Chloe's Rescue Mission (5 page)

‘Absolutely. I’ll be here,’ I replied. There were some tweezers in my bag, I could give my eyebrows a prune while I waited.

At twenty past nine, headlights swept across the car-park. I stood up and dropped the old magazine I was reading onto the box office counter. The headlights dimmed and the driver’s door opened. I surveyed the foyer, straightened a stack of leaflets, checked my reflection in the mirror and opened the door to greet him. He came jogging up the steps, wearing a large overcoat which flapped open and a Fedora hat dipped low over his eyes. He’d said he was a fan of the theatre, I hadn’t imagined he’d be quite such a ‘lovey’.

‘Welcome to the Joshua Steele…’ My hand tightened on the door as he lifted his head. ‘Oh, Jeez!’ I gasped. ‘What are you doing here?’

Ray Marsden was, actually, Warren Porter. My ex.

Warren the Cling-on, as Beth had taken to calling him, looked older, somehow. Maybe it was the super-short haircut that had replaced the gelled ‘up-do’ I remembered. And his brown eyes looked darker, heavier.

‘Chloe, please…’ Warren gave me an imploring look, and held up his hands to suggest he meant me no harm. ‘If I’d told you I wanted to see you, you’d have bolted like a startled horse. You know you would.’

‘No, I wouldn’t,’ I said without conviction. I’d have made damn sure I’d brought back-up, though. ‘But surely, even you can understand how weird this is? You actually set up this meeting under a false name.’

‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just wanted to make sure you saw me.’

‘Do you even work for King Lloyd?’

‘Yes, yes I do.’ He handed a business card to me. It seemed legit. ‘Look, I’m worried about you – about the theatre. I know how important it is to you and your family. A friend told me about your plea on TV so I watched it on-line. Maybe I can really help you.’

‘How?’

‘King Lloyd is huge in construction. I’ve already spoken to a couple of people. I can get them on-side to help with the rebuilding work. I’d take responsibility for it, of course – you know – chief liaison between the theatre and the company.’

A peal of alarm bells was ringing in my head. No matter how much I wanted to save the theatre, partnering with Warren was a very high price to pay. ‘How sure are you that they’d want to get involved?’

‘Very sure. Part of my remit is looking for King Lloyd community projects. There was something similar last year, with a bridge in Shropshire. Here.’ He produced a piece of folded paper from his pocket. He’d printed a page from the King Lloyd website, detailing their investment and assistance in securing the old bridge and rendering it safe for use.

‘I see,’ I said briskly. So what if he was legit? It didn’t make me feel any more comfortable. ‘Okay, tell me more.’

‘Well, let’s go in and have a chat about it,’ he said eagerly. I was still propping the door open with my body. Reluctantly, I stepped back into the foyer and let him in.

Just over a year ago, he’d camped at my apartment…literally. I’d come home late one evening, let myself into the apartment block, then into my flat; I was preparing to go to bed when there was a knock at the door. It had to be a neighbour, since the main entrance was always locked and nobody had pressed the entry buzzer for my flat. Without a second thought, I tightened the belt on my dressing gown and opened the door.

Standing in the hallway was Warren.

‘How did you get in?’ I asked.

‘Aren’t you even going to say “hello”?’

‘Warren, you didn’t ring the bell. How did you get in?’

‘Someone left the door open.’

Since the door was on a self-closer, and I was probably the last in, I didn’t believe him. I held my hand out. ‘Give me the key.’

‘I don’t have a key.’

‘I don’t believe you.’ He’d given me his keys when we split up, but he could easily have taken copies.

‘Look, I really don’t have a key.’ He sighed. ‘I came in a couple of hours ago. One of your neighbours recognised me and held the door open. I guess he thinks we’re still together. Which we should be.’

‘A couple of hours ago?’

He looked at his watch. ‘Well…half-nine. Aren’t you going to let me in? I could do with a coffee.’

My heartbeat had tripled but not in a nice way. ‘The kebab van’s open till two, get one there.’

‘Come on, Chloe, you never used to be this hostile. Only a few weeks ago, we were lovers.’

I didn’t want to think about that. ‘Where have you been since nine-thirty?’

‘In the utilities room.’

With the rubbish bins. How appropriate.

