Chloe's Rescue Mission (2 page)

Some joker suggested a rocket pack. Finally, a woman behind me said a taxi would be the most direct route as Regent’s Park was only served by the Bakerloo line.

‘Nah, you don’t,’ said a male voice with a cockney accent. ‘Roads’ll be chocker, right now.’ He went on to describe the optimum journey in detail. Whilst they argued the toss, I made an executive decision to take the true-blue cockney’s advice, and began wriggling through the crowds to find the right platform.

With only a couple of minutes to spare, I was sprinting down York Terrace, handbag over my shoulder and clutching my trousers at the knee to hoist them off the floor. I could feel my stomach churning over the morning’s pastries. Finally, I discovered Thorsen Leisure’s offices in a very grand Georgian pile overlooking the park.

My heart was hammering, my back was damp with perspiration and my mind racing. If this meeting was right for the theatre then I really hoped I could pull it off. As I pushed the heavy front door closed, I was immediately aware of the contrast between the pandemonium of my world and the tranquillity of the office. Triple-glazing shut out the traffic noise and a sumptuous, burgundy carpet cushioned my feet. The air conditioning began to cool my glowing face. I approached the reception desk and was greeted by a petite, exotic looking girl who spoke with a broad Australian accent.

‘Take a seat, please. I’ll call Marlean for you.’

In the mirror behind reception I could see random corkscrews of hair sprouting from my head. I rammed my fingers through my thatch in the hope of calming them down. The lipstick needed reviving too. I perched on the edge of an aubergine coloured armchair and ran a seam of lippy over my mouth. On a nearby stand were some Thorsen Leisure brochures. Excellent.

I grabbed one and watched it trembling in my hands as I flipped through the glossy pages. Thorsen Leisure was a hotel company. Wow! Everything about their hotels suggested luxury, relaxation and money. Why, I wondered, would they be interested in our little theatre project?

‘Good morning, Chloe. I’m Marlean.’

I looked up to see a woman in her mid-forties, with fair hair styled into a sleek bob. She wore a caramel-coloured shift dress over a perfect size eight figure.

I stood up and held out my hand. ‘Hello, Marlean.’

She smiled as she shook it. ‘Please, follow me.’

We walked along a short corridor, hung with stark, minimalist paintings in earth tones, to a large panelled door. Marlean tapped and pushed it open. Sunlight flooded through the doorway. ‘Chloe Steele, for you.’

I was ushered through the door and face to face with Mr Thorsen.

So that’s who Duncan was.

My potential benefactor had discarded his jacket and was seated behind a large wooden desk. He looked like the kind of guy who kept himself in shape. As I walked forward, he stood and came round to shake my hand. He smiled – all crinkly eyes and friendliness, with just that touch of mischief I’d noticed back at the studios.

‘Chloe. I thought you did a good job, this morning.’ His voice was warm and rich, like Drambuie.

I managed to close my mouth before the heat of the sun dried it out, and shook his warm hand. ‘Hello again,’ I croaked. ‘I had no idea I was coming to see you.’

‘No?’ he looked surprised. ‘I guess you don’t know much about Thorsen Leisure, then?’

Shit! Companies hated that. If you wanted a job, you needed to mug up on their history, competitors, market share... ‘I had a look at your brochure, downstairs. I’m afraid I haven’t had much time to research you. I wasn’t expecting to go into a meeting like this, so soon.’

‘At least you’re honest. Please, sit down,’ he gestured to a couple of armchairs by a coffee table. ‘Would you like a cup of coffee, tea, orange juice?’

‘Orange juice, please,’ I replied, sitting carefully and hoping he couldn’t see my legs were trembling.

He looked over to Marlean, waiting in the doorway. ‘I’ll have one too, please.’ He leaned back on his desk, arms folded, and looked down at me. ‘So, I read your CV on the website. How did you like Costa Rica?’

‘Loved it.’

‘And what brought about the career change – from events management to working with kids in Central America?’

