Chloe's Rescue Mission (15 page)

The following morning, I sent the contract off with a letter of thanks. As I popped it into the post-box, I couldn’t help wincing as I thought about my response to Duncan’s attitude. Twelve months in the mañana territory of Central America hadn’t completely ironed out my ability to over-react.

The phone in my pocket rang. Flipping it open I saw it was Thorsen Leisure. ‘Morning, Chloe. It’s Duncan, here.’

‘Hello Duncan,’ I said, feeling my pulse increase. ‘I’m glad you rang, I wanted to apologise…’ I said, just as he was saying, ‘Chloe, I wanted to apologise for…’ And then we both paused, before crashing across each other again so I shut up.

Duncan continued. ‘I’m in absolutely no doubt about your commitment to the project. And I realise my hobby comment was totally out of order.’

‘It was…but I shouldn’t have risen to it so dramatically.’

‘Well…it’s a theatrical project.’

I managed a chuckle.

‘I also wanted to let you know that my company…I… really am behind the project.’

‘Thank you, Duncan. Although, I do have one slight concern.’

‘Go on.’

‘I think it’s fantastic that you’re giving us all this backing and I’m so grateful but…’ I sighed and pulled on a lock of hair as I thought about what to say.

‘You don’t want me to turn it into the Thorsen Leisure Theatre.’ I held the phone away from my face and looked at it in disbelief. At my silence, he continued, ‘Don’t worry. I won’t let that happen. But in the interest of the theatre, you really can’t afford to make any more wrong decisions.’

‘I know. And believe me, I don’t intend to.’

‘Good. So will you be signing the contract?’

I grinned. ‘Yes.’

‘That’s the right decision. Now, there’ll be a TV crew heading down the M4 to interview you, tomorrow. Can you meet them at the theatre at two?’

My jaw dropped. It was on the tip of my tongue to say, How do you know I don’t have other plans? But since he was now paying me, thought better of it. Duncan was definitely a man of action. Control freak, maybe, but he certainly got things moving and right now, that was exactly what the theatre needed. ‘Of course. Thanks for organising it.’

‘My pleasure. See you.’

And then he was gone. Leaving me with a grin on my face.

*

Duncan breathed in the smell of peat smoke as he stepped out of the car. It might be spring down in Regent’s Park, with office workers lazing about on the grass at lunch time, but up here, at his hotel in Perthshire, a real fire was still essential. He looked around him. The light was dramatic; sunshine glistening on the damp grey stone wall of the garden and the trees beyond, which were set against the Prussian blue sky of a retreating storm. The contrast was stunning. Oh yes, he enjoyed a good sunset in Mauritius and the Northern Lights in Sweden were astonishing – but here, at home, this scene was one he had witnessed throughout his life, and it always warmed his heart to see it again.

The old Victorian hotel had been lovingly restored, with carved gable ends and a traditional, canopied terrace. A sympathetically designed annexe to house a conference room and twelve new bedrooms had been added a couple of years ago,.

‘Uncle Duncle!’ Six-year old Harry came hurtling across the lawn, a model aeroplane clutched above his head.

‘Hey! How’s ma’boy?’ Duncan hoisted him up into the air before hugging him tightly.

‘Did you fly here? Did you come in your plane? Will you take me up in it?’ He smelled of liquorice and there was a charcoal grey outline to his bottom lip.

Duncan chuckled. ‘No, I came on a big plane, today.’

‘Why?’

‘Because running a private jet costs your poor old uncle lots of money.’

‘I’ve got lots of money. I’ve got twenty-two pounds in my safe.’

‘Well I’m very pleased to hear it. You’re the man to know.’ He shifted Harry onto his hip and carried him back into the hotel and through to his sister’s apartment.

Emily was curled up on the sofa, hiding a five-month bump behind a magazine. ‘Yay! How’s ma’big brother?’ she said, dropping the magazine and putting her arm up to him.

‘So much better for being here.’ Still holding Harry, he sat beside her and leaned in for a hug.

‘You work too hard. Why don’t you stay the week?’

