Chloe's Rescue Mission by Rosie Dean Page B

over the goodies and picking up one of her leaflets. ‘Before I do, would you like the chance to win a mystery prize?’ I held my bowl towards her.
    ‘Of course,’ she said, lifting one of her cards from the table and dropping it in. ‘Here,’ she said, adding two chocolate bars. ‘Have a great day.’
    Yippee! Two bars of choc. They’d keep me going till coffee break.
    I didn’t bother giving her my pitch, as I couldn’t see a Spanish chocolate seller having much interest in Grandee’s theatre, but maybe over a glass of wine I could investigate any areas of compatibility…like donations of chocolate to keep our spirits up.
    I garnered about thirty more cards before people started trickling into the hall. I speed-walked back to my table, popped the chocolate into my bag and stood cheerfully catching the eye of anyone who looked my way.
    It was truly astonishing to discover how many people, of different nationalities, were familiar with Grandee’s work. Of course, I knew his films had been translated into other languages but it never really occurred to me that he would mean anything to an IT manager from Rotterdam or a journalist from Genoa. It was utterly fascinating and made the day pass very quickly. I didn’t get around to my second bar of chocolate till well after lunch but then, the prospect of presenting the theatre’s story to a packed conference hall turned my stomach in a different direction, so I parked the chocolate bar out of sight.
    At four-thirty, I sat at the front of the conference hall, fiddling with the programme on my lap. Odd how I used to find getting up on stage a real thrill, but the stomach churning anxiety that preceded each performance had increased in the last few years. Since Warren, actually. Today was even worse. Today, I was appearing as Chloe Steele and the quality of my performance might just clinch the security of Grandee’s theatre.
    Breathe, I told myself. Breathe and count.
    On screen was an impressive video showcasing Thorsen Leisure’s newly refurbished hotel in Mauritius. The sun-bleached sand against the aquamarine sea and cobalt blue sky was an absolute knockout. What lucky sales team wouldn’t want to hold its annual bash in Mauritius? I cast my mind back to the occasional sales conferences I’d been involved with in Gloucestershire. Not that there was anything wrong with my home county, but it hardly carried the cachet of a few days in the tropics.
    As the video came to a close and the lights went up, my internal organs lurched and my pulse increased. Any moment, I would receive the signal to take the stage. Over to the side I could see Duncan. He was looking relaxed in a grey suit and pink shirt.
    The hunk in pink.
    The punk in hink.
    The punky hunk.
    The pale pink punk with a hale hink…
    Stop it, Chloe!
    My brain went into freefall when I was nervous.
    He stepped confidently onto the stage. I swear he was walking super-fast. Time was accelerating. Applause was strong. Fast. Frenetic. Whistles came from the back. I might have whistled myself if my mouth hadn’t been so dry.
    After acknowledging the audience, he said, ‘Ladies and gentleman, many of you will remember the marvellous work of an outstanding English actor – Joshua Steele.’ There were rumbles around the audience. ‘I’ve recently had the pleasure of meeting his granddaughter, Chloe. Indeed, many of you may have already met her and perhaps, like me, you got a flavour of what a remarkable woman she is. A woman on a mission.’ Gosh, I sounded like I might be worth listening to. Was he genuinely impressed or just bigging me up? ‘Today, to tell you a little more about that mission, I’d like you to welcome to the stage, Chloe Steele.’
    There was applause and a couple of hoots. Pictures of Grandee and the theatre began scrolling slowly on the screen.
    I swallowed.
    I stood on legs like rubber. I managed to walk forward without bouncing like a puppet and carefully mounted the steps. As I