The Chocolate Lovers' Club (10 page)

‘Yes. Yes. Of course.’

‘You’re not avoiding me, Gorgeous?’

‘No. No. Absolutely not.’ But I know in my heart that I am.

Chapter Eighteen

C
rush has come with me to the airport. He takes my face in his hands. ‘Come back safely to me.’

‘I’m only going to a chocolate spa,’ I remind him. ‘I think it will be less fraught with danger than your trip.’ The only danger is that instead of coming back svelte and lovely, I’ll come back fatter than I was before.

‘I’ll miss you.’

I adore this man and can’t believe that I’m going to abandon him as soon as he’s returned to me. My dear chocolate addict friends and I had, indeed, rashly booked this long weekend before I knew that Crush would be making an impromptu visit home after his equally impromptu shave with death. While I hate to be leaving Aiden, I feel that I can’t let the girls down by cancelling at such short notice. Even though the object of my affection is putting a brave face on this, I can tell that he’s less than happy about me deserting him the minute he’s back on home turf.

It may be the most cowardly thing to do, but part of me is certainly glad to be getting on a plane heading away from London and my current predicament. What I need
now is to be enveloped in my favourite substance to let my cares float away. I can’t think of anything finer.

Crush is more than keen to restart our relationship, as I am, and can’t understand my reticence. But he might not be quite so enamoured of me when he finds out that I’ve had a dalliance with my old boyfriend in his absence, however brief. Even though there were extenuating circumstances, it being Christmas and everything being crap. Would it count in my favour that I didn’t really enjoy it – well, not much? It was familiarity rather than desire that drove me back into Marcus’s arms. Loneliness rather than love. Whatever excuses I can drum up, I still feel mortified that I could have done this. And I got a rash for my pains. But I guess it was only on my back. With Marcus’s track record it could have been a lot worse, believe me.

I’ve kept Aiden at arm’s length for the last couple of days while I’ve tried to decide how to tell him that I’ve betrayed him. And tell him, I must. I want to fall in love with him all over again and him with me – but we can’t have secrets between us, so I know that I must come clean. If I get it right, then I might be surprised about how understanding he is. Would he have wanted me to be alone at Christmas? Perhaps given the alternative, he would have. But then I’ve had years of being on the receiving end of such treatment and I know exactly how crummy it feels. Still, I’ve got a lengthy flight ahead of me which should give me plenty of time to consider my options.

I see the other members of The Chocolate Lovers’ Club coming towards me, laden down with luggage even though we’re only going for four days and for most of that we’ll
be lying around naked and smothered in chocolate. Nadia has left Lewis with Toby at great emotional cost as she’s never left her son behind before. She’s, once more, indebted to Chantal who’s picking up her bill. They’re all in high spirits and I feel my own depleted soul lift in response.

‘I should leave you now,’ Crush says.

I nod to him. ‘I’ll be fine.’

‘Have a great time. I love you,’ he says. ‘You know that.’

‘Aiden . . .’ But before I have a chance to reply, Nadia, Chantal and Autumn descend on me and my chance is lost. They’re all smiles and unconcealed excitement.

‘This is Aiden,’ I say, even though he needs no introduction.

‘Ah, so this is the famous Crush,’ Chantal says.

Aiden looks to me for an explanation. ‘Crush?’

‘The girls used to think that I had a bit of a crush on you,’ I reluctantly explain.

‘Crush.’ He laughs, and smiles at me indulgently.

‘It’s lovely to meet you,’ Autumn says. ‘I hope we see more of you.’

‘We’d better go and check in,’ Nadia tells us with a glance at her watch. ‘Time’s tight.’

Crush kisses me again and my friends, grinning stupidly, look to be one step away from going, ‘Aawwhh!’

‘See you soon.’ He rubs a thumb gently over my cheek, then I watch as he strides away.

‘He’s fabulous,’ Chantal says with an appreciative sigh. ‘Don’t mess this one up, Lucy.’

And the horrible thing is, I think that I might already have.

Chapter Nineteen

T
he chocolate spa is fantastic. It’s called Melted and is housed in a minimalist white building overlooking the enticing sands of Santa Monica beach. The big yellow California sun is scorching and the sky is impossibly blue.

