Chloe's Rescue Mission (28 page)

‘Totally not for the press. Just you and me, curling up and watching a movie; going for walks; trying out new recipes together and just being in each other’s lives – for something other than the theatre. Would you even be prepared to give me a chance – given my track record?’

On one level, I knew I would. All those visceral feelings of lust were starting to brew again. My hormones were on the move. Yet, on another level, I was terrified of getting this wrong, and I didn’t plan on going into any relationship, ever again, until I was sure.

At my silence he said, ‘You’re not afraid of being another scalp on my belt, are you?’

‘Who do you think you are, Braveheart?’

We smiled and we gazed at each other for a moment. A moment when I realised all the things I’d imagined in my fantasies might actually happen with this man.

‘Would you consider it, Chloe? I’m really not the philanderer the press says I am. I want you to know that.’

I did know.

I looked down at him. He looked up at me.

What should I say now?

What was he thinking?

Please speak first.

Oh hell.

‘Chloe…beautiful, funny, passionate Chloe.’

I let out a nervous laugh. ‘That’s quite an endorsement.’

‘It’s true. Everything about you has had an effect on me, on my world.’

‘Really?’ I wasn’t used to this unfiltered adoration. ‘I didn’t mean to put you in hospital.’

‘Shh!’ he squeezed my hand. ‘I’m being serious. Very serious.’

There was a moment of calm, as he held my gaze.

‘Chloe, I’ve only been in love once before – a long time ago and it ended very badly. Since then, I’ve put up all kinds of barriers to falling in love again but over the last few weeks…you’ve been slowly and steadily breaching those barriers. And now, I think I may be falling in love with you.’

He thought he was falling in love with me.

Warren had been in love with me too. He claimed he was in love with me still. That hadn’t ended well.

‘You don’t have to make any commitment to me, Chloe,’ he went on, ‘just let me prove to you that I’m not some fickle Casanova. Give me a chance and maybe, in time, you might feel you could love me back.’

Oh boy.

‘What happened before?’ I asked. ‘When it ended badly.’

He appeared to be collecting his thoughts. I guess it’s never easy to sum up a failed relationship. Especially to someone you’re hoping might give you a second chance. ‘Her name was Lorna. We were childhood sweethearts and we were going to get married. She was killed in a car accident. She was twenty-one.’

I gasped. How desperately sad. To lose someone he loved was a blow – but, so young, was a colossal blow.

No wonder he’d held himself back from commitment.

I could feel my eyes begin to sting as his hand tightened around mine.

This was huge.

I was holding the hand of a man who had lost his first love. Not because he was a jerk or because she was mean but because death had taken her from him.

He’d never loved anyone since and now he thought he loved me.

‘Duncan, that’s so tragic.’

He shrugged. ‘It was. It’s past. My life carried on and here I am, finally thinking I could fall in love again. With you.’

A realisation hit me. ‘The Hot Car Show…’

He shook his head. ‘Not my finest hour.’

Which meant he’d been feeling this way about me for weeks.

I hadn’t had the vaguest idea. Either I was blind or he was really adept at hiding his true feelings.

‘Chloe, can you see beyond the headlines and the gossip columns and give this guy a chance?’

My heart was pumping hard.

‘I thought you didn’t like mixing business with pleasure?’

‘I’m kinda looking forward to it,’ he said with a wicked twinkle. ‘Truth is, I’m slowly realising your grandfather’s theatre is becoming a passion for me, too. Your passion’s infectious. I like that. But you know, I haven’t had a proper girlfriend in a very long time. I may not meet your exacting standards.’

It felt odd, to be defined as his ‘girlfriend’.

‘This is all a bit of a shock. I need to think about it,’ I said, not entirely sure where my thoughts might go.

There was a tap on the door and I pulled my hand back into my lap.

‘Come in,’ he called.

It was Marlean, holding a large bouquet of Sunflowers and Gerberas. I had to credit the florist; if there could be such a thing as a macho bunch of flowers, this was it.

‘Marlean, it’s lovely to see you but it’s Saturday. You should be with the boys,’ he said.

‘Don’t worry, I am. They’re in the corridor with Dan. I just wanted to check you were okay and then we’re going to The London Transport Museum.’

‘Let me go and find a vase,’ I said, making for the door.

‘No need, they come in their own vessel, look,’ she said, holding up the bouquet.

‘Ingenious,’ I said.

‘So, how are you feeling?’ she asked, turning back to Duncan.

Maybe I could go and get coffees; possibly amuse her sons with my juggling-three-bedpans trick; entertain the nurses with a reprise of
New Girl in Town
. All I knew was…I needed to get out of there. The heat of the room, the smell of disinfectant and the rattle of my backbone were affecting my equilibrium.

As Duncan ran through a litany of his injuries and repairs, I waved my hand. ‘Just need to pop to the loo,’ I said feebly, before making a heel turn, hauling open the door and exiting stage right.

I passed a very quick time of day with Marlean’s family and embraced the praise they heaped upon me before making my excuses.

Once in the single visitor loo, I locked the door, leaned against the wash basin and studied my reflection, I was breathing very heavily.