‘Warren, I’m not letting you in. I have nothing left to say to you. I’m sorry but we’re over. Please go.’ I started to close the door. He moved to stop it. I threw my body at it and slammed it shut, with him on the other side. He let out a cry of frustration or maybe even pain. I didn’t much care. I shot the bolt on the door, and leaned against it.

Bang!

I leaped back as Warren hit the door in frustration. ‘Chloe, please, I just want to talk.’

‘I have nothing left to say, Warren. Go now or I’ll call the police.’

‘Don’t. I love you. You can’t call the police.’

‘I can and I will. You’re scaring me.’

‘Chlo – Sweetheart – I don’t mean to,’ he said in a wheedling voice he always used when he wanted his own way.

I lowered my voice, ‘What kind of weirdo hides out waiting for someone to come home? It’s called stalking, Warren. And it’s illegal.’

‘You never answer my calls or my texts. I’m just desperate to talk to you. I’m sure we can sort this out. We’ve been together too long to give up on us.’

I really had nothing left to say to him. We’d come to the end of the road, as far as I was concerned. How many times did I have to tell him? Sooner or later he had to get the message. Maybe it was kinder to be cruel.

‘Please, Chloe,’ there was a break in his voice. ‘We’ve been through so much. You have my heart in your hand. Please.’

I walked away from the door, into my bedroom and picked up my phone. I walked back to the hall. I sent a text:

LEAVE NOW OR THE NEXT CALL I MAKE IS TO THE POLICE.

Seconds later, I heard the chime of his mobile as the message landed.

‘You don’t mean it,’ he said quietly, through the door.

I MEAN IT.

‘I still love you,’ he croaked. Then he sniffed. After an eternity, I heard his footsteps move away down the corridor. I listened intently as he waited for the lift. I heard the swish and clunk of the lift doors. I rushed to the kitchen window, hauled myself onto the sink unit and peered out through the blinds. Moments later, he was in the street, walking slowly away, head hanging. I watched him all the way down the street, and turn right down Elms Lane and out of sight.

Now, here we were, face to face for the first time since that night.

He sat on a couch in the foyer but I elected to stand. He clasped his hands in front of him and beamed up at me. ‘So, how’ve you been? I heard you went abroad. How was it?’

Was he genuinely interested? No recriminations? No bleating over missed opportunities? I folded my arms and crossed my legs. ‘Great. Really good. So, what do you need from the theatre to persuade your company to help us?’

Warren nodded, like he understood I’d rather avoid discussing anything controversial. ‘Okay; a full break down of all the building work that’s required – I’m sure you’ve got a surveyor’s report?’

I nodded.

‘Details of any other potential investors, sponsors – you know – anyone you’re signing up as a result of your TV appearance…’

‘Why do you need those?’

‘Well, if we’re getting involved, it’s important we know who the other partners are – cut some of our costs, maybe? We could form a consortium…’

‘Hang on,’ I could feel my head thrust forward. ‘It sounds like you see King Lloyd managing this whole project.’

‘Of course. They’re in construction.’

‘I thought they were specialist engineers.’

‘They are. Heating, ventilation, air conditioning, electrical distribution. You name it, they’ve got a digit in it.’

Euw! I’d forgotten that particular phrase of his. ‘Okay, well, maybe if you send me your proposals, I can discuss them with the family…’

He held a hand up to quieten me. ‘First,’ he said, ‘I really need to see the building – you know – where the problems are.’

I looked back at him. ‘But you’re not a surveyor, are you? I mean, the report will give you all the detail you need.’

In any case, I didn’t fancy going deeper into the theatre with him. At least in the foyer, there were enormous glass doors looking out over the car-park. And with the lights on, we were visible to anyone passing by. Not that I believed him capable of murdering me or even committing GBH, but there’s always a first time.

He pulled a small camera from his pocket. ‘Told the bosses I’d take some pictures back. They’ve seen the posh pictures on the website, they want to see the cracks.’

‘Of course,’ I stood up. ‘Just a sec. I need to text Beth. I said I’d drop round after our meeting.’ I looked at my watch. ‘We’ll be through in half an hour, I guess.’

I typed the text into my phone: WARREN AT THEATRE!!! CALL ME IN 30 MIN.

