Free Chloe's Rescue Mission by Rosie Dean

soak up a little of the atmosphere so I sat at a table in the evening sun.
    When the waiter appeared, I asked for a tinto de verano – an ice cool glass of red wine and lemonade would slip down nicely.
    Across from me, bougainvillea in clashing colours of magenta, cerise and apricot were scrambling over the terrace walls. It reminded me of the tropical climes of Costa Rica.
    I loved to travel. My first trip abroad was at the age of six. Dad took us camping in Gascony. Not wildly exotic but different all the same. I was fascinated by the fields of giant sunflowers, their faces turned up to the heat of the sun. I used do the same because it brought out my freckles. Being six years old, I liked freckles – as opposed to Mum who slapped sun-block on me with irritating regularity. I hated the stickiness of sun-block, and it tasted bitter.
    Camping was a huge adventure to me. Dad made it even more so, involving us in everything from erecting the tent to barbecuing sausages. On our return journey, we had a stop-over in the Loire valley and visited Chateau de Chambord – the biggest, most spectacular castle in France. I thought I’d been transported to a magical realm, with its symmetry, its towers and the beautiful reflections in the water. I drove my family nuts, swanning about like a princess. In my imagination, the castle was my home. I would return to it in my schoolgirl dreams, again and again. For my birthday, Mum and Dad gave me the most gorgeous princess costume, complete with tiara and cape. I wore it every chance I could. I battled daily to wear at least part of it to school but Mum wouldn’t budge. ‘It’s for special occasions. If you wear it to school, it won’t be special any more.’ But on October 7th, she acquiesced and I wore the whole outfit to my Dad’s ‘special celebration’. I felt so important that day, and everyone told me how pretty I looked.
    It took months for it to sink in that Dad wouldn’t be coming home. Ever.
    Leaning back, I ran my fingers over the pressure points Duncan had massaged earlier. That was some trick. And not just the anti-sickness therapy. Swear to God, there’d been a fleeting moment when something else was brewing. When our eyes connected, my temperature had flared and shivers rippled up my spine. And I reckon there’d been a glimmer of acknowledgment in his eyes as he’d spotted my reaction. Then, bam! It was like a shutter slamming down. Like he knew he’d rung my bell and that’s all he needed to do.
    No wonder he had such a reputation.
    And I couldn’t deny his magic was working on me. Mind you, that wasn’t surprising. According to a recent article in Glamour, I was in my prime; hormones were coursing through my body like Atlantic salmon belting home to spawn.
    However, I seriously doubted Duncan had any interest in me on that level – after all, I was no catch. But just in case he had, I absolutely knew the challenge before me was to resist.
    I suspected Beth would have a different view but she’d always been the impulsive one. I had to keep my eye on the theatrical ball. Playboys were dangerous.
    Although…I had to admit, Duncan didn’t seem like that…which probably made him even more dangerous. ‘I will resist,’ I muttered to myself. God knows, I’d made enough bad choices over men in the past, now would be a really dumb time to fall for another unsuitable candidate. I aimed to get the theatre back on track and, after that my own life.
    My drink turned up in a tall, slim glass with condensation already forming. Three lumps of ice threatened to dilute the wine in the evening heat. I was thirsty so I knocked half of it back in one.
    My feet ached and I only had forty minutes to dress for dinner, when I would have to switch into Schmooze Mode. I closed my eyes and listened to the chirrup of birds over the chatter of delegates on the terrace. It was so good to feel the warmth of sun on my face. Oh to be in holiday mode…
    ‘Are you all sorted for