‘Because I work too hard,’ he joked, and leaned his head against hers. It was two months since he’d made the journey to see her.

‘Yes, stay!’ Harry yelled, bouncing on his uncle’s lap.

‘Two nights is quite enough of you, young man. Now, go get that safe of yours and we’ll count your money, eh?’

Harry jumped off and scuttled out of the room.

‘How’s my wee niece coming along?’ he asked, stroking Emily’s bump.

‘Restless today. Turning cartwheels, I think.’

‘Good. She’s energetic.’

‘Unlike me. She’s sapping all of mine.’

‘Then let me put in a manager; tide you over the next few months.’

‘Aw, Duncan, no. I can cope. I’ve just started getting a bit tired lately, that’s all.’

Duncan sat up and looked at her, ‘Emily love, you don’t have to cope.’

‘I’ll be fine. I’m not due maternity leave for another twelve weeks. And I’ve to prepare for the summer season before I go.’

‘That’s the beauty of a family business, you can take time off whenever you like.’ If it weren’t for the fact she was a damn good manager, he’d recommend she gave up work altogether and stayed home to look after her growing family. Just because their mother had worked all hours, he didn’t see why his sister had to as well. Financially it wasn’t necessary but she was proud and stubborn. He knew her husband, Jim, agreed with him, which was a cause of great tension in their marriage, so he didn’t push it. She’d only accuse him of being a chauvinist, anyway.

Harry rushed back in, brandishing a blue and grey plastic safe, rattling with coins. Emily lifted herself away from the cushions and stood up. ‘We’re having beef in ale – sound good?’

Duncan moaned. ‘Like heaven.’

The following day was Emily’s day off, and in honour of Duncan’s rare visit, Jim was taking the day off too. The weather was glorious so, with Harry at school, they drove over to the loch, where they kept a four-berth cruiser.

Jim, who was thick-set and still played the odd game of rugby, settled into the cockpit with Emily beside him, and Duncan stood behind them both. As the cruiser purred away from the jetty, Jim glanced over his shoulder at Duncan. ‘Been seeing a lot of you in the papers, recently. How do you manage all that?’

‘Charm, charisma, money…the usual.’

‘Ha!’ Jim laughed and shook his head. ‘I meant, how do you not get pissed off with all the attention?’

‘I do. But what’s to be gained from making a fuss?’

Emily cut in, ‘Jim’s just jealous of all the women you’re seen with. That’s what he really means by, how do you do it?’

Jim reached a hand across to her. ‘He answered that...charm, charisma, money.’

‘You know what the papers are like,’ Duncan smiled.

‘I know,’ Emily said, as if she’d heard it all before. ‘Just because you’re seen in the paper with a girl, doesn’t mean you’re dating her.’

‘Exactly.’

‘So was that you snogging Joshua Steele’s granddaughter, or your body double?’

Ah. He’d wondered when she’d bring that up. ‘Chloe, you mean.’ He knew Emily was desperate for him to find someone and settle down.

‘Chloe, exactly. You’re not usually caught in the act, so either Chloe’s pretty special or extremely cunning. Please tell me she’s not another Bridie Nash.’

‘God, no!

‘So..?’

‘Aw, come on! I only met her a couple of weeks ago. And that photo was…well, it was just one of those things. A warm night and too much wine.’

Jim, who wasn’t famous for enjoying deep and meaningful chats about relationships, pulled back on the throttle, turning the boat slightly to starboard as he did so. ‘And a cracking beauty. Go for it, ma’son!’

Duncan smiled, and steadied himself by holding onto the seat backs, just catching the look in his sister’s eye. She wasn’t going to let him off that lightly.

‘You like her enough to bankroll her ailing theatre,’ she said, swivelling her seat round to look at him.

‘You know as well as I do, plenty of charities have benefited from Thorsen Leisure in the last couple of years.’

‘But you’re actually employing her.’

‘I see you’ve been talking to Marlean.’

‘Is Chloe the person you have in mind for taking over when I’m on maternity leave?’

