Chloe's Rescue Mission (27 page)

Surely she was imagining things? It was a sister’s wishful thinking for a brother with a cloudy reputation.

No. Naughty Chloe. You’ve already decided he’s a good man.

‘Emily, we’re not actually…an item. We’re just colleagues.’

‘So you both keep saying. Maybe this accident is just the shock you need to bring you to your senses.’

What if she was wrong?

There was a knock at the door. I vaulted off the sofa to answer it.

There was coffee for me and a strange, green concoction for Emily.

‘That’s spinach, avocado and apple smoothie,’ she explained as I handed it to her.

‘Do you drink it or put it on your face?’ I asked, grateful to change the subject.

‘Oh, I can assure you, it’s delicious.’

I poured my coffee. The sooner it was poured, the sooner it would cool then I could drink it and leave. She’d just thrown a spanner in my emotional works, and I needed time and space to figure it out.

‘You’re staying on for a few days, aren’t you?’ she asked, stirring her smoothie with a sundae spoon.

What if she was right? It was tempting.

‘Possibly.’

‘I know Duncan would like it if you hung around. I might be his ever-loving sister but it’ll be you he’d rather be gazing at over the hospital food.’

She seriously thought there was something between us. I sipped my coffee.

‘Please. I’d feel a lot happier about going home if you were here. Once I know he’s out of the woods. We’re planning on flying back up to Edinburgh, tonight.’

How could I refuse, after everything he’d done for us?

‘Unless, of course, you have other commitments.’

‘No. It’s okay. I do have a few things to sort out but nothing I need to be in Barnworth for. At least, not over the weekend.’

She squeezed my hand. ‘That’s great. He’ll be so glad if you do.’

I somehow doubted that.

‘I need to get over to the Royal Theatre. There’s still some money in the safe I have to pick up.’ Actually, Owen had already said he’d do it.

‘Any idea how much you made, last night?’

‘No. No, I don’t.’ Funny how these financial issues had completely slipped my mind since Duncan’s accident. Even in the interviews, I’d struggled to fly the flag for the theatre. Alicia-May had been the real trouper, championing the project like a true pro.

‘Well, I think last night was a great success, judging by the audience reaction. We absolutely loved it – even Jim, and he’s normally a pretty hard nut to crack when it comes to theatricals.’

‘Right,’ I said, putting my half-drunk coffee down. ‘Sorry but I must go.’ I stood up.

‘Wait a mo,’ she said. ‘Give me your mobile number, then I can let you know the latest from the hospital.’

‘Good idea,’ I said, before reciting my number.

‘See you later,’ she called after me.

Oh boy. Oh heck. Oh my life. What was going on? I mean, really?

Mum had disappeared in search of Liberty’s, and Beth was draped on my bed with a cold flannel over her forehead.

‘Where’s Tom?’ I asked.

‘With Mum.’

I sat on the bed next to her. She flinched and reached for a bottle of water. As she poured it into her mouth, her eyes opened a fraction and looked at me. ‘I saw the news. How’s Duncan?’

‘He has a broken leg and some fractured ribs. But he’s going to be okay.’

She peered at me again. ‘You look disgustingly bright and breezy.’

‘I don’t have a hangover.’

‘Smug mare.’

‘And I spent half an hour in a make-up chair.’ I lay down beside her.

‘Stop fidgeting,’ she said. You’re making me sea-sick.’

I sighed, got off the bed and wandered over to pick up my tablet from the table. ‘I wonder what kind of coverage the show had.’ Beth murmured something as I carried on scouring the internet. ‘Oh, looks like we had quite a few tweets.’ I browsed through them. ‘How does A-May find time to tweet?’ I asked, staring at the selfie of us from last night. Over two hundred of her followers had already retweeted it. ‘Ooh, hello, lots of speculation on A-May and Duncan having a thing. Well, we know that’s a load of crap, don’t we?’

‘Chloe.’

‘What?’

‘Have you been on the Red Bull?’

‘No.’

She propped herself up on one elbow. ‘What’s going on?’

I took a deep breath. ‘Well…’ and then it all came out – my conversation with Emily.

By now, she was sitting up, clutching the flannel. ‘At last,’ she said through a heavy sigh.

‘What do you mean, at last?’

‘Well, I’m no expert but he’s not exactly been keeping you at arms’ length has he? I mean, first he whisks you off to Barcelona. Within twenty-four hours he’s locking lips with you, which makes it into the tabloids before breakfast; then he’s giving you hours of personal attention over the project – I mean, come on, Chloe, he’s an international businessman. I can’t believe he’d give so much of his precious time to this unless there was more to it than charity.’

‘He’s an international businessman because he’s organised. Plus, he has staff to do the leg work.’

