The Chocolate Lovers' Christmas

  ‘I know.’ She looks very harried. ‘How’s Autumn?’

  ‘OK. Tired. Still a bit emotional. Nadia’s going over there today.’

  ‘I’m off to see Stacey,’ she explains. ‘Ted told me that she’s struggling and asked me to see what I could do. Me?’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘Exactly. Like a crazy fool, I agreed.’ Chantal shakes her head, perplexed. ‘He called her last night while I was at Autumn’s and has arranged for me to see her now.’ She rolls her eyes.

  ‘Nothing like striking while the iron’s hot.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ Chantal grimaces. ‘I was thinking next week, maybe next month. I don’t feel in the slightest bit prepared for it at all. Give me some chocolate. Anything. Do I look a complete state?’

  It’s fair to say that it’s a little while since Chantal has been her usual groomed self. Since around the same time that Lana shot out into the delivery room, to be precise.

  ‘Well . . .’

  ‘Like I give a damn,’ Chantal says. ‘I’m only going to see the mother of my husband’s other child. My former love rival.’

  I box her some chocolates. Nice ones.

  ‘Thanks,’ she says. ‘I’ll be back later to tell you how I got on. Get the other girls in. Wish me luck.’

  ‘OK. Good luck,’ I say as she crashes her way out again. I didn’t even get to see Lana.

  It all goes quiet again for a while. I wipe the tables, fluff my Christmas decorations, and eat one of the gold-wrapped chocolates off the tree. Then I go to lean on the counter again while I wait for some more intrepid customers to make it through the snow.

  I should enjoy this lull while I can, as I know it won’t last. Later I’ve got a Chocolate Ecstasy Tour dropping in. They’re run by my lovely new friend, Jennifer, who I’ve met since becoming manager here. Jen takes small groups round the chocolate emporiums of London to delight and educate them in the ways of the world’s finest foodstuff. She’s so knowledgeable and eats so much chocolate that she could almost be an honorary member of our club. Today she’s bringing ten clients for a special chocolate tasting of some of our finer offerings – another little innovation by me – and that will keep me busy for an hour or so. Until then, I can drift off for a minute or two to recharge my sadly depleted batteries.

  Just as I think I’m about to slip into a coma, there’s a terrible roaring noise outside and I stare out of the window. A sleek red Ferrari screeches to a halt outside the window of Chocolate Heaven. Oh my, very smart. And very reckless to be risking the snowy conditions in such a gleaming, sleek machine. We have a lot of posh customers here. Some very well-known names send minions to collect chocolates for them every week. If this was my business, I might well instigate a delivery service – at a premium price. I stand and stare at the Ferrari in a slightly drooly manner. It could be a member of a boy band or a soap-opera star. My heart lifts a little.

  Then I see who it is and my momentarily lifted heart lurches.

  Oh, flipping, no.

  It’s Marcus Canning. My bastard ex-boyfriend, one-time fiancé and nearly husband.

  What on earth is he doing here?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Marcus blips the lock on the Ferrari and turns to stride towards the door. Without meaning to, I stand more upright, straighten my blouse and smooth my hair. I wish Marcus had chosen to pop in on a day that I wasn’t looking quite so rancid. I’m shallow and I hate myself.

  He opens the door and a few snowflakes dust his fair hair. He’s fit and tanned and is wearing a very sharp grey suit. Despite me wishing that he’d turned into a toad, he is still blond and movie star beautiful. I’d like to tell you that I’m indifferent to his charms, but it has never been that way with Marcus. Somewhere deep in my ridiculous core I’m drawn to this man however badly he treats me. There is still something that pulls inside me whenever I’m near him.

  It’s been months now. Lots of them. That doesn’t make this any easier. The last time I saw Marcus he was walking away from our wedding venue – alone. He went on our honeymoon – alone. And sent me a postcard to say he was missing me. Despite trying to convince myself that frankly I don’t give a damn, I find myself wondering where he’s been and with whom. If fate hadn’t intervened and Marcus hadn’t been a cruel-hearted commitment-phobe, I’d have been Mrs Canning by now. It wouldn’t be that long off our first anniversary. Gah. I don’t even want to think about that.

  ‘Hey,’ Marcus says in a charming manner as he reaches the counter. ‘How are you doing, Lucy?’

