Chloe's Rescue Mission by Rosie Dean Page A

something with your name and contact details on.’
    ‘Okay,’ she said, and hurried off.
    Bless her. Whatever prize I came up with, you can be sure the winner would be someone with influence and cash. Moments later, she rushed back in with a hotel card and her name written on the back – Maria Alves. ‘I am very lucky,’ she said.
    ‘Maria, where can I find a big glass bowl or something like that?’
    ‘I will see,’ she said, spun round and headed off out again.
    She was so sweet, I could feel a runner-up prize might have to be found.
    After draping the white cloth over the table, fanning out the leaflets and planting Grandee’s picture at the back, Maria reappeared with a wooden fruit bowl. ‘Is this okay?’
    ‘Perfect. You’re a star.’
    She beamed back at me. ‘And I am lucky!’
    ‘Jolly good.’
    ‘Anything else?’
    ‘Where can I put these?’ I said, pointing to the pillow and sarong.
    ‘I will put them in the luggage store.’
    As she beetled off, her head bobbing with youthful delight, I surveyed my stall. I needed a photo taking. Would it be wrong to ask one of the photographers to use my mobile to take a shot or two? I could upload one to Facebook.
    Nothing ventured…
    ‘Excuse me,’ I approached a guy dressed, head to toe, in black. He gave my phone a dirty look but I guess something in my wheedling smile and gentle arm-stroke did the trick because he wandered over to my stall and sized it up.
    ‘What’s this?’ he asked with undisguised contempt
    I explained. He nodded. ‘Okay, do you want to be in it?’ he asked.
    If I hadn’t wanted to be in it, I could have taken the photo myself. Moron. ‘Yes please,’ I simpered.
    ‘Okay,’ let’s try you over there. I stood behind the table. He took a shot. He moved me beside the table, he shot again. In front of the table; holding the balloons; holding Grandee’s photo; on the table flashing my tits…actually no, that didn’t happen…but, attitude apart, you couldn’t knock his attention to detail. I thanked him and flicked through the results for one to upload.
    It was almost nine o’clock. The doors would be opening to delegates in a minute. My stall did look apologetically home-spun but that would be its charm. That and me.
    Who was I kidding?
    A man and woman, head to foot in purple spandex, strode through the door. They both flashed practised smiles at me and continued to their acrobatic display stand. I was disappointed not to see at least one somersault en route but maybe they were saving it for later.
    My raffle bowl was looking a bit sad, with only Maria’s card in it, so I dropped Luke’s in and set off around the room, touting for others. My mystery prize was taking a celebrity shape. It would definitely involve Mum. Her star might not be in the ascendant but plenty of people knew her name and her work was still out there, thanks to nostalgia channels. It could possibly involve Morgan Ash, at least he was in the UK – most of the time – and if I played my cards right, I might get another favour out of Duncan, in the shape of a dinner at one of his hotels.
    A guy working for an equipment hire company listened to my pitch and said, ‘So you still haven’t nailed the celebrities, yet?’
    I smiled. I winked. I shrugged my shoulders coquettishly. He smiled, he winked, he stroked his card suggestively down my arm before dropping it into the bowl.
    ‘Thanks,’ I beamed up at him and swerved another stroke on my way to a very appealing stand called Chox-4-U. They could brand chocolate bars any way you wanted.
    Even at this early hour, the whiff of sweet cocoa treats was making my mouth water. I approached with a needy smile. ‘ Hola, buenas dias ,’ a girl in pink and brown overalls said. ‘Hello and good morning. Would you like to try dis chocolate?’ There was a plate of Thorsen Leisure branded chocolate bars before me – and probably a few cases more behind the screen.
    ‘How lovely,’ I said, hovering my nose