The Chocolate Lovers’ Wedding Read online

  When Marcus bought Chocolate Heaven, I lost the best job in the world and nothing, not even a Wispa and a Bounty combo can make up for that. So I’m not just curvy, I’m heading towards the positively rotund. And no one wants to be a fat bride, right? No one wants to waddle down the aisle next to the man of her dreams. I want to be a sliver of my former self at my wedding and must keep this, at all times, at the forefront of my mind.

  ‘I’m losing weight for my wedding,’ I remind him.

  ‘Ah.’ He stirs his coffee thoughtfully. ‘To whatshisname? Still going ahead then?’

  ‘Yes, Marcus. Of course it is.’

  ‘No sudden change of heart?’

  ‘No. I love Aiden and he loves me. The date is booked. The venue decided. The invitations have gone out.’ Not strictly true, I admit.

  ‘I didn’t get mine.’

  ‘As if.’

  He does his cutest lost-little-boy look. ‘Not for old times’ sake?’

  ‘No. You’re the last person I’d want there.’

  ‘You didn’t say that last time we were at a wedding together.’

  ‘That’s because you were the groom, Marcus. And I was the bride. This is probably a good time to remind you that you didn’t actually stay around for the ceremony.’

  He frowns. ‘You’re never going to forget that, are you?’

  I laugh, because what else is there to do? ‘No. I’m never going to forget that. Or forgive you.’ I get an unwanted flashback to the day Marcus jilted me and feel sick to my stomach all over again. It was the worst moment of my life and, frankly, there are a lot of worst moments to choose from. This time it will be different. I know it. Crush is not Marcus. And thank the heavens for that.

  Picking up my fork, I toy with the chocolate cake Marcus has bought me. If I eat this and forgo the Twix then I’m really no worse off than I would have been. I could just eat half. That’s all. I’m thinking that I should order my wedding dress a size too small so that I can slim into it. All brides lose weight, right? I have about three months to shed a stone or so. Doable? Tomorrow, I’ll really get a grip on it.

  Hmm. This chocolate cake is delicious. A moist, light sponge filled with rich ganache – even though we are in a place where I might have expected inferior quality chocolate treats. Marcus grins at me as I eat it.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Come back, Lucy,’ he says, earnestly. ‘Chocolate Heaven needs you. I need you. It’s not the same without you. It’s where you’re meant to be.’

  That, if I’m brutally honest, is music to my ears.

  ‘I bought it for you. So that you could run it. That was the whole point of me owning it.’

  He did. I have to give him that. But he bought it so that he could own me, too. I’m not a fool. ‘Who’s running it now?’

  ‘I’ve got a manager in.’

  ‘A woman?’ As if I need to ask.

  ‘Er . . . yes.’

  ‘Is she pretty?’

  ‘No, she’s French. A double bagger. Awful woman.’

  A likely story.

  His eyes go all gooey and he reaches out to curl a lock of my blonde hair round his finger. ‘Come back,’ he pleads. ‘Come back to me.’

  ‘Don’t do that.’ I slap his hand away.

  Marcus is unperturbed. ‘She doesn’t have your way with the customers, Lucy. She doesn’t have the vision or the passion for Chocolate Heaven. Without you, it’s nothing. You know the business like no one else. You were born for it.’

  All of these things are true. There is chocolate flowing in my veins. I wasn’t cut out to be a temporary secretary to a bad-tempered, not very green IT director.

  That pulls me up short. Yikes! The finance department! All this banter with Marcus may have slightly sidetracked me.

  As the realisation dawns, my phone rings. It’s my Mr Simmonds.

  ‘Hello.’ I try to sound as if I am in the quiet of the finance department and not in a noisy café on the Embankment.

  ‘Where exactly are you, Lucy?’ my boss asks somewhat tightly. ‘I have been down to the finance department to get the figures for myself and they say that they haven’t seen hide nor hair of you.’

  ‘I had to pop out. Urgently. I’ll be back in five minutes,’ I promise. Then I remember that I’m on the wrong side of the river and will have to run. ‘Make that ten.’

  ‘Make it that you don’t bother to come back at all,’ he hisses. ‘I’ll call the agency and get someone else who’s actually interested in doing this job. You’re fired.’

  He hangs up. I’m left staring open-mouthed at the phone. When I look up, I see that Marcus is grinning.

  Chapter Three

  We, the members of the Chocolate Lovers’ Club, are sitting in a boring little café just off the Strand. I have a plastic-looking ham sandwich, Nadia is staring forlornly at a limp chicken wrap, Autumn is gingerly dipping a biscotti in a not-quite-hot cappuccino and, horror upon horror, Chantal is eating a salad. I feel faint looking at it.