Within seconds of hitting SEND, my phone rang with Beth on the other end. ‘You okay. What’s he want? Tell the little shit I’m sending hit-men round. With dogs.’

‘Hi babe,’ I said, forcing cheeriness. ‘Yep, just got to do a quick tour of the theatre with the chap from King Lloyd, and then I’ll be on my way.’

‘What?! Why are you saying this. Tell him I know he’s there. Tell him I’ll call the police.’

‘No, no trouble, I’ll nip to the shops on the way.’

‘Has he got a knife?’

Warren waved. ‘Tell her it’s me. I don’t mind.’

I hesitated.

‘He has, hasn’t he? Oh, crap.’

‘Actually, Beth, the chap from King Lloyd Holdings, would you believe, is Warren. He’s responsible for community projects. And the theatre falls into that category.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. Amazing isn’t it? Now,’ I continued over her curses at the other end, ‘I’ll see you in a bit, okay?’

I hung up after she told me I needed my head examining.

‘Follow me.’ I said to Warren, and strode past him into the auditorium.

He tried to strike up a friendly chat about the theatre, and the times he’d been to see shows there.

I remembered those visits too. He’d first seen me on stage in Cabaret, and thrown a proper tantrum because I’d been ‘flaunting’ myself in front of an audience. He didn’t want the woman he loved doing that, he’d said. I’d laughed. Surely he was joking? ‘Chloe. You’re the most special thing in my life. Walking out on stage, all tarted up, has tainted that. I’m sorry but I don’t want you doing it again.’

Well, that had triggered the mother of all rows and I’d dumped him. But he’d come back, contrite and desolate. He was a fool. He was sorry. He just loved me so much he found it difficult to share me. He’d adjust. We’d be okay. And because he was, in all other respects, so smart and funny and full of life, I’d bought it.

Till the next time.

‘The most serious problems are in here.’ I flicked the light on in the dressing room. ‘Over there.’

Warren peered up at the jagged crack running the length of one wall. ‘Hmmm. I can see why they’d want to condemn it.’ I clenched my teeth. He took some photos. ‘Next?’ He followed me to the costume store, took more photos and shook his head sympathetically. ‘It’s a tall order, isn’t it?’

‘But achievable, with some financial backing.’

‘Oh sure.’ His head tilted to one side as he looked at me with a familiar, lop-sided smile; the one I’d once confessed was guaranteed to make me melt.

Shit, I thought. He’s cranking up to make a move on me.

The door out of the costume store was behind him. ‘I haven’t shown you the toilets, yet,’ I busked, turning back with my arm outstretched like a tour guide. Not that there was anything wrong with the toilets, other than needing a lick of paint, but the smell of bleach over urine might dampen his ardour. He declined the opportunity to photograph those, and I hurried back to the foyer, ignoring all signals he wanted to loiter in the quiet area backstage.

‘So,’ I said, standing close to the exit doors and beaming at him – my hands clasped tightly in front of me. ‘I’ll send you the reports and you can send me your proposals, and we’ll take it from there, yes?’

He tested that lop-sided smile, again. ‘It’s good to see you, Chlo.’

‘Thanks. Good to see you too. Especially in more positive circumstances, don’t you think?’

He moved forward. I snatched at the door handle. He almost laughed. Digging into a folder, he pulled out a community projects brochure. ‘Most of what you want to know about us is in there.’

I took it and he held out his hand to shake mine. I shook it manfully. ‘Thanks, Warren. Good to see you looking so well.’

As if psychic, Beth rang before he’d even left the car-park. ‘Has he gone yet?’

‘Yes. Got any cake?’

‘You alright?’

‘Fine. Do I need to go to the shop?’

‘No. We have Jaffa Cakes.’

‘Then I’m going in search of doughnuts – the really bad ones. See you soon.’

‘Did The Clingon make a move on you?’ Beth asked, as I walked into her flat.

‘No. Is the kettle on?’

‘Just boiled. Were you in any way disappointed that he didn’t?’

‘Duh!’ I headed through to the kitchen.

‘Seems very out of character. Unless the poor sucker’s had a year in rehab.’

‘Oh, don’t.’

‘How did it feel, seeing him again?’

I considered my answer as I opened the box of doughnuts. The syrupy smell of sugar, chocolate and jam was making my mouth water.