I swallowed. ‘Oh, it was the travelling thing.’ I flapped my hands. ‘You know, everyone else did it after uni. I just did it a bit later.’ I smiled and nodded. That was my story and I was sticking to it.

‘I once went fishing off Punta Arenas, do you know it?’

‘Yes. Beautiful beaches. And pelicans…I’d only ever seen them on nature programmes. It was amazing watching them swoop into the surf and come up with beaks full of fish.’

‘We spent the night on an island. Stayed in an old shack,’ he said, smiling and clearly enjoying the memory. ‘Didn’t get a wink of sleep, though.’

I shifted in my seat. ‘Too hot?’ I ventured.

‘Too noisy. We were serenaded, throughout the night, by a cacophony of bird calls, wild pigs and monkeys. And I’d gone there with visions of a tranquil paradise where I might catch a good night’s sleep.’

The door clicked open and Marlean reappeared with two squat glasses of orange juice. As she left, Duncan came to sit on the chair next to mine and placed his glass on the table. He sat back and his gaze intensified. ‘Now, Chloe, tell me why you think your grandfather’s theatre is worth saving – apart from the family heritage, of course.’

‘Oh. Right, well…’ obviously, I hadn’t come here to swap travel stories. ‘There are so many people in Barnworth who have nowhere to go if they want to do something worthwhile. And we’ve already lost the town’s cinema to a multiplex out at the shopping park.’ I moved forward on my seat. ‘What the theatre really needs – aside from some serious building work – is an injection of enthusiasm and new projects, then we can get more of the community involved. The local youth drama group could easily fold as could the AmDramSoc. Plus, the work I did in Costa Rica made me see that there are people who need more than entertainment, some of them need help or training in personal skills. But we can’t do it in an unsafe building.’

‘So, you see it as a social project, then? Shouldn’t you be going after government funding?’

I shook my head. ‘Have you any idea how long that takes? We’ve put in an application but we just don’t have time to wait. Plus they won’t help with capital expenditure. If we can save the theatre, they might help with some of the projects.’

His face had a rather grim expression as he listened. But there was activity behind those blue eyes of his. He was holding his chin with his hand – strong hand with neat, square nails.

I ploughed on. ‘If we don’t come up with the funding, we’ll be forced to sell off the theatre to pay our debts – and the only people interested in it are housing developers.’

‘Well, there’s a lot to be said for good new housing – it’s very high on the government’s agenda. Some of those youngsters you’re talking about might benefit from living in clean, modern homes.’

Why was he being so obstructive? ‘Mr Thorsen…’

‘Duncan.’

I sighed. ‘I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t see something in my proposal. So tell me, what do you see in the project?’ I tilted my head and smiled. Gotcha!

One of his eyebrows twitched slightly. He moved his hand and held it out to make his point. ‘Okay. You’re talking about amateur dramatics. That’s not enough. You have to extend it to all the community – seek out professional clients.’

‘Oh, I would.’ Damn. That had been my intention, I just hadn’t got around to mentioning it yet.

‘As I see it, theatres only come alive at night – to get a good return you need to try and sell the space during the day, too. You need to bring in something about its history and your grandfather – make it a feature for tourists; open the bar as a cafeteria. You’ve worked in events, can you sell the space to corporates for conferences?’

‘I don’t see why not. Although we might need to make a few structural alterations.’

‘Something to think about.’ He saluted my idea with his glass and took a mouthful of juice. I noticed a signet ring on his wedding finger.

‘Absolutely. Now, can I ask, why you’re interested? I don’t see the connection between an international hotel chain and our theatre, yet, but there must be one.’

‘We’re not really a chain – more a collection of unique, luxurious hotels in beautiful locations.’

‘Of course, you’re not really up there with Best Western, are you?’

I swear he winced.

‘I don’t mean…erm…not that you’re not “up there” as in stature or quality, I mean you’re not in the same league.’ This was getting worse. ‘You’re in a whole different category. An exclusive category.’ Yes! That was the word I’d been looking for.

