to speak. We can put it out on the DJL ch
annel and even put it out over the Internet in short daily episodes. We’ll get our social networking guru onto it.’

  ‘Great idea,’ said Rusty, standing up to help herself to some lunch.

  Duncan looked carefully at me. ‘You realise, your life won’t be your own if it goes ahead. Not for a while anyway.’

  Did I care? ‘I’d already resigned myself to dedicating the next year or so to the project. If it shortens the time it takes to get the theatre back on its feet, then it’s fine by me.’

  He nodded. ‘Good. Leave it with me, then.’

  After a brief lunch, he left and we spent another hour defining our action plan, before Marlean popped her head round the door to reclaim the room for another meeting. ‘And Chloe,’ she added, ‘if you could just come with me, I need to give you your contract.’

  I followed her to her office, where she picked up a document from an immaculately neat desk. ‘This outlines the terms and conditions of your association with Thorsen Leisure. If you want to read it now, why don’t you make yourself comfortable in reception?’

  ‘Of course. Thank you.’ I took the thin sheaf of paper downstairs, glancing at the cover sheet, showing the Thorsen Leisure logo and my name. I settled into one of the armchairs, opened the first page and began reading. The terms all made sense, but I was astonished at the figure I was to be paid. The salary was on a par with the leaving salary from my last job. There had to be a mistake. I re-read the document from cover to cover, just to be sure.

  ‘Everything okay?’ Duncan’s deep voice jolted my from the small print. I looked up. He was obviously heading off out.

  ‘Yes, I think so. I’d like to talk to you about this, though.’

  ‘Sure. Are you going to the station? I can give you a lift.’

  ‘Lovely.’ I pushed the document into my folder and stood up.

  ‘Okay, fire away,’ he said, as soon as we were settled into the back of his chauffeur-driven car.

  I swallowed. ‘Everything’s fine and I don’t want to seem ungrateful but…’ Duncan’s frown was starting to worry me. ‘It’s just…well…I didn’t expect to be paid so much.’