  ‘Fine,’ I say and my voice sounds pleasingly normal. It’s a good job that the other members of the Chocolate Lovers’ Club aren’t here to see Marcus rock up or they’d run him out of town. They think that I’m weak-willed when it comes to Marcus and, if I’m being truthful, I’ve never done anything to prove otherwise. But times change. I think the experiences that Marcus and I have been through together have, hopefully, made us just that little bit wiser.

  ‘I had no idea that you were working here.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Well,’ he says, ‘I called your mobile and your landline, but you’ve changed your numbers.’

  Oh, yeah. Clever me. I thought that would absolutely stop Marcus from getting in touch. Maybe I’ve not wised up as much as I think.

  ‘Then I rang Targa and they said you were working here now.’

  ‘I’ve been here since . . .’ Since you jilted me, if you want to know. ‘Well . . . a while. Clive and Tristan went for an extended break to the south of France. I’m the manager in the meantime.’

  ‘Your dream job.’

  ‘Yes. I love it.’ Then I move into business mode. ‘Anyway, I can’t stand here chatting. What can I get for you, Marcus?’

  ‘It would be optimistic of me to ask for another chance with you, wouldn’t it?’

  I laugh. It’s tinkling and light. As if what Marcus has said is the best joke on earth. ‘I think we’re both beyond that point. But I can offer you an excellent cappuccino and a brownie-topped mince pie.’

  ‘Just the coffee will be fine,’ Marcus says.

  He never was as fond of chocolate as I am. Marcus could exist purely on testosterone, whereas Toblerone would be all I’d need. Another reason why we were completely incompatible. That and his inability to stay faithful for more than ten minutes, of course.

  ‘You’re looking good, Lucy.’

  Fat. He means I’m looking fat. I’m not fat, I’m just chocolate enriched.

  ‘Thanks.’ Tomorrow, I am so starting a diet. I push the tray of double choc muffins away from me. See? Easy.

  ‘I’ve heard that you’re still with that other guy?’

  ‘Aiden? Of course.’ I think I should tell Marcus that I spent what was destined to be our wedding night with Mr Aiden Holby. That might well change his opinion of me. He would know for sure that I have Moved On. But, of course, I’m too cowardly. ‘We’re very happy together.’

  ‘Then I’m happy for you too,’ Marcus says and he actually sounds sincere. ‘I’m sorry for running out on you, Lucy. Truly I am. It was the biggest mistake of my life. If I could have my time over again—’

  ‘Well, you can’t.’ I hold up a hand. ‘It’s all water under the bridge now. No hard feelings. You probably did us both a favour. I don’t think we were ever really suited.’

  ‘I’d beg to differ,’ Marcus notes smoothly.

  The coffee machine hisses that it’s ready and I’m glad of the distraction.

  ‘Looks as if you’re doing well.’ I hand over his cappuccino without sprinkling the usual cocoa heart on top. That’s how over Marcus I am. ‘Flash car.’

  Marcus laughs. ‘A little indulgence.’

  I’d like to tell you that he’s only got a big fuck-off car because he has Small Penis Syndrome, except I know from personal experience that in Marcus’s case it isn’t . . . ahem . . . true.

  He gives me a self-satisfied smile and I wonder if he’s able to read my thoughts. He
always could. My cheeks flush.

  ‘I had a huge bonus at work, Lucy. I’ve bought a new place too. I have more money than I know what to do with.’

  ‘Nice,’ I say. ‘Send some my way. I always have less than I can manage on.’

  ‘You know that you’d only have to ask.’

  I would rather live a life without chocolate than ever ask Marcus for money. Ooo. Did I actually just say that? It made me feel a bit wobbly just processing the thought.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Marcus asks.

  ‘Fine. Yeah. Fine.’

  Marcus checks that there are no customers in earshot and lowers his voice. ‘Look, Lucy,’ his face is earnest, ‘I know that we ended on bad terms.’

  You could say that.

  ‘But I still . . . I still love you.’

  At that I burst out laughing and frighten the couple sitting on the nearest sofa.

  Marcus looks wounded. ‘I do.’

  ‘Those were two words that you couldn’t manage to say,’ I remind him. ‘The only person that you love, Marcus Canning, is yourself.’