After seconds of study, he said, ‘Much of our business comes from corporate entertainment, sales conferences and professional training. It seems you have a background in this field. You might be able to help guide us in setting up some of our professional programmes.’

‘Great! Perfect fit,’ I said, finally feeling more on an even footing and less on my knees. ‘You’ve read my CV. I’ve got three years’ experience in project management for an events company. I’m very good at organising things.’

‘You mentioned TV coverage.’

‘Yes. My friend, Owen, has offered to film the project’s progress but…’

‘Let me guess, he’s a one-man band.’

‘Kind of. He makes websites, too. But his passion is video.’

He nodded. ‘I might be able to help you, there.’

‘Really?’

‘We’ll see. Now, what exactly were you doing in Central America?’

‘It was a community project, taking a creative approach to helping families deal with domestic violence. There’s a lot of it in Latin America, and they don’t have the social funding to deal with it like we do over here. I went out to help a friend who was running it. I’m hoping I can run similar courses at the theatre – although that won’t be for profit,’ I added quietly.

Duncan seemed to assimilate this information for a moment before saying, ‘It’s a satisfying feeling, isn’t it, helping people?’

‘It is.’ I sensed a fragment of stilled silence, like we were tuning in to some cosmic vibration of mutual understanding. Just as I was mentally marking this down as a positive, and patting myself on the back, he stood up and walked around the desk to study his computer. I sat up straight – was he going to give me a contract? Money?

My eyes strayed to a photograph in a rosewood frame. It was of a beautiful young woman, her auburn hair lifted slightly by the wind. I speculated on the likelihood of her also having had insomnia on the Costa Rican island.

As I looked back at him, his eyes were lined up on mine again. I could feel a blush creep up my cheeks as I’d been caught studying the photo. He spoke briskly. ‘Look, I really need to see this theatre of yours before I take it any further. Can you do Sunday, twelve o’clock?’

I clenched my teeth to prevent me from gaping. I swallowed. ‘Yes. Absolutely.’

He keyed something into his computer and clicked the mouse. When he looked up again, he smiled. ‘So, how did you find the ordeal of being on TV this morning? Not so bad, hey?’

I beamed. ‘No. You were right. The presenters were lovely.’

He nodded and looked at me for a moment. ‘Well, thanks for coming to see me at such short notice, and we’ll meet again on Sunday.’

I stood up. ‘You’re welcome. I mean, no, thank you for seeing me.’

He held his hand out across the desk. I smiled, and saw the creases fold up at the corners of his eyes. As his fingers closed around mine, I almost curtseyed with gratitude. ‘Sunday, twelve o’clock, at the theatre?’

He nodded, just once, in agreement.

We were done. I headed for the door.

*

Duncan watched Chloe leave. Those really were bizarre trousers. Before closing the door, she looked back at him and smiled. When she was gone, she seemed to have left the resonance of her personality in the room. He glanced across at her unfinished glass of juice, where there was a faint crescent of lipstick on its rim. She’d certainly brightened his day.

He looked at the calendar on his PC. But for God’s sake, what on earth was he doing arranging to go down to Gloucestershire on Sunday to see her crumbling old theatre? His parents might have been big fans of Joshua Steele, and Chloe’s flashing green eyes and soft feminine chuckle were certainly disarming but, he muttered to himself, ‘Duncan m’friend, this is not enough to break up your weekend for. Oh no.’

This was a job for Hugo, his estates guy. Maybe he could get out of it. Yes. He’d send Hugo – he trusted his judgement.

He buzzed through to Marlean. ‘Where’s Hugo Hart today?’

‘He’s on annual leave till Monday.’

Duncan’s mouth flattened. ‘What about Rusty Gayle?’

‘On her way to Lisbon.’

‘Of course. Thanks Marlean.’

‘Do you want me to put out a call for her?’

‘No, don’t worry.’ He was just about to close the connection, when he asked, ‘Can you check out restaurants in Barnworth, and book me a table for two on Sunday, at one-thirty, please?’ It would give him an opportunity to have a weekend retreat at his apartment in Bath.