‘The love of his life died!’ I told myself in a stage whisper. ‘And it was years ago. Died and left him heartbroken. For ALL those years.’

I pulled a water bottle from my bag and guzzled half the contents.

‘And now he’s banking on me being the one to heal it.’

I shook my head.

I turned and put the toilet lid down and sat on it.

I shook my head some more.

Calming breaths, I needed calming breaths.

Moments later, I rang Beth.

‘Hey, Princess.’

‘Beth!’ I stage whispered. ‘Beth, can you hear me?’

‘Yes. What’s going on? That creep Warren hasn’t kidnapped you, has he?’

‘What? No. Sorry. Nothing like that but I need you to pay attention.’

‘Of course. You have my absolute attention.’

I rattled off the history, the drama, the dilemma, and she made all the appropriate responses, summing up with, ‘And I’m guessing you don’t want to take on that responsibility, am I right?’

‘Beth, this is huge! It’s enough that I’m trying to sort my own life out, without having to sort his out too.’

‘Maybe he already feels his life is sorted.’

‘But Beth, his expectations will be unachievable.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘Look, being compared with previous girlfriends is one thing but…’ I had a flashback to our conversation by Grandee’s statue; how grim he’d seemed and all that talk about tombstones. ‘No. I can’t do this, Beth. I simply can’t.’

‘Then tell him.’

‘When? I’ve promised his sister I’ll be in London for him, at least over the weekend.’

‘You have to tell him today. You can’t go building his hopes up.’

‘But what about the project? How can we carry on, with this “thing” between us?’

‘Chloe, work colleagues date and don’t date all the time. You won’t be the first and you won’t be the last. He’s a grown up. He’ll deal with it.’

Yes. He probably would. He’d either close up again or maybe worse. Maybe he’d leave himself wide open to the first willing girl who crossed his path.

I felt the twang of a heartstring in my chest.

‘Why does this have to happen now, Beth? Why now?’

‘Shit happens, Princess. We both know that.’ I heard a cry in the background. ‘I have to go, Tom’s kicking off. Good luck, babe. Call me when it’s over.’

Over.

That was such a final word.

They say it’s hard to kick a man when he’s down. It’s even harder when he’s pulled himself up off the floor, spent years in recovery, dusted himself off and just stepped back into the game. The smile on Duncan’s face, when I returned to his room, was so full of warmth and hope, something inside me actually cramped.

‘You were gone ages. Are you okay?’ he said, opening his hand to me.

‘Yes. No. No, not really.’

‘What’s up?’

‘I think…’ Deep breath. ‘Duncan…you and me…’

His hand fell back onto the bed.

‘It’s not going to happen is it?’

I shrugged. ‘I’m not ready. I’m probably not even cut out for a relationship.’

‘I don’t believe that.’

I shrugged. ‘I just can’t. I’m so sorry.’

I felt sure a healthy Duncan would have given me a solid debate on the issue but there was no fight in him. Maybe that proved it was just a reaction to the accident, after all. He closed his eyes but his face looked tense.

‘Okay, I’ll leave you to get some rest,’ I said.

As I turned to leave, he called out, ‘Wait!’ and in doing so, tried to raise himself off the bed and gasped with pain. He grimaced, perspiration beading on his forehead.

Despite my resolution to remain detached, I rushed over to urge him back onto the pillows, instinctively stroking my hand over his shoulder. God, it felt good. Smooth skin over strong muscle. ‘Easy...’ I soothed.

His own hand came up to cover mine and gripped it.

This was all wrong. I was causing an injured man unnecessary discomfort, but what choice did I have? I couldn’t pretend I was ready for a relationship when I was much more scared of screwing it up.

‘You need to get better…I need to go.’

He nodded.

As I reached the door, tears were streaming down my face, and all I had to wipe them with, was the sleeve of my jacket.

Mum picked me up from the station. It was a wonder she didn’t have to pick me up off the floor. I’d snivelled and hiccupped all the way from Paddington. As soon as she came to greet me, I threw myself onto her and clung on tight.

‘Sweetheart. Whatever’s the matter?’

‘I can’t talk about it now.’

Finally, back at Juniper Cottage, I crawled into bed. I was all cried out. Within seconds of my head hitting the pillow, I was asleep.

I woke the next morning with a punishing headache. Mum had left a fresh bottle of water on the bedside cabinet, along with a sandwich wrapped in cling-film.

I sat up and took a drink.

Sunlight was lancing through the gap in the curtains. It promised to be a beautiful day.

For some.

A picture of Duncan swam into my head. He would be lying in his hospital bed, probably in pain and, most likely, disappointed. Maybe even angry and humiliated.

And why wouldn’t he be?

Fluffy was stretched out at the foot of my bed, enjoying a shaft of sunlight warming her belly. ‘Next time, I’m coming back as a cat,’ I said, before dragging myself out of bed. In the mirror I saw a pale, blotchy face. ‘Life sucks,’ I added.

Down in the kitchen, I found Mum wrapping up a huge pile of home-made burgers.

It was Sunday. It was summer. There must be a barbecue in the offing.

