The Chocolate Lovers' Club

  Marcus squeezes my hand and asks, “Do you love it?”

  “Yes,” I say, “but—”

  Michelle whisks us out of the chapel and back to the main house. “I’ll show you the banquet hall,” she says. “It’s set for a dinner that we’re holding tonight. That holds two hundred.”

  “Fantastic,” Marcus says.

  Two hundred? We’d have to rent guests to make up that number.

  Michelle throws open the doors to the banquet room and I nearly gasp again. Arched stone windows with leaded lights make up one wall, creating a light and airy atmosphere. Dozens of tables are swathed in crisp white linen; they sparkle with highly polished crystal glasses and silver cutlery. The room is laden with arrangements of pastel pink roses and highly scented lilies— they’re on the tables, on the sills of the windows, standing on tall iron pedestals. It looks absolutely perfect.

  “I thought we could have something just like this,” Marcus says.

  “Yes,” I say, “but—”

  “Let’s go and have lunch.” Marcus pulls me excitedly to the door. “We can discuss it some more.”

  We say our good-byes to Michelle and head to the bar. “What do you want to drink?” Marcus asks as we wait to be served.

  “Wine,” I say flatly. “I need wine. Lots of wine.”

  Marcus smiles indulgently at me. Then the barman comes over. “Hello again,” he says to me.

  So much for my superb sunglasses disguise. I take them off and stuff them in my bag. “Hi.” I give him an uneasy smile and stare out of the window so that he doesn’t try to engage me in further conversation.

  “A large glass of dry white wine and an orange juice,” Marcus says, and while the barman busies himself, my fiancé turns to me. “Have you been here before?”

  “Never,” I say, hoping that I’m not too scarlet. “He must be mistaking me for someone else.” How can I tell Marcus that last time I was here, my friends and I were conducting a robbery? Albeit a robbery of something that technically belonged to one of us in the first place. I’m not sure how the law—or my fiancé—would view that. Maybe Marcus and I could have a laugh about it, but maybe he wouldn’t find it funny at all. “Perhaps I’ve got a twin.”

  “God forbid,” Marcus says.

  The barman sets down our drinks and, thankfully, moves away. Marcus clinks his orange juice against my white wine and we sip in unison. Well, Marcus sips, I glug. “It’s a great place, isn’t it?”

  “It’s fabulous.” Truly, it is. This would be a wonderful place for a wedding. In different circumstances. “But we can’t possibly get married here.”

  My fiancé looks puzzled. “Why not?”

  “Er … Er …” This would be a good time to come clean. But I don’t. Instead, I say, “It’s far too expensive. My parents wouldn’t stump up for this— I wouldn’t even ask them to—and I certainly don’t have any spare cash that could pay for this.” All of which is true.

  Marcus takes my hand in his. He twiddles my engagement ring around with his fingers. The circle of diamonds catches the light. “I don’t want you to worry about a thing,” he says with a tender smile. “I have enough money. I’ll sort everything out.”

  “Marcus …” “You do like it here?” “Yes,” I say, “but—”

  “I’m so glad,” my fiancé tells me with a satisfied smile. “Because I’ve already booked it.”

  Chapter Seventy-one

  TED HAD FINALLY ANSWERED ONE of Chantal’s telephone calls and, even more surprisingly, he’d agreed to meet with her. He had insisted that she be the one to select the venue for their rendezvous, so she’d chosen to go to Chocolate Heaven because it was the place where she felt most comfortable. If she was going to have to face Ted in difficult circumstances, then she might as well do it fortified by some of her favorite foodstuff

  Chantal sat in one of the window seats and Clive brought her over a piece of chocolate torte and a cappuccino while she waited anxiously for her husband.

  Clive patted her hand in a motherly fashion. “Chin up. You’re looking great, darling,” he said theatrically. “He won’t be able to resist you.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Chantal replied, and at that moment, the door swung open and Ted walked in. He smiled tightly when he saw Chantal and walked over to her table. She stood up, but before she had an opportunity to embrace him, Ted slid awkwardly into the seat opposite her. His handsome face looked tired and drawn. Maybe he’d lost some weight.