We’re all sitting together on bamboo loungers in one of the airy treatment rooms waiting for our first appointment to begin. We’ve all booked chocolate facials and, later, massages with cocoa and passion fruit oils. Already, the heady scents of coffee and vanilla have transported me to a state of bliss. The French windows are open and as a background to the soothing music, there’s the sound of the surf rolling in. All that’s missing is the Beach Boys singing ‘Surfin’ USA’.

‘I can’t believe how chubby I’m getting,’ Chantal complains to us all as she pinches at her waistline. ‘I think I might get a personal trainer.’

‘Are you mad?’ I say. ‘Just think what happened with Jacob. You’d be back to square one again. I thought you were trying not to get involved with
other men
.’ I mouth that in order to protect her from the keen ears of any lurking therapists. ‘Could you resist that?’

‘As Oscar Wilde said, “I can resist everything, except temptation”,’ she quips.

‘If you did get a personal trainer, he’d be turning up twice a week in tight shorts stretched over his firm buttocks, biceps bulging from his muscle top . . .’

‘Lucy,’ Chantal says, ‘is this supposed to be
dissuading
me?’

We all laugh.

‘I’m going to skip the facial,’ she tells us. ‘I’ve booked an appointment with the nurse instead. I just want to get a few things checked out. There’s this weight gain. I’ve been feeling a little under the weather, a little nauseous.’

‘Why didn’t you tell us?’

‘I’m sure it’s nothing. It’s probably a hormonal thing. Unfortunately, I’m getting towards that age.’ Our friend shrugs. ‘Maybe my thyroid’s underactive or my oestrogen’s on the way out. I’m sure the nurse will be able to put me straight. I’ll catch up with you a little later for the massage.’

There’s a facial therapist at the head of each of our beds and they’ve cleansed our faces with tiramisu foam before exfoliating us with cocoa seeds, and now they’re smothering us with a chocolate mask. Yum. I think I’m having an out-of-body experience. I’m so delicious, I could eat myself.

‘My New Year’s resolution is going to be to pamper myself more often,’ Nadia informs us. ‘This is how my life should be led. I just have to work out how to find the money.’

Despite my own New Year’s resolution to try to get
my chocolate consumption under control, I have zero willpower. If my tongue was long enough, I’d definitely be licking this stuff off my own face. All the goodies from my festive stash have long since gone – even my Bob the Builder Christmas stocking which I bought for myself and which I was going to save for a rainy day. Actually, it didn’t survive beyond Boxing Day – which, in my defence, was quite rainy for a time – but it was very nice. To be honest, I also ate the box of chocolate farm animals that was supposed to be a present for Nadia’s son, but all those cute little sheep and pigs just looked so tasty. I’m sure he was just as happy with the Boots voucher I gave him instead.

The therapists cover our eyes with thin slices of cucumber, leaving me feeling even more delectably edible. Then they slip out with murmurings to us to relax. We take no further encouragement. Autumn lets out a contented sigh. But we’ve no sooner settled into the zone, when the door bursts open and there’s an anguished howl. We all shoot up, scattering our cucumber. Chantal comes in, clutching her arms around herself and she’s crying.

‘What?’ I say. ‘What’s happened?’

Chantal is sobbing too much to speak.

‘What’s wrong?’ Nadia asks soothingly. ‘Was it something the nurse said?’

Our friend nods her head miserably. ‘I
have
got a hormonal problem,’ she tells us, trying to steady her voice.

‘A bad one?’ I want to know. She’s desperately upset.

‘I think I’m pregnant.’

There is an amazed silence. We all exchange an anxious
look and it’s up to me to be spokesperson. ‘That sounds pretty serious.’

‘Yes,’ she gulps. ‘Because I’ve no idea whose baby it might be.’

Chapter Twenty

W
e get the therapists to come and take off our yummy chocolate masks, abandoning our treatments so that we can comfort our friend. I think of asking can I save mine to eat it later, but good manners get the better of me.

Then the four of us find a quiet spot, sitting on a swing out on the front porch overlooking the beach, giving ourselves succour in the form of ice-cold honey and vanilla milkshakes and handmade caramel truffles, a speciality of the house. They’re helping, but I think we should all eat more. I hand round the plate again, making sure that it stops twice at Chantal. Let’s face it, it looks as if she’s going to be eating for two now.

Our friend has got her crying under control, but her usual cool assurance has yet to reappear. She shakes her head as if dazed. ‘What am I going to do?’

‘You’re absolutely sure?’ I ask.