She gave me a gentle, concerned smile. The kind of smile that says, ‘I won’t press you for any explanations but I want you to know how much I love you, and when you’re ready to talk, I’ll be here.’

I gave her my putting-a-brave-face-on-it smile and peered down at the food.

Judging by the quantity, it would be a small gathering – maybe twelve. I went over to the fridge for some juice. A tray of lamb and apricot skewers hinted at another six, although the size of the pavlova and chocolate gateaux suggested we could be nudging twenty-five.

‘What’s the celebration?’

She looked guilty. She had no need to. It wasn’t her fault I’d shafted Duncan’s world and, by consequence, my own.

‘I wanted to thank some of the locals who went all the way to London for the show.’

‘But there were coach-loads.’

‘No, I mean the choir, the brass band. Even Morgan Ash is coming,’ she said brightly, probably hoping it would lift my spirits.

Deep joy. I poured myself some juice and sat at the table.

‘What time does it all kick off?’

‘I’ve said any time from four onwards.’

I glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘It’s only ten past nine, Mum. How much more is there to do? Do you need any help?’

‘No, this is it – apart from the salads and I’ll do those just before they come.’

‘Wow! You’re so organised.’

There was the sound of a car on the drive.

‘That’ll be Beth,’ she said.

‘Why so early?’

Mum ignored the question and put the burgers in the fridge. I went to open the front door. Beth would have her usual cargo of kiddie paraphernalia so she was bound to need a hand.

She was casually dressed in multi-coloured silk harem pants and a lime green vest. She smiled when she saw me. ‘Hi, Princess.’

I looked past her to the empty car. ‘Where’s Tom?’

She came over, folded her arms around me and hugged hard. ‘I dropped him off at Owen’s. They’re going to Slimbridge. They’ll be round later.’

As we stepped into the hall, Mum was lurking at the kitchen door, an encouraging smile on her face.

I felt a strange kind of prickling all over my skin, like bad news was on its way.

Beth still had one arm wrapped around me. ‘Chloe, Princess, we want to have a little chat with you.’

I knew better than to put up any defence, faced with the family matriarch and her co-conspirator.

She led me into the dining room, where Mum had set the table for breakfast – orange juice, doughnuts and fresh pineapple. All my favourites. On the sideboard, I noticed my precious coffee machine was plugged in, waiting for someone to flick the switch. Just the sight of that triggered activity in my tear-ducts.

I slumped onto one of the chairs.

There was a lot of fussing around the table then, as food was ushered in my direction. Next, I registered the familiar judder of the coffee-maker doing its thing, and the immediate aroma of the Columbian brew drifted over.

Finally and inevitably, the Steele Court was in session, with Mum and Beth sitting either side of me. As the reviving, velvety roasted spice of good coffee slithered over my tongue, I was ready.

Mum, as I knew she would, laid before me the facts: I was exhausted – and understandably so; I had been through a lot in the last two years; she should have given more thought to letting me shoulder so much responsibility; (Beth chimed up she should have, too); I needed a break; (I started to argue – she shut me up); I needed a holiday from it all, to get my life back in perspective.

‘There,’ she said, ‘That pretty much sums up how we both feel. We love you dearly, you know that, and we want to help you.’

‘I can’t take a break. The theatre proj…’

‘Will be fine without you for a week or so.’

‘But…’

‘There’s nothing in the diary that can’t be rearranged.’

There was a creeping silence as we all mulled over the verdict.

My coffee cup was empty. I got up to make another.

In the background, Beth was quietly crooning over her doughnut and Mum muttered something about the coffee being ‘actually rather nice’.

‘There’s more to this, isn’t there?’ I said as I sat down again.

‘What, sweetheart?’

‘You both think I’m wrong about Duncan, don’t you?’

There was the flicker of a look between them.

‘I knew it! Why can’t you just accept that I don’t want to get involved with him?’

‘But it’s not just him, is it?’ Beth said. ‘You’ve given up on men, altogether. And you shouldn’t let prats like Warren and co. screw your faith in men.’

Mum waded in. ‘Not all men are awful, Chloe. Your father was a wonderful man, he loved having a family. And you adored Grandee.’

‘Even Grandee was divorced twice, Mum,’ I said, silently considering that if Dad hadn’t died so young, there was no evidence he’d have stayed the course with Mum, either. ‘And what about Zak, Beth was carrying his baby and he still legged it to Dubai.’

There were sighs either side of me.

‘I’m really sorry, Beth. That was a callous thing to say.’

She shrugged. ‘True, though, but it doesn’t mean there aren’t good guys out there.’

‘Maybe it’s just me.’

‘Don’t be silly. You have a huge capacity for love. You’re just terrified of letting your guard down.’

I shrugged. ‘Beth, right now, I’m not even ready to even think about it.’

Mum put her hand on mine. ‘No, and you don’t have to. And from today you, my darling, are on compulsory leave for two weeks.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Anything you like. Visit friends. Lie in the garden – the forecast is excellent – read a book.’

She made it sound easy.

‘But first, you can help me get ready for this afternoon. The cutlery needs wrapping in napkins, you can do that.’