  “What can I get you, Ted?” Clive asked, and her husband looked taken aback at being addressed by his first name. “Sorry,” Clive said. “I should have called you Mr. Hamilton. But I feel I’ve known you for years. Chantal talks about you so much.”

  Ted looked even more taken aback by that revelation. “No problem,” he said. Chantal hoped that Clive’s overt style of schmoozing was working. “I’ll take the same.” He flicked a finger toward Chantal’s coffee and torte.

  “Sure thing.” Clive winked at her behind Ted’s back and mouthed “Hunk!” before he turned away.

  She smiled in spite of her tension and sat down again. “It’s good to see you, Ted.”

  Her husband visibly relaxed and he shrugged out of his jacket, draping it over the back of his chair. At least he planned on staying around for a while. “It feels strange meeting like this,” he admitted.

  “It does,” she agreed, and stared down at her coffee so that she didn’t have to bear the intensity of his gaze. “But I’m glad that you came.”

  “Me too.” He sat back as he took in their surroundings. “So this is where you spend all those hours with your girlfriends?”

  Chantal nodded and sipped at her cappuccino.

  “It’s a nice place,” he said, just as Clive arrived with his order.

  “Why, thank you, Ted!” Clive was sounding more camp by the minute and, if she wasn’t mistaken, he was flirting with her husband.

  When he’d gone, she laughed and said, “I think Clive’s a little bit in love with you.”

  “Is he the only one?” Ted asked, suddenly serious.

  “No,” she replied. “I still love you very much.”

  Her husband stared out of the window. Now he was the one struggling with eye contact.

  “I’ve missed you,” Chantal said. She’d decided that she wanted her marriage back and had come here today in a conciliatory mood, not caring about keeping score, about who had done what to whom and who’d done it first. If they had a chance of getting back together, then they needed to put all that behind them.

  Ted turned toward her again. “I’ve been dating other women,” he said. “Since you’ve been gone.”

  “Oh.” It hadn’t occurred to her that while she’d been out of his life, Ted might have moved on in his own way. “Anyone serious?”

  “No.” He shook his head. Then he sighed deeply and Chantal felt her in-sides flip. “I don’t want to be single again,” he continued. “It’s terrible out there. I’m too old to be on the dating scene. Women are … well, they’ve changed. They’re so … difficult.” He risked a laugh. “I guess I didn’t realize quite how lucky I was.”

  This is good, Chantal thought. Very good.

  “It doesn’t mean that I still want to be married to you though,” he admitted, and her heart, which had enjoyed a momentary uplift, sank slowly again. “I realize that you’re not the only one to blame for our breakup. I know that I have to take my share of the responsibility too. We drifted apart and some of that is my fault, I know. It’s just your solution to the problem that I’m having trouble dealing with.”

  Thank God he hadn’t found out that she’d actually been paying Jacob for sex. That was something she didn’t think he’d ever forgive. It was a secret that she was going to have to take to the grave with her. If Ted ever discovered what she’d been doing, then she’d be heading there sooner than she hoped.

  Ted distracted himself by attacking his chocolate torte with his fork. “This is good,” he said.


  “The best.” As our marriage once was, she wanted to add.

  “I’ve slept with one of the women I’ve been seeing,” he went on. “I thought it might help.”

  “Did it?”

  “No. It just made me realize that it’s you I want to be with.”

  This has to be good, Chantal thought.

  “I’m just not ready for us to be together again,” he said. “I need some time on my own to get my head together.”

  “We can do this on your terms, Ted,” she said, knowing that she sounded desperate. “We’ll work this out whichever way you want.”

  “This hurts like hell, doesn’t it?” His voice was gruff with emotion.

  “It sure does.” She wanted to touch him, to show him that she cared, but she didn’t dare to reach out. What if he brushed her away as he had done so often in recent times?

  “Where are you living?”

  “I’ve rented a flat in Islington,” she told him. “It’s not home, but it’s fine for now. I’m sharing with my friend, Nadia. She’s the one I lent our money to.”