‘No. Not at all. Right out of her field of experience.’

‘Shame, I was hoping to meet her.’

By way of diversion, Duncan pointed at an old clinker-built yacht. ‘You’d think there’d be a law against painting a fine old boat that colour, eh, Jim?’

‘I know. Yoghurt pink. Hideous.’

‘So, could Chloe be someone special?’ Emily persisted.

He was sure Chloe was special, everyone was special. But he wasn’t sure he was ready to introduce that special kind of complication into his life. ‘Emily, don’t worry, you’ll be the first person to know if I ever find someone special.’

‘What’s she like?’

Jim shook his head. ‘Give the guy a break, woman!’

‘I’ll tell you what she’s like; she’s infuriating, like you.’

A little smile twitched on his sister’s lips, before she swivelled her seat back and tilted her nose up to savour the fresh air.

*

I was disappointed to find it was Ross who turned up to do the interview. A fug of smoke clung to him like clouds around Ben Nevis. Despite there being a no smoking rule throughout the theatre, he was constantly lighting up only to stub it out moments later when I reminded him.

The interview got underway with questions about my plans for the theatre. In between takes, as the crew adjusted lighting and aspect, Ross discussed his plans for the documentary. He explained that the structure of the programme would evolve over the next few weeks as they acquired more and more material.

‘The important thing, is to hook the audience on an emotional level as well as an intellectual one.’ And with that, the slime-ball launched into a volley of questions about my relationship with Duncan.

‘The papers blew it all out of proportion, we’re just colleagues, Ross,’ I stressed.

He wouldn’t let the subject drop. He kept referring back to the kiss in the garden. Finally, I snapped, put my hand up to the camera and strode past the crew into the office.

When Ross caught up with me, I turned on him. ‘It’s pretty clear to me that it was you who leaked that picture to the press!’

‘Hey now! You can get into trouble making allegations like that!’ He warned, pulling out another cigarette.

‘Don’t you dare…’ I glared at the cigarette. He shrugged and pushed it back in the packet before I could get him in an arm-lock. I continued, ‘I’m sorry, but suddenly, this doesn’t seem like such a good idea.’

‘Look,’ he said, ‘this is a great story. You’ve got to let me tell it – warts’n’all.’

I looked away from him and straight into the eyes of my grandfather’s photograph on the wall. What would Grandee have done for the theatre? Finally, I said. ‘Is that the brief Duncan gave you?’

He folded his arms and smiled. ‘Yes, of course.’

I picked up a pencil and tapped the desk. ‘Listen, I can’t do any more filming today. When do you want to come back?’

Ross moved forward and sat on the corner of the desk. ‘I’m going to put together a shooting schedule, okay? There’s a few calls I need to make and, of course, I’m still working on Business Angel. But, don’t go too far away, love, we may be back in a day or so.’

I nodded, my stomach tightening with distaste at his over-familiarity. ‘I’d like a little more notice, in future, if that’s possible.’

‘Sure. I’ll email you the schedule – soon as.’

I pulled the door wide open, giving Ross a hint he couldn’t miss. He smiled, stood up and walked past me, turning in the corridor to say, ‘This is going to be great, d’you know that?’

I nodded and followed him – determined to see him and his crew off the premises before I made one very important phone call.

Five minutes later, I was back at my desk, phone in hand and waiting for a response from Thorsen Leisure. The answer-phone cut in. Of course, the offices would be closed now. Damn! I still had no mobile number for Duncan. How had that happened? Simple, he didn’t want me to have it. Wasn’t that typical of a control freak? I remembered a girl at college advising me never to give my number to a guy but always to take his. ‘That way, you’re in control.’ she’d said. ‘Leave him to wait by the phone for your call.’ Now, there was a piece of advice I wished I’d taken.

At eight-thirty on Monday morning, I rang again and was put through to Marlean. ‘I’m sorry, Chloe. He’s on his way to Mauritius. I’ll be speaking to him later, would you like me to take a message?’

Mauritius – thousands of miles away. He might as well have been on the moon.