Chloe's Rescue Mission (4 page)

‘That is your copy. You can take it away and study it in more detail.’

He carried on looking at me. His brows lifted slightly. What, I wondered, was he thinking? Was he judging me?

Snapping back to the present, I announced, ‘Right, to the stage!’ As I strode ahead, I promised myself not to slap my thigh or give him jazz-hands.

On stage, Owen had placed a desk and two chairs in the centre, and on it the laptop screen showed a looping series of images from past productions. I gestured to Duncan to sit down. ‘I’d like to run through a few facts about the theatre, if I may.’

The creak of his chair echoed ominously in the empty building. I sat next to him, picked up the mouse and clicked onto the first slide. For several minutes, I talked through historical statistics, pertinent local facts and potential investors. But in the back of my mind, I was recalling the advice I’d given to so many people about making presentations: take your time, breathe properly and speak clearly. Yet I was hurtling through my pitch like there was a bomb ticking under my chair.

Duncan held up his hand. ‘Chloe,’ he began.

I froze.

‘I can see you’ve put a lot of work into this and it’s great.’

I blinked back at him, waiting for the ‘but’.

‘But…’ He smiled. ‘Relax. I’m not here to test you. I just want to find out whether or not I should get involved.’ He leaned towards me. ‘Okay?’

I grinned and clasped my hands. ‘I’m so sorry. It’s just – this really means a lot to my family.’

‘I know. So, take a deep breath and tell me where you want to go with it.’

Up this close, I was aware of the pale line of skin between his top lip and the dark shadow of stubble above it. What was the cologne he was wearing – was that a hint of cedar wood, maybe amber too? I could feel the warmth coming off him, or was it just the lights? I noticed him frown again before he glanced across at the mouse. I saw him swallow just before he said quietly, ‘So, when you’re ready…’

Of course. I breathed deeply, nodded and began again. After several minutes, I reined in my enthusiasm and sat back. ‘I’ll shut up now.’

One elbow on the desk, Duncan’s head tilted as he looked at me. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth again. ‘Why not tell me more over lunch?’

‘Lunch!’ I hadn’t meant it to come out like an accusation.

He glanced at his watch. ‘Well, it is lunch time.’

‘No. Yes. Sorry.’ Damn. It never occurred to me he would want to hang around for lunch. ‘It’s just…’ Oh bollocks. I was about to sound so provincial. ‘Mum’s cooking lunch for the family, and I’ve invited Owen back to thank him for helping me with the presentation. So um…’

‘Of course.’ Duncan took hold of the folder in both hands. ‘I should have asked Marlean to ring ahead and check your schedule.’ My schedule? That made me sound important. ‘We can finish up now. If I need any more information, I’ll be in touch.’ He stood up.

I stood so fast my head span. ‘Wait!’ I urged, touching his arm then retracting my hand immediately. ‘Why don’t you join us? Mum always cooks far too much. And it’ll save you stopping off at motorway services, or wherever...’

What was I saying? Here was a guy, clearly used to eating in the finest restaurants – heck, he probably owned half of them – and I was suggesting a family roast might beat a burger on the motorway. But the invitation was out there now. It wasn’t something I could suck back in like bubble gum.

As he looked at me, I could practically hear his brain scanning a database of appropriate excuses. He checked his watch again and tapped his thumbs on the folder.

Eventually, he said, ‘Are you sure she wouldn’t mind?’

Mind? Boody-hell! He actually wanted to come.

‘Of course not. The more the merrier.’ Those jazz-hands were twitching.

‘Right, well, I just need to make a phone call. I’ll do it from the car.’

‘Okay. Owen and I’ll lock up and meet you outside.’

As I watched him make his way out of the auditorium, I dived into my bag for my phone. Please God, let mum have done her usual and cooked for an army.

*

Duncan hated having to call the restaurant to cancel the table – he knew how infuriating it was to lose a booking at such short notice – but he promised he would re-book in the near future.

He flipped the phone closed and stared at the cracked tarmac. Was this wise? Taking a potential business associate out for lunch was one thing, going back to her family home for Sunday lunch was entirely different. Still, what else was he going to do – eat lunch alone and immerse himself in the report on opportunities around the Italian Lakes? Although, the prospect of meeting Chloe’s mother, Jennifer Dawson, probably swung it. He’d grown up watching her in the TV series,
Mad Dogs and Englishmen
. It had been one of the few programmes he and his sister had watched with their mother. No matter that he’d met countless celebrities in recent years, it would be a thrill to meet someone who had been so significant in his childhood.

He looked back up at the theatre. One could hardly call it the best in sixties’ design but a new colour scheme would make a big difference to its appearance – and to the budget. This could easily turn into a money pit. All the same, he liked the idea of being involved in a more altruistic project.

The sunlight glinting on the theatre door shifted. A young man wearing a loose t-shirt in pea-green over black jeans, emerged. His heavy mop of hair marked him out as a geek.

Chloe locked the door then turned towards Duncan and called, ‘If you want to follow us, this one’s mine.’ She pointed to a red and white Mini.

He nodded and waved, before slipping into the hot, leather seat of his car and gunning the engine.

*

There was just enough room on our gravelled drive for me to squeeze my car alongside Beth’s battered estate car, leaving space for Duncan to pull in behind.

Juniper Cottage is on the edge of a small Cotswold village, just outside Barnworth. The buttery stonework almost dazzles on sunny days like this. The two cherry trees flanking the entrance to the drive were in blossom, brightening the heavy green of the holly bushes along the lane.

I walked over to meet him, just as there was a loud and fearsome volley of barking from the side garden. Mum’s honey-coloured German Shepherd, Kandy, appeared and planted her paws on the gate, demanding attention.