‘Whatever.’ She rolled her eyes and lay back on the pillow. ‘I’m just glad his sister thinks he’s genuine. I was worried he was just going to hit on you like he does all the other women.’

‘I don’t think he’s like that.’

‘Hmm. So no prizes for guessing you’re rather pleased with this little development?’

‘I don’t know how I feel. Wary, mostly. If it’s true.’

‘Don’t be. If you’re wary you’ll be on the back foot. You need to bring your A game to this.’

‘I don’t know if I should. I don’t know if it’s right.’

‘What? You and Duncan Thorsen? What’s wrong with that? He’s hot and he’s loaded and he’s on our side!’

‘It’s not that simple though. And right now, I really need to keep my life simple.’

‘Up to you.’ She stretched the damp flannel back across her forehead.

After a moment, I said, ‘Please don’t repeat any of this, Beth. Not to anyone. It’s not like I’ve heard it from the horse’s mouth, yet.’

‘No, we don’t want Mum rushing off to Regent’s Street looking for hats, do we?’

Emily had rung to let me know she’d seen Duncan after his operation. ‘He was groggy but the surgeon assured me it all went well. They’re keeping him under observation for a few days. I reckon if you go some time after five o’clock, he should be a bit brighter then.’

I stood in the hospital lift counting my breath, in and out. There was a lot of humidity in London so my hair was in a state of high tension. Much like myself. I’d clipped the side strands back over my ears to establish some control.

My heart was banging in my chest as I stepped out into the corridor. ‘Here we go,’ I muttered to myself.

I headed towards the nurses’ station.

‘Duncan Thorsen – how is he?’ I asked, searching the nurse’s face for clues.

‘Are you family?’

‘I’m a colleague. Chloe Steele. He’s been helping with the…’

‘Ah, yes. His sister said you’d be popping in. I’m not sure if he’s awake at the moment.’

Something relaxed within me. ‘Can I go in and see him?’

She nodded. ‘Second door on the right.’

Duncan’s room was very warm. His strong but broken body lay beneath a sheet. His left leg was encased in plaster, and there was strapping around his chest. A drip fed into his arm on the far side of the bed and wires linked him to a monitor. His handsome face was unmarked but one wrist was bandaged and I could see grazing across his knuckles.

‘Hi,’ I whispered, walking towards the bed. There was no glimmer of recognition but it didn’t matter. I was glad just to be able to see him breathing and know, in time, he would be okay. I placed my hand on his exposed arm.

Would I dare do that if he were awake?

And what was I going to do when he did wake up – talk about the theatre? If it weren’t for me and our precious theatre, he wouldn’t be here.

‘I’m so sorry, Duncan. I wouldn’t have wished this on you for anything.’ I withdrew my hand and sat in the chair by the bed.

Being so close to him while he slept made my head spin with possibilities.

Even in repose, his face had a kindness most casual observers wouldn’t see. You had to really know something of the man to glimpse that.

I watched the rise and fall of his chest, heard the soft whisper of his breath and studied the shadowy stubble on his jaw.

How long should I stay? What if he was going to be asleep for the rest of the night?

I put on a bright smile because a smile shows in the voice. Mum once told me that.

‘It was a great show yesterday. All the reviews are good,’ I said.

After giving a glowing critique of each item on the programme, plus a précis of the interviews we’d done, and a brief spotlight on my ignominious nap at Dingo, I shut up. I’d been talking for half an hour and there wasn’t much evidence of him coming out of hibernation.

Perhaps he was staying asleep out of choice.

Chatting to comatose people was all the rage in TV soaps. Except I wasn’t in a TV soap. This was real.

All the same, chatting made me feel better. If he woke up and told me to put a sock in it, fair dos – I’d keep quiet.

‘Hey, we collected nearly four thousand pounds in those buckets. Four. Thousand. Pounds. Don’t you think that’s astonishing? Hurrah for Mum and her DIY buckets, eh?’

His chest continued to rise and fall. Strong chest, I thought. Strong but battered.

The arm nearest to me twitched.

I moved closer. ‘Duncan, are you waking up?’ I whispered.

Nothing.

He was so vulnerable now, just like the time I’d caught him dozing in his car. I could feel my resolve weakening.

‘Duncan, Thank you so much for all the wonderful things you’ve done. I don’t know how or when I’ll repay you but I will. And I promise, I’ll never believe any gossip the newspapers write about you, ever again, because I know you’re a good man.’

Decisively, I stood up and leaned over him. There was still the faintest note of aftershave playing beneath the clinical notes of disinfectant and gauze.

I felt the heat of his cheek against my lips.

It wouldn’t hurt, would it? It was only a little kiss of gratitude.

I leaned my forehead against his.