‘I’ll have to go out and get a pregnancy test to confirm it, but it looks pretty certain.’ She takes a shuddering breath. ‘I’ve missed my period for a couple of months, but I put it down to stress. The same with the nausea. The nurse is absolutely convinced that’s what’s wrong with me.’

I don’t point out to Chantal that pregnancy isn’t generally considered an illness – this may not be the moment.

Our friend spreads her hands over her possibly pregnant belly, showing us her burgeoning bump. ‘Does that look like a baby?’

Now she comes to mention it, it does. Either that or she’s got a Terry’s Chocolate Orange in there whole, which isn’t beyond the realms of possibility.

‘What an idiot,’ she spits out with a sigh.

I flick a glance at Nadia and Autumn, asking with my eyes if we should pursue this further, but I guess it’s something we can’t ignore. They nod their approval.

Resting my hand on Chantal’s knee, I ask, ‘Whose baby do you think it
might
be?’

Chantal lets her head fall back against the cushion and takes a moment to answer. ‘It could be Jacob’s,’ she admits, giving me a rueful look. This is my ex-boyfriend and male escort with whom Chantal had a brief liaison. Even though I’d only dated him for a few weeks, I really liked him and the thought that he may well be the father of Chantal’s child does make me feel a bit weird. ‘I thought we were careful with protection, but in the heat of the moment . . .’ She leaves the sentence unfinished for us all to draw our own conclusions.

And I thought Jacob was supposed to be a professional.

‘Even worse,’ she continues, ‘it could belong to that smooth bastard who I slept with at the hotel in the Lake District. The one who robbed me of all my jewellery afterwards.’

‘And the one who we managed to get it all back from
with a superbly executed heist at Trington Manor,’ I remind my friends.

We allow ourselves a little giggle at the memory of our victory.

‘It could even be Ted’s,’ she says with a melancholy air. ‘We did sleep together once during that time.’

‘This isn’t the end of the world,’ Nadia assures her. ‘Look how great you’ve got on with Lewis while we’ve been staying with you. I bet you never thought that would happen in a million years. You’re wonderful with him. A natural.’

Chantal puts her hands over her eyes as if trying to envisage it. Nadia gives us a nervous glance.

‘And Ted would love a baby,’ I remind her. ‘He’s dying to become a father.’

‘I might be on the verge of motherhood, but Ted may not be about to become a father,’ she reminds me.

‘There’s DNA testing,’ I try to reassure her. ‘You can find out.’

‘But suppose that I don’t want to know?’ Chantal drains her milkshake and then stands up. ‘I should get this over with,’ she says, putting a brave smile on her face. ‘Anyone want to take a walk with me to the nearest drugstore?’

Chapter Twenty-One

W
e come back from our all too brief stay at the Melted chocolate spa feeling refreshed and lovely, except for Chantal, who couldn’t have any of the treatments because, no surprises, she
is
pregnant. Our friend has come back looking very stressed instead of relaxed. Her delicate features are pinched and drawn, and my heart goes out to her.

On the other hand, I’m pink and glowing and feel as if I’ve been scrubbed and polished from the inside out. I’m sure I’ve lost about seven pounds of unwanted skin alone. I also feel very positive about my future, which is good news as I’m meeting Crush for dinner tonight and I’m going to take the bull by the horns and come clean about my ill-advised fling with Marcus. I can only hope that he’ll understand.

In an attempt to blind him with my beauty, I’ve bought a new dress. As my credit-card limit has already gone stellar, a little more will make not the slightest bit of difference. I’ve chosen a pretty blue silk, girly dress, and to ensure that I’m heading even further towards poverty, I bought some espadrilles to match. Not exactly attire for the full
force of the British winter, but I’m still basking in the reflected glow of the California sun and some judiciously applied St Tropez tanning cream. I can only hope that the goosepimples will stay away long enough for me to wow Crush.

My cab pulls up outside Victor’s, a trendy restaurant in Charlotte Street that Marcus took me to a couple of times when he was trying to apologise for misdemeanours. How much we have in common now. Who would have thought that the boot would ever have been on my unfaithful foot? It’s too mortifying for words. Despite the cold, my palms are clammy. A rush of warm air hits me as I enter the restaurant and then I go all warm inside as I see Crush sitting waiting for me. I quickly strip off my coat, and the maître d’ leads me across the crowded room to join him.