  Ted said nothing in response to her admission.

  “They were up to their necks in debt. I helped her out. Now she’s left her husband and she’s moved in with me. She has a young son, Lewis. He’s four.”

  “And he’s living with you too?”

  “Yep.”

  Ted’s eyebrows raised. “You’re voluntarily sharing your home with a small child?”

  “He’s a great kid,” she said with a warm smile. “He’s teaching me a lot. I’ve seen every animated movie Disney has ever made. I know all the songs from The Little Mermaid, The Lion King and Mary Poppins. I can do finger painting. I can recite more nursery rhymes than I ever knew existed. I can also, with a great deal of effort, now touch my nose with my big toe.”

  That made Ted grin. “Impressive.”

  “I never thought that having kids could be so much fun,” she said, even though she knew she was moving onto an emotive subject. “I guess whenever we saw our friends’ kids they just used to drop into our lives and disrupt them. With Lewis being around all the time I’ve kind of grown accustomed to him. It’s not so hard once you work into their routines.”

  “So now you’re an earth mother?”

  “I’m just saying that I don’t find the idea of kids quite so abhorrent as I did.” Chantal didn’t tell Ted that she spent an hour most weekends going round the apartment with a pot of paint, eradicating the crayon marks and the mini-size chocolate handprints that miraculously appeared throughout the place. Some things were still hard not to be anal about. “Why didn’t you ever talk to me about how you felt?”

  “Do guys talk about these things?”

  “Maybe they don’t,” Chantal said. “But they should.”

  “I think we need to take this slow,” Ted said. “There’s a big gap between us and I don’t know if we can breach it.”

  “We should try.”

  Ted polished off the last morsel of his cake and drained the dregs of his cappuccino. “Let’s go out for dinner,” he said. “Later in the week.”

  “I’d like that.”

  He gave her hand a brief squeeze. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Chantal felt like crying. Perhaps if she started dating her husband again, he’d rediscover what he’d once loved about her.

  Chapter Seventy-two

  MARCUS HAS BOOKED THE WEDDING for Valentine’s Day: February 14 is D day. The D, in my mind, stands for “Dread.” It’s a date that shouldn’t be filling me with terror, but it is. Normally, my only worry is whether I’m actually going to get a card from Marcus or not.

  I’m currently gazing out the window, trying to get my brain to focus on which flowers I should choose for my wedding bouquet, when Crush hops into the office. The sales team stands and gives him a round of applause, which he acknowledges with a cheery wave. I sink further into my desk, pretending to bury my head in my work. Sales forecasts have never been so fascinating. My heart is pounding just reading them. What is wrong with me? Then I see a pair of crutches hop into view and Aiden’s voice says, “Hello, Mrs. Gorgeous.”

  My heart pounds some more. Crush’s eyes travel to my engagement ring. I take my hands from the desk and sit on them. “Hi.”

  “How are we today?”

  “I’m okay,” I say. Still trying to work out a way of not getting married at Trington Manor, even though Marcus has already paid the not-inconsiderable deposit—but Mr. Aiden Holby doesn’t need to know anything about that. “More importantly, how are you?”

  “Soon be back to my old self,” Crush assures me.

  “I can’t wait,” I tease him.

  “I’ve missed you.” He lowers his voice as he tells me. “It’s good to be back and I never thought I’d hear myself say that about this place.”

  “The office has been very quiet without you.”

  “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” he wants to know.

  “A very bad thing.” We exchange an easy smile.

  “I’ve enjoyed my daily chocolate deliveries,” he says.

  “You’re welcome. I hope they’ve made you feel better.” Then in a rash moment, I add, “Just let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

  “You’ll have to go and get my coffee for me,” he warns. “On the hour, every hour. I can’t hop and carry cups at the same time. I’ve had to drink everything standing up in the kitchen by the kettle since this happened.”

  “That makes me feel terrible,” I tell him. “The least I can do is be your coffee-machine slave until you’re fully back on your feet.”