I pulled a face. ‘That’s Kandy. I know it’s hard to believe right now, but she’s the softest dog, really.’

‘Don’t worry. I love dogs. She’s just doing her job.’

I turned to Owen. ‘Duncan, this is Owen Shaw. We used to be in the youth theatre together. He’s the tech-head who looks after our website.’

They shook hands, and I led the way to the front door. I prayed Duncan wouldn’t mind the recently delivered pile of horse manure, humming by the side gate, or the stack of old dining chairs my mother had salvaged from a car-boot sale and was planning to renovate.

The savoury smell of roast dinner met us as we stepped into the large, square hall. There was a ticking of claws on the kitchen tiles as Kandy made her way through from the garden. Duncan stood still as she approached. After a few more greeting barks, she was on her back, paws relaxed, waiting for a tummy-rub.

Duncan hunkered down and obliged.

‘She’s shameless.’ I said.

‘Runs in the family,’ Owen added so I threw him a warning look.

‘Beautiful dog,’ said Duncan. ‘I’d love one but when you travel like I do, it’s just not possible.’ He continued ruffling the woolly shawl of fur around Kandy’s neck. ‘We always had a dog at home. My mother used to get the ugliest mongrel from the rescue centre – she thought they were more loving than the good-looking ones.’

Owen sidled past us and headed for the kitchen. ‘Morning, Mrs S.’

Duncan stood, suddenly appearing very tall in the low-ceilinged confines of the cottage. I followed Owen and beckoned Duncan to follow me. Mum was pink in the face as she turned towards us. Like me, she had thick, wavy hair but hers was cropped into a bob which, when untamed, resembled a dish mop. Today was no exception. Her fashion style is Bollywood does Gym – all Indian fabrics, bling and leggings with pumps. ‘Hello lovely people. Sorry about the mess. Hello Duncan – and welcome. I’m Jennifer.’ She moved towards him, arms outstretched like she was greeting family at the airport, so he had no option but to hug her.

‘Pleased to meet you, Jennifer, and sorry for crashing your family lunch.’

‘Nonsense. We’re delighted to have you. And I’m so thrilled you’re taking an interest in the theatre.’

‘My pleasure.’

‘Where’s Beth,’ I asked.

‘Upstairs, bathing Tom. He showed a bit too much interest in that pile of excrement outside.’ I flinched. ‘Owen, darling, do me a favour and open that bottle of red, will you?’

*

Duncan surveyed the kitchen, with its shabby pine cupboards, cream coloured Aga and an old table laden with jars of home-made jam. Curled on a chair was a huge tabby cat, seemingly oblivious to the activities around it. Duncan had a flashback to childhood, when his own mother would be busily preparing a dozen cooked breakfasts for their guests, while he and his sister made round after round of toast, and ferried plates to and from the dining room. It hadn’t been long before the roles had changed, and he’d been the one sweating over pans full of bacon and eggs, and stirring a heavy-bottomed skillet full of porridge.

‘Would you like a drink, Duncan?’ Chloe was smiling at him. He could tell she was on her best I-hope-I-don’t-put-a-foot-wrong behaviour.

‘If you’ve any alcohol-free beer, I’ll have one of those, please.’

Owen handed Chloe the opened wine bottle. ‘Don’t mind if I check the fridge for beers, do you, Mrs S?’ he asked, checking anyway.

Duncan watched as Chloe poured two glasses of wine and placed one by the Aga for her mother. A thought occurred to him. ‘Jennifer, I must apologise for not bringing you a bottle of wine. Very remiss of me.’

‘Oh, don’t worry. You can bring two next time.’

He saw Chloe’s eyes pinch with embarrassment before recovering to say, ‘Let’s go into the sitting room. When Mum gets to the final stages of food prep, she prefers to panic in private.’

‘It’s not panic, darling. It’s organisation. If I’m chatting to guests, I leave things in the oven. Bugger what they say about women multi-tasking; a glass of wine and good conversation can really screw up your menu.’

Duncan smiled. ‘I know the feeling.’

‘You do?’

‘I started out in catering.’

‘Well, you’ll know exactly what I mean. Do you like to cook?’

‘I do, yes, when I have time. It helps me unwind.’

‘So what’s your speciality?’

He thought for a moment. ‘I enjoy big meat dishes; putting lots of flavour into a casserole or preparing a really hearty roast joint. I can’t be doing with all this scientific stuff they do on
Masterchef
. I come from the bish-bash-bosh school of cookery.’

‘Quite right, too!’ Jennifer raised her glass to him. ‘Now, you three go and sit down, I’ll shout when it’s ready.’

‘This way,’ Chloe said, before leading him back through the hall to a cosy, and equally shabby sitting room.

He sat in a threadbare armchair beside the fireplace. A large arrangement of dusty, dried hydrangeas lay in front of the empty grate. Heavy, William Morris print curtains flanked the French doors, which looked out onto a long lawn, with fruit trees at the far end. On an old writing bureau in the corner, he could see a group of family photos including one of the famous Joshua Steele.

Owen joined them, holding a bottle out to Duncan and swigging his own as he did so.

‘So, Owen, I’m interested in your business. What is it you do?’

I listened as Owen described his business, and watched as Duncan nodded encouragingly. I had to hand it to him, he had a knack for drawing people out. I was about to sing Owen’s praises for producing the theatre’s website, when Duncan probed more deeply into the nature of his business, and I began to wonder whether Owen might end up a candidate for the Business Angel programme, himself. I just hoped it wouldn’t be instead of the theatre. I shifted forward on the sofa. Was his TV show the real reason for Duncan’s interest in us?

‘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.