There was a whooshing sound as the door opened behind me.

I shot upright as a nurse came in.

‘He’s okay, isn’t he?’ I asked.

‘Oh, yes. He’s had a lot of anaesthetic and some major metalwork in his leg, but he’s doing very well, aren’t you, Duncan?’

He made no response. She studied the monitors and fiddled with the drip.

‘Do you think he’s likely to wake up, this evening?’

‘Maybe for a moment or two but he’ll be in and out of sleep for hours. Probably best you come back in tomorrow. He should be more alert then.’

I took that as my exit cue.

*

Duncan’s head felt like it was in a vice and his brain was woolly.

What was that noise?

‘Duncan, would you like a cup of tea, love? The trolley’s just outside.’

He nodded. Tea. China cups. He opened his eyes for a moment. Pale green walls.

Images drifted in and out of his mind – memories or dreams?

Chloe, he was certain, had been with him but then, so had Lorna, hadn’t she?

‘Here’s your cup of tea, Duncan.’

Tea? He didn’t drink tea.

*

I ate dinner alone in the hotel suite. Everyone else had headed north or west. My eyelids were already drooping and it was only eight, so I had a tuna salad from room service and changed into my nightie. Then I rang Beth – once I knew they were all home safely, I could pass out.

‘Hi, Princess. How’s the big man? Did you have a cosy little chat?’ she asked.

‘He’s fine and no, we didn’t. He was asleep.’

‘Bummer! What an anti-climax.’

‘Not really.’

‘I can’t believe how cool you’re being about all this. If Duncan had the hots for me, I’d be straight down to the salon for a wax, a tan and a set of acrylics.’

‘You go and see him, then.’

She huffed. ‘He’s not my type. He’s too…normal. But he’s perfect for you.’

‘How do you work that out? Do you know for a fact he won’t try and change me, control me and define my future?’

‘Nobody knows that. But he likes you for who you are, now, which is amazing cos you haven’t exactly been Miss Congeniality, have you?’

‘Beth, I don’t even know if he does like me in that way. So let’s not go counting any chickens.’

‘Whatever.’

‘Good. Right. I’m knackered, so I’m going, now.’

‘Night, Princess. Love you.’

‘Love you, too.’

Next day, after calling the hospital to check it was okay to visit, I headed off to St Thomas’s, feeling every bit as wound up today as I had yesterday. I needed to know what I was dealing with. All this speculation that Emily had triggered was taking its toll.

Duncan was propped up in bed, his hair tousled and the shadow of a beard breaking through. He smiled as soon as he saw me. ‘Chloe. It’s great of you to come visit.’ His voice was quiet and husky.

As if he knew my legs might buckle beneath me, he gestured to the chair. ‘Come and sit down.’

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Sore but a lot better now you’re here.’

Maybe Emily wasn’t mistaken.

‘Sorry I missed your party,’ he added.

‘It was hardly your fault.’

‘No, but I wanted to be there.’

‘You did? I thought you were going back to the hotel.’

‘I had a change of heart.’ He smiled then, a truly devastating smile, which was more than a man in his condition should be capable of.

When I smiled back, his smile softened and warmed and drew me in. I actually felt like I was calming down – like his smile was having a narcotic effect on me. Which, in turn, triggered a very depressing thought: he could be on morphine. Morphine was known to create a feeling of euphoria in some patients.

I clenched my hands together on my lap, I didn’t want to risk them drifting up to touch him in a wholly inappropriate way.

‘Chloe,’ he said, his smile now superseded by a vague frown.

Oh-oh.

‘Chloe, I have something I want to say to you.’ He studied my face.

A number of possible revelations scrolled through my brain. ‘Okay. You can tell me anything,’ I said in a matter-of-fact way.

‘I realize, on a personal level, we got off to a bad start. That whole episode in Spain was unfortunate. I didn’t handle it well and I don’t blame you for being pissed off.’

I shrugged. ‘Just one of those things. We cleared it all up at the time.’

‘Not really. Not properly. You see…’ He raised his hand, the knuckles had crusted over with dried blood. ‘Chloe, I’m quite prepared that you might not even want to hear this but I’m going to say it anyway.’

I braced myself.

‘I wondered if you and I might try a closer working relationship.’

‘O…kay.’

‘That came out wrong. I mean, I think, whatever happened in Spain, happened because we were – are – attracted to each other. So I wondered, could you and I try a more personal relationship? Try… dating, maybe?’

Emily was right. But surely, this was just his knee-jerk reaction to the accident. The imminent sense of mortality can really mess with a person’s head.

He went on, ‘Obviously there won’t be many high points while I’m in here but what do you say to giving us a try, eh?’

‘Proper dating – like not just for the press?’