Chloe's Rescue Mission (9 page)

‘I don’t know about you, Duncan, but I’m going for a paddle!’

His eyes followed her as she ran down the steps onto the beach. She hooked her fingers into the back of her sandals to remove them.

She was worlds apart from the girls he usually dated. He chose women who were media-savvy or girls who were sophisticated and detached. The kind who would handle the press with cool, inscrutable smiles, and make no significant demands on his emotions.

He could handle girls like that. Chloe – not so much.

*

I felt the sharp shock of cold water on my bare feet. The sun might have been shining earlier but this was still April, and the waters of the Mediterranean were nowhere near body temperature. I carried on walking. Very soon, my feet would numb down and it wouldn’t feel so bad. I glanced back. Duncan was still up on the terrace, leaning on the stone balustrade, watching me. This probably wasn’t the most mature way for me to end the evening but I could never pass up the opportunity to feel sand and water between my toes. Pity Duncan didn’t want to join in, we could have walked the length of the beach and discussed the silvery shimmer of moonlight on the sea, or the appealing way his smile warmed his eyes and how I noticed more than one guy in town had looked on enviously as I’d walked beside him...envious of me rather than him. I chuckled to myself.

For several steps I pointed my toes like a ballerina. A little collage of images replayed across my mind’s eye. Considering our potential business relationship, there’d been more than a handshake pass between us – in fact, I counted three handshakes, a double wrist massage and this evening’s hand-hold at the bar. The million-dollar question remained: despite his suggestion that the label of playboy was unjustified, did he intend to add me to his list of conquests?

A ripple of interest shivered through me. If he really worked on me, he’d be so very hard to resist.

But that would just be the brandy weakening my resolve.

I treated myself to a small vision of how he’d be: very experienced, I imagined. He had the air of a man who knew what worked. He wouldn’t muck up the mood with all that fluffy, poetry-reading, hearts-and-flowers, deep-meaningful-looks caper that Warren used to indulge in.

I mean, everyone likes a little romance in their lives but Warren’s distribution of the sweet, sugary, dreamy stuff far exceeded my needs.

Warren.

I let out a sigh as common sense returned. Duncan wouldn’t pick a girl like me, anyway and, aside from this sizzling physical attraction I suddenly felt for him, I had no intention of picking him either. Time was running out for the theatre, and so any complications with Duncan might force me to accept Warren’s offer of help. I needed to keep Thorsen Leisure on-side but the main man – Duncan – was out of bounds. What’s more, I was pretty sure he knew it too. That was the way of the world; chemistry happened sometimes – it didn’t mean you were obliged to do anything about it.

There was a scrunch of sand beside me. ‘The car’s here.’

Duncan stood with his hands in his pockets, looking like a head prefect checking over my uniform. I couldn’t resist staring pointedly at his feet – no chance of him taking a paddle, I guessed. Despite being twenty-nine I felt twenty years younger…and a tiny bit naughty. No, scratch that. I felt tipsy and concerned that maybe, in the morning, I might regret my total lack of sophistication. I stepped from the shallow surf as elegantly as the sand shifting under the water would allow. ‘Thank you. I enjoyed that.’

In the moonlight, I saw his gaze drop to my mouth, resting there for just long enough to draw my eyes to the appealing curve of his own. It didn’t take long before my imagination was dwelling on a mutual meeting of lips.

‘Let’s go,’ he said gruffly.

In a mood of defiance, I stopped to pick up some shells and didn’t put my sandals back on.

After eating a bowl of room-service muesli, I pulled on my poppy-red linen dress, rolled my hair into a large poppy clasp, applied poppy-red lipstick and slipped my feet into black, flat, comfy pumps. I picked up a large blue wallet, stuffed with Rescue the Joshua Steele Theatre leaflets, and looked in the mirror. Yes. I certainly appeared to be ready for the hours of schmoozing ahead. I’d done this kind of thing many times before but it had never been quite this personal.

I spoke to Grandee’s photo. ‘You’d better be in there with me, cos I’m not sure I can do this all on my own!’ I glanced at my reflection in the mirror and nodded. ‘Okay. Let’s do this.’

In the Sala Picasso, the day before, everything was being set up – from equipment hire stands, to merchandisers, to photographers and circus acrobats. If you wanted to run an event at a Thorsen Leisure Hotel, everything you might need could be found in that exhibition hall. Today it was buzzing with nervous activity.

Tucked inside the entrance, was a table, a bouquet of orange balloons tied to one leg, and a notice: Chloe Steele – Joshua Steele Theatre. Yes, in amongst the impressive exhibition stands, hot light shows and technical gear…They had provided me with the equivalent of a Women’s Institute tombola stand.

Why, I wondered, had nobody told me?

I thought the intention was for me to wander round, shaking hands, catching peoples’ eyes and smiling encouragingly. Now, it seemed, I had a stand. ‘Right!’ I said, plonking down my folder. I sprinted through the foyer, leapt into an open lift and waited for it to ascend. In my room, I pulled an orange, green and purple sarong from my case and hauled the ironing board from the wardrobe. This WI stall would, at least, have a cloth. I borrowed a pillow from my bed and took that downstairs too. I put the pillow at the back of the table and draped the now pristine sarong over it and the table. I fanned leaflets out over the front and balanced Grandee’s photo on the pillow.