  His lips tighten. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Lucy Lombard.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Marcus sits and drinks his coffee, staring wistfully out of the window. I, in turn, try not to stare at him. I am so not going over to talk to him. I am playing it cool, cool, cool. So cool that I actually shiver. Brrrr. I pretend to organise things on the counter and catch Marcus sneaking a peek at me. I make myself even more busy.

  He looks great, though. Not as great as Crush, obviously. But great, nevertheless. It’s no wonder legions of impressionable women fall at his feet. I often used to wonder what he was doing with me at all. Unfortunately, it seemed as if Marcus did too. It would bode me well to remember that.

  As an antidote, I text my lovely, loyal Crush. Hello, you sexy beast. Still up for some hot sex later? L : ) xx

  Ping. A text comes right back. Which makes me smile.

  Wrong person again. Your father.

  Pfft.

  Sorry, Dad. Tired.

  Probably too much hot sex, my dad texts back. And not in a good way.

  I sigh to myself. I wish.

  Despite not wanting to, I glance up at Marcus again. I wonder if he’s a little lonely. Why would he be looking me up, if all was as right in his world as he’s making out? It’s all very well having a swanky car, pots of money and some young floozy on your arm, but does that make you happy? I think in Marcus’s case, probably yes. But, somehow, there doesn’t seem to be the same sparkle in those dark cornflower blue eyes of his as when we were together.

  He brings his empty cup back to the counter. ‘That was good.’

  ‘My speciality,’ I quip. Despite the lack of the cocoa heart. I hope he noticed that.

  ‘It’s been good seeing you and chatting like this. But, I did come in with a purpose, you know,’ he says.

  ‘Oh, yeah?’

  ‘I’m doing some research into chocolate as a commodity on the stock market. It’s becoming big business. Very investable.’

  ‘I always knew I was a trendsetter.’

  Marcus laughs. ‘There’s a huge chocolate festival coming up in Bruges. Why don’t you go along? It would give you some great ideas for how to grow the business. There are loads of new product launches too. This might be Chocolate Heaven, but that’s chocolate paradise.’

  ‘I don’t think Clive and Tristan would give me the time off.’

  ‘You’d only need a few days. Bruges is just a couple of hours by train from London.’

  ‘Really?’ Geography has never been my strong point.

  ‘It’s a beautiful city and the Christmas fair will be on, too. Hot chocolate, ice sculptures, fairy lights.’

  Oh, I’d thought about going to a Christmas market with Crush. I can feel myself weakening.

  Marcus clearly senses it. ‘If you want a reason to do it, I could get you a gig. Give a talk about Chocolate Heaven – a new breed of café or something.’ He shrugs as if he doesn’t care one way or the other.

  ‘Sounds great,’ I admit. If I dwell on it too much, I might hyperventilate. I’ve heard so much about Bruges being the epicentre of chocolate that, of course, I’d love to go. Add to that a Christmas market and it’s fair to say that I’m on the point of spontaneously combusting. But I am a different woman now and Marcus would have to get up early to catch me out. He must have an ulterior motive.

  I narrow my eyes. ‘Are you going?’

  ‘No.’ He shakes his head sadly. ‘Why? Would you let me take you?’

  ‘Certainly not!’

  ‘I’d love to go,’ he says, ‘but I’m way too busy. I just thought it was something that you’d enjoy.’

  I’d love it and Marcus knows that.

  ‘You know, it does sound good. Aiden and I have been promising ourselves a romantic weekend away. We could combine it with a bit of work.’ Take that, Marcus, I think. ‘You’ve got me sold.’

  ‘Perfect.’ He pulls out his phone. ‘I’ll set it up for you and send the details through. What’s your new mobile number?’

  I rattle it off, before I realise what Marcus has just so suavely done. Now, with very little effort, he has my new number.

  He grins at me and pockets his phone.

  Bastard.

  ‘I’ll speak to you soon.’ He gives me a cheeky wink and I note that the sparkle is back in his eyes.

  I sigh with resignation as he heads for the door. ‘Bye, Marcus.’

  He jumps into the splendid Ferrari, guns the engine and screeches off down the road. The equivalent, if you ask me, of waving your willy as you leave.