  “Mmm,” Crush says. “I think I like the sound of that. Are there any other areas in which you’d consider becoming submissive to my demands?”

  “Don’t push it.” I’m not sure that I can cope with this jokey chemistry thing anymore—now that I’m an engaged person. Is this kind of behavior acceptable in the modern workplace environment? Should I be actively discouraging Crush from flirting with me now that I’m officially a fiancée? It would certainly make my working day at Targa a lot more tedious if I did. Not that it’s likely to develop into anything more. I’ve been here for ages and it’s all been very innocent and aboveboard so far. Apart from one minuscule kiss. Why should that change now?

  Perhaps it would be safer to consider quitting here and getting another job, so that I put myself out of temptation’s way. But then I remember that I have been briefly and disastrously employed by a large number of establishments in London and Targa is, quite honestly, the only company that will put up with me and my slovenly work ethic. I wouldn’t want to move too far away from Chocolate Heaven either. Apart from the crap pay and the fact that the work is dreadfully dull, this is actually a great job. Plus I’m sure this whole “Crush” thing is simply invented by my rather bored brain in the absence of anything else to do here. As soon as I’m busy organizing my wedding then I’ll hardly give him a passing thought. Aiden Holby isn’t that cute. Not really.

  Crush looks as if he’s going to hop off to his office, but then he stops and says, “I suppose I should offer congratulations on your forthcoming nuptials.”

  I look at him from beneath my lashes. “Thanks.”

  “That was quite a performance from Marcus.”

  “Wasn’t it?” I attempt a laugh and fail.

  Crush stays where he is and he clears his throat. “Is it what you want?”

  “Yes,” I say. My chin juts out all of its own accord. Why can no one believe that I’m getting married? Can no one see me as a responsible, domesticated woman? Or maybe it’s Marcus they’re having trouble visualizing in that role. … “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Then I hope that you’ll be really happy together.”

  “I’m sure we will.”

  He turns and hops halfway toward his office, before he comes back to my desk. “There’s just one thing I wanted to tell you.” He stands in front of me, distractedly tugging at a strand of his ha
ir. “I just wish I had asked you out while I had the chance. It might have reduced my life expectancy considerably, but I think you and I could have had a lot of fun together, Lucy Lombard.”

  Then he hops away. Just like that. Leaving me in a total state of confusion and reaching for the nearest Mars Bar.

  Chapter Seventy-three

  THE ONLY PROBLEM WITH THE countryside was that it smelled awful. Nadia’s nose wrinkled in distaste as Toby swung the car into the car park of Medley’s Open Farm.

  Lewis, strapped into his car seat, bounced happily. “Are we there yet?”

  “Yes, sweetheart, we are.”

  Instead of Toby taking Lewis out on his own this Sunday, they’d decided to have an outing as a family. The last thing she wanted was for Toby to become a McDonald’s dad, though she was absolutely sure that Lewis wouldn’t object to more regular trips to the golden arches. He’d missed being with them on Lewis’s birthday, which she felt terrible about, and she hoped that this would help to make up for it. As arranged, she’d picked her husband up from their house just before ten o’clock and now, an hour later, they were in the depths of the Bedfordshire countryside, surrounded by endless fields, rolling hills and the pungent fresh scent of nature, i.e., manure.

  The atmosphere in the car had been relaxed between them and, in some ways, it had felt just like old times. There was no doubt that she still loved her husband and he’d told her often enough in the last few weeks that he loved her. All he had to do now was prove it by his actions. She unloaded a wriggling Lewis from the car and he ran ahead of them to the entrance of the children’s farm, brimming with excitement. They might be miles out of London, but the prices were no less astronomical. It was a treat that they couldn’t really afford, but if it was going to help her son to feel that his family hadn’t completely broken up then it was worth the struggle to pay for it. Also, Nadia viewed it as educational, seeing as Lewis’s identification of farm animals hadn’t improved despite hours of encouragement from Chantal. Toby handed over the cash and they were each given piggy stamps on their hands and a small bag of animal feed.