I stood back to examine my handiwork.

It looked crap.

At the sight of my first Thorsen Leisure t-shirt on a passing girl, I pounced. ‘Don’t suppose I could borrow a white table cloth from housekeeping, could I?’

She smiled. ‘I zink so. I go and find out,’ she said before marching off. I cleared the table of my clutter and waited. Around me, other exhibitors were squaring up bits of kit on their stalls, wiping away non-existent dust and checking their video loops.

I grabbed a handful of flyers and took a mosey through the hall.

The ice sculptor was prowling around a half-completed, two metre owl. I went to take a better look. He smiled. ‘Who are you with?’ he asked.

‘The Joshua Steele Theatre.’

‘So, you do performing stuff – team building with drama?’ he asked.

‘No. Not yet, although it’s worth thinking about.’ And it was.

‘What are you selling then? It’s not one of Thorsen’s venues is it?’

‘No.’ Although that was another option which hadn’t occurred to me. ‘I’m trying to raise funds to save the theatre. Duncan…well…Thorsen Leisure invited me here to drum up some support.’ I handed him a flyer.

He looked over it and nodded. ‘Good luck with that.’

‘Great sculpture,’ I said.

‘Thanks. Won’t be for much longer.’

‘No?’

‘Not after the masses have knocked seven bells out of it.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s a team-building activity. They get to have a go. There’s another three of these out in the chiller for them to hack away at.’

‘Cool,’ I said, wincing at my unintentional pun. ‘With chainsaws?’

‘Yeah, well not today,’ he said, waving a chisel.

‘Can I have a go?’

‘Sure, see if you can add a feather in there.’ He pointed just below the first two rows, and handed me a mallet and chisel.

I tapped. The chisel slid off the ice. ‘Harder than it looks,’ I said, achieving exactly the same result with the next two taps.

‘You need a bit more confidence. Give it a bit more welly, and turn the chisel this way.’

With confidence and welly, I lanced three existing feathers and gouged a six inch scar across it.

He laughed.

‘Sorry, I’ve really spoiled it.’

‘No worries. You won’t be the last. Have another go.’

‘Erm…’ I studied the glistening beauty. ‘Probably best I don’t but thanks.’

‘If there’s anything I can do to help you and your theatre, get in touch.’ He handed me a card: Luke Page – Frozen Art.

‘Thanks, Luke, I will.’

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the Thorsen Leisure girl returning to my stall. She placed a white cloth on it. I hurried over. ‘Thank you so much, that’s really kind of you.’

‘Is my pleasure,’ she said. ‘Anything else I can help you with?’

‘Yes. If you get chance, tell every delegate to be sure and say hello to Joshua Steele’s granddaughter.’

‘This is you, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Of course.’

‘Great. I’m running a raffle with an exclusive, mystery prize.’

‘Raffle? What is raffle?’

I explained as well as I could.

‘Ah,
rifa
!
Si
! What is the prize?’

I smiled back at her. I had absolutely no idea, but I would come up with something. ‘The clue’s in the mystery…’

‘Of course.’ She looked excited. ‘Can I have a ticket?’

‘Yes, I just need your business card. Well, something with your name and contact details on.’

‘Okay,’ she said, and hurried off.

Bless her. Whatever prize I came up with, you can be sure the winner would be someone with influence and cash. Moments later, she rushed back in with a hotel card and her name written on the back – Maria Alves. ‘I am very lucky,’ she said.

‘Maria, where can I find a big glass bowl or something like that?’

‘I will see,’ she said, spun round and headed off out again.

She was so sweet, I could feel a runner-up prize might have to be found.

After draping the white cloth over the table, fanning out the leaflets and planting Grandee’s picture at the back, Maria reappeared with a wooden fruit bowl. ‘Is this okay?’

‘Perfect. You’re a star.’

She beamed back at me. ‘And I am lucky!’

‘Jolly good.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Where can I put these?’ I said, pointing to the pillow and sarong.

‘I will put them in the luggage store.’

As she beetled off, her head bobbing with youthful delight, I surveyed my stall. I needed a photo taking. Would it be wrong to ask one of the photographers to use my mobile to take a shot or two? I could upload one to Facebook.

Nothing ventured…

‘Excuse me,’ I approached a guy dressed, head to toe, in black. He gave my phone a dirty look but I guess something in my wheedling smile and gentle arm-stroke did the trick because he wandered over to my stall and sized it up.

‘What’s this?’ he asked with undisguised contempt

I explained. He nodded. ‘Okay, do you want to be in it?’ he asked.

If I hadn’t wanted to be in it, I could have taken the photo myself. Moron. ‘Yes please,’ I simpered.