  Chapter Twenty

  Chantal stood on the pavement outside Stacey’s house, the buggy bearing Lana positioned like a barrier. She was clutching a box of chocolates from Chocolate Heaven as if her life depended on it. If she was going to turn and run for it, now was the moment.

  She hadn’t specifically avoided Stacey since their babies had been born, but she hadn’t exactly gone out of her way to involve the woman in their lives either. Ted had decided to stay with Chantal but always at the back of her mind was the feeling that it was a tenuous arrangement. Part of her strategy was that if Stacey was out of sight, then she was out of mind, too.

  Stacey’s home was modest, but on a smart street not very far from Chantal and Ted’s own house. Convenient. Maybe a little too much so. But, at least it meant that it was easy for Ted to pop in and see Elsie when he could. It was a white-painted, Georgian terrace, neatly kept. For the festive season, fairy lights framed the inside of the windows and a holly wreath with a red velvet bow graced the front door. The day was grey with a few flurries of snow, so the lights were shining out hopefully already.

  Chantal sighed. She’d come this far. Ted had asked her to visit and, if she was honest, Ted rarely asked her to do anything. It couldn’t hurt to see how Stacey was doing. Could it?

  Now she was getting cold, so she inched the buggy towards the door and rang the bell. She hoped that Elsie wasn’t having her morning nap. A few moments later and Stacey opened the door. ‘Hi,’ she said, not quite managing to pull off the smile she tried. The result was forced, brittle. ‘Come in. The buggy will fit in the hall.’

  Chantal eased her way inside. She’d become a lot more adept with her buggy-manoeuvring skills, but sometimes it still felt as if she was trying to park a double-decker bus – particularly if there was someone watching her intently. She wished she’d brought the car and just had Lana’s portable car seat to deal with. But walking everywhere was, supposedly, part of her health kick. It barely lasted more than a few days at a time before she gave into exhaustion and the comfort of a warm car with heated seats. She put the chocolates in the top of her bag for safekeeping. If this didn’t go well, she might hang onto them herself.

  Stacey stood with her arms folded across her chest, protective, defensive. What on earth was she doing here? How had she let Ted convince her to come? It was clear that it was a
bad, bad idea. But what could she do? Now she was here she’d have to tough it out. She could hardly turn tail and run when she was barely through the door. This woman was in her life whether she liked it or not.

  Surreptitiously, Chantal looked her rival up and down. She was beautiful, there was no doubt. And younger. Stacey had ten years on her, at least. And she wondered, not for the first time, if Stacey was still in love with her husband and if her husband was in love with her. She could hardly blame Ted if he was.

  ‘It’s terrible weather,’ Stacey said, trying in the typically British way to fill the awkward silence between them.

  ‘I hate to admit it, but I’m growing to like snow,’ Chantal said. ‘It’s making me feel grudgingly festive.’

  ‘Yes, Christmas will soon be here.’ More strained small talk. This was going to be a tricky hour or so. As soon as she could, she’d make her excuses and leave. It was obvious that Stacey didn’t want her in her house any more than Chantal wanted to be here.

  It had been a while since she’d seen Stacey but, unlike herself, she still looked like the glossy woman she remembered. Her long chestnut hair was pulled back into a high ponytail and her face was immaculate in full make-up. OK, so there were dark shadows circling her eyes which matched Chantal’s, but what mother of a new baby didn’t have those? She was wearing a lilac cashmere sweater and grey trousers. Expensive, chic. Her clothes weren’t covered in baby sick and Chantal quickly checked her own. Plus it looked as if Stacey’s figure had snapped back into shape after the birth. Chantal wished she’d put on her squash-it-all-in underwear and something that wasn’t a shapeless jumpsuit. What on earth was Ted worried about? She looked fine. More than that. This woman was clearly the Martha Stewart of new motherhood.

  ‘Let me take your coat,’ Stacey said, coolly polite.

  Chantal slipped off her damp, snow-flecked coat and handed it to Stacey. Then she unstrapped Lana and hoisted her from the buggy.

  ‘She’s growing fast.’

  ‘Yes. Bigger every day.’

  ‘Hello, Lana,’ Stacey said.

  Obligingly, Lana grasped the finger that was proffered and pulled it towards her mouth.