  ‘Look at us,’ I say. ‘We are the good ladies of the Chocolate Lovers’ Club and there’s not a morsel of chocolate in sight. What’s happening to us? We are failing in our mission to embrace all things chocolatey in our lives.’

  ‘It’s just not the same without Chocolate Heaven,’ Autumn muses sadly.

  ‘But it’s our raison d’être.’

  Nadia shrugs. ‘Lucy has a point.’

  I’m on a roll now. ‘What, I ask, is the reason for lettuce?’

  Chantal prods at her bowl of shrubbery and grimaces.

  ‘It is the most pointless foodstuff on the planet,’ I pontificate. ‘Even rabbits don’t really like it.’

  ‘It isn’t the lettuce that’s the issue, Lucy, is it?’ Chantal points out. ‘You’re just disenchanted with yet another substandard café.’ ‘You’re right,’ I admit, sagging. ‘It’s not Chocolate Heaven.’

  ‘This is OK,’ Nadia says. We all look around. It is a McCafé. We could be anywhere. Magnolia walls, wooden chairs, grubby vinyl floor. Not a comfy brown velvet sofa in sight. And, more importantly, very little in the way of chocolate goodies on offer. None, in fact. Not even a measly brownie for succour.

  They have plain flapjack. What’s the thinking behind that?

  To console myself, I look round at my lovely companions. These are my dearest friends. Friendships that were born out of our mutual love of chocolate. We used to meet at Chocolate Heaven, the finest of fine chocolate emporiums, every single day. We laughed, cried, gossiped, ate chocolate. Now we are homeless.

  In spite of everything that has happened between us, Marcus, somehow, thought that I could carry on working there as if nothing had happened. Worse, he thought I’d be pleased! But I couldn’t, not in a million years, work for Marcus. He would have had me in his thrall again and there’s no way that I’d ever want that. It has taken me a long time – longer than I’d care to admit – to be Not in Love with Marcus anymore. And I don’t want prolonged close contact with him to threaten that.

  Thus, it has left us ladies all wandering aimlessly through inferior cafés and, in my particular case, inferior jobs too. But, in times of darkness, I don’t know what I’d do without these girls in my life. They have gone from being mere friends to the sisters I never had.

  Chantal Hamilton is the oldest among us and, more often than not, the wisest too. She’s currently in the throes of divorcing her husband, Ted – which, despite being reasonably amicable, is still taking its toll. She also has a delicious baby, Lana, who we all adore. She was previously a journalist on a magazine featuring stunning homes throughout the UK, though she’s not working at the moment as she can’t bear to leave Lana every day. I guess, after the divorce is finalised, that might have to change. Lana must be coming up to a year old soon and I have no idea where that time has gone.

  Autumn Fielding is the youngest member, the earth mother among us. She is optimistic, idealistic and would have been far better working at Green IT than I ever was. She would have m
ade them turn off the air conditioning. She would have made Mr Simmonds smile. Probably. Usually she’s the calm and laidback one but, at the moment, she’s got a lot on her plate too. She fluffs her unruly mop of auburn curls and my heart goes out to her.

  What can I tell you about, Nadia Stone? She’s curvaceous, a real beauty with gorgeous caramel skin and a skein of dark hair. Her son, Lewis, is four now and she’s had a struggle bringing him up alone after the death of her husband, but I think she’s finally met someone to put a glimmer back into those stunning hazel eyes of hers.

  Last, and maybe least, there’s me. I’m Lucy Lombard. I’m the wrong side of thirty, still a spinster – but not for much longer. I’m overweight, overwrought and if I can mess something up, then I invariably will. But I’m loyal and steadfast and I’m loved by the loveliest man on earth. And I may get a lot wrong – an awful lot – but I was good at running Chocolate Heaven. I really was.

  Staring down at my sandwich, I’m disconsolate. ‘Look at what we’re eating.’ I cast another particularly withering glare at Chantal’s salad. ‘This is not the stuff of life.’

  ‘I’ve lost pounds since we stopped going to Chocolate Heaven,’ she remarks. ‘This is the first time I’ve been pre-baby weight.’ She strokes her admirably flat stomach lovingly.

  It’s true that Chantal is slowly regaining her pre-pregnancy glossiness. Now that Lana is a little bit older, she’s no longer cutting her own fringe with the kitchen scissors or nibbling her nails off instead of getting expensive manicures. Her hair is groomed and shiny once more, her nails slicked with pink pearl varnish. I think this has more than a little to do with the fact that she now has the lovely Jacob Lawson in her life on a more permanent basis. ‘I don’t like to remind you, but you’re supposed to be losing a little bit of bootilicious too, Lucy.’

  ‘Yes, but this is all wrong,’ I protest. ‘I’m having to comfort eat. This is not our spiritual home.’ I gesture inadequately at the equally inadequate