‘Okay,’ let’s try you over there. I stood behind the table. He took a shot. He moved me beside the table, he shot again. In front of the table; holding the balloons; holding Grandee’s photo; on the table flashing my tits…actually no, that didn’t happen…but, attitude apart, you couldn’t knock his attention to detail. I thanked him and flicked through the results for one to upload.

It was almost nine o’clock. The doors would be opening to delegates in a minute. My stall did look apologetically home-spun but that would be its charm. That and me.

Who was I kidding?

A man and woman, head to foot in purple spandex, strode through the door. They both flashed practised smiles at me and continued to their acrobatic display stand. I was disappointed not to see at least one somersault en route but maybe they were saving it for later.

My raffle bowl was looking a bit sad, with only Maria’s card in it, so I dropped Luke’s in and set off around the room, touting for others. My mystery prize was taking a celebrity shape. It would definitely involve Mum. Her star might not be in the ascendant but plenty of people knew her name and her work was still out there, thanks to nostalgia channels. It could possibly involve Morgan Ash, at least he was in the UK – most of the time – and if I played my cards right, I might get another favour out of Duncan, in the shape of a dinner at one of his hotels.

A guy working for an equipment hire company listened to my pitch and said, ‘So you still haven’t nailed the celebrities, yet?’

I smiled. I winked. I shrugged my shoulders coquettishly. He smiled, he winked, he stroked his card suggestively down my arm before dropping it into the bowl.

‘Thanks,’ I beamed up at him and swerved another stroke on my way to a very appealing stand called Chox-4-U. They could brand chocolate bars any way you wanted.

Even at this early hour, the whiff of sweet cocoa treats was making my mouth water. I approached with a needy smile. ‘
Hola, buenas dias
,’ a girl in pink and brown overalls said. ‘Hello and good morning. Would you like to try dis chocolate?’ There was a plate of Thorsen Leisure branded chocolate bars before me – and probably a few cases more behind the screen.

‘How lovely,’ I said, hovering my nose over the goodies and picking up one of her leaflets. ‘Before I do, would you like the chance to win a mystery prize?’ I held my bowl towards her.

‘Of course,’ she said, lifting one of her cards from the table and dropping it in. ‘Here,’ she said, adding two chocolate bars. ‘Have a great day.’

Yippee! Two bars of choc. They’d keep me going till coffee break.

I didn’t bother giving her my pitch, as I couldn’t see a Spanish chocolate seller having much interest in Grandee’s theatre, but maybe over a glass of wine I could investigate any areas of compatibility…like donations of chocolate to keep our spirits up.

I garnered about thirty more cards before people started trickling into the hall. I speed-walked back to my table, popped the chocolate into my bag and stood cheerfully catching the eye of anyone who looked my way.

It was truly astonishing to discover how many people, of different nationalities, were familiar with Grandee’s work. Of course, I knew his films had been translated into other languages but it never really occurred to me that he would mean anything to an IT manager from Rotterdam or a journalist from Genoa. It was utterly fascinating and made the day pass very quickly. I didn’t get around to my second bar of chocolate till well after lunch but then, the prospect of presenting the theatre’s story to a packed conference hall turned my stomach in a different direction, so I parked the chocolate bar out of sight.

At four-thirty, I sat at the front of the conference hall, fiddling with the programme on my lap. Odd how I used to find getting up on stage a real thrill, but the stomach churning anxiety that preceded each performance had increased in the last few years. Since Warren, actually. Today was even worse. Today, I was appearing as Chloe Steele and the quality of my performance might just clinch the security of Grandee’s theatre.

Breathe, I told myself. Breathe and count.

On screen was an impressive video showcasing Thorsen Leisure’s newly refurbished hotel in Mauritius. The sun-bleached sand against the aquamarine sea and cobalt blue sky was an absolute knockout. What lucky sales team wouldn’t want to hold its annual bash in Mauritius? I cast my mind back to the occasional sales conferences I’d been involved with in Gloucestershire. Not that there was anything wrong with my home county, but it hardly carried the cachet of a few days in the tropics.

As the video came to a close and the lights went up, my internal organs lurched and my pulse increased. Any moment, I would receive the signal to take the stage. Over to the side I could see Duncan. He was looking relaxed in a grey suit and pink shirt.

The hunk in pink.

The punk in hink.

The punky hunk.

The pale pink punk with a hale hink…

Stop it, Chloe!

My brain went into freefall when I was nervous.

He stepped confidently onto the stage. I swear he was walking super-fast. Time was accelerating. Applause was strong. Fast. Frenetic. Whistles came from the back. I might have whistled myself if my mouth hadn’t been so dry.

After acknowledging the audience, he said, ‘Ladies and gentleman, many of you will remember the marvellous work of an outstanding English actor – Joshua Steele.’ There were rumbles around the audience. ‘I’ve recently had the pleasure of meeting his granddaughter, Chloe. Indeed, many of you may have already met her and perhaps, like me, you got a flavour of what a remarkable woman she is. A woman on a mission.’ Gosh, I sounded like I might be worth listening to. Was he genuinely impressed or just bigging me up? ‘Today, to tell you a little more about that mission, I’d like you to welcome to the stage, Chloe Steele.’