Free Chloe's Rescue Mission by Rosie Dean Page B

evening, I’m Chloe Steele from the Joshua Steele Theatre project,’ I began.
    ‘I know who you are,’ he said in the sexiest French accent. He held out his hand to shake mine. ‘Philippe Beaumont from BVA, we’re a travel company.’
    ‘Excellent. Pleased to meet you,’ I said, not sure how a French travel company might mesh with a provincial English theatre. But he was friendly so perhaps I could cut my teeth on him. ‘So, you know why I’m here?’
    ‘Duncan mentioned your project to me. It’s an honourable venture but not, I think, one with which we can help.’ He delivered the news without a shred of regret.
    ‘Understandable. So, do you use these fabulous Thorsen Leisure hotels for all your events?’ I asked, neatly segueing to my assumed subsidiary role as a Thorsen Leisure champion. It was the least I could do for Duncan.
    ‘We do, occasionally.’
    ‘I’ve done a lot of events and this really ticks all the boxes,’ I gushed.
    ‘It’s a very good hotel, yes. And here’s the man behind its success,’ he said, looking beyond me to Duncan.
    ‘Philippe. Welcome to Hotel la Heradura.’ They shook hands, and Philippe clasped Duncan’s shoulder, suggesting they were good friends. Duncan nodded in my direction. ‘I see you’ve met Chloe Steele.’
    ‘Indeed!’
    ‘Have you told Philippe about your project?’ Duncan asked, like he was checking my homework.
    ‘Briefly, yes, but we were just talking about this hotel – it’s in such a great location, and the facilities are superb.’
    He smiled back at me, ‘Thank you. I like to think we learn something from every new hotel we work on.’ He turned to Philippe. ‘I trust you brought your golf clubs with you?’
    ‘Of course. Do you play, Chloe?’
    ‘Afraid not. When it comes to sport, I’m a water baby. Otherwise, I’m more of a song and dance kinda gal.’
    ‘Really,’ he nodded. ‘Then perhaps you will allow me the pleasure of dancing with you, tomorrow evening?’ I’d seen that kind of smile before. The smile of a player. I wondered if he was Duncan’s wing man on the international dating circuit.
    ‘Happy to,’ I said.
    Duncan glanced around the room, clearly not interested in our small-talk. He was even tapping his foot in agitation so I said, ‘Duncan, will there be a live band, tomorrow evening?’
    He looked back at me. ‘A live band and a flamenco show. I’m advised they’re very good.’
    ‘I love flamenco – it’s just so energetic and full of passion,’ I said then regretted it, as Philippe’s eyes nearly popped with anticipation.
    Duncan merely nodded and looked around, calling to a girl with a sleek platinum-blonde bob. She’d tucked the short side behind one ear and left the long side to drape over one eye. ‘Gemma, come here and meet Chloe.’
    Gemma was even shorter than I was, and wearing the kind of asymmetric dress that required confidence. It made me feel I’d dressed for a Sunday school outing.
    ‘Chloe, this is Gemma Cox from Cox & Lambert PR.’ We shook hands. Duncan continued, ‘I’ve sat you at our table, Gemma, because Chloe has a project I think you’re going to find very interesting.’
    ‘I heard about it. You were on TV, selling yourself for the theatre. Great hook!’
    ‘Thanks.’
    Her hand, chilled from her drinking glass, squeezed my arm. ‘Let’s sit down, these bloody shoes are killing me.’
    Duncan pointed out our table and Gemma headed for it at remarkable speed, before jettisoning her shoes and groaning in relief. ‘Why do we do it?’ she asked, rubbing her left foot. ‘Right, tell me more.’
    It didn’t take long for her to grasp the story. ‘That’s so cool, and there’s so much mileage we could get out of it.’
    ‘We?’
    ‘Sure. We so want to get involved.’
    ‘I’m afraid the theatre couldn’t afford to pay you, though.’
    ‘Don’t worry. We’ll do okay out of it. Kudos goes a long way, babe.’
    By the time the table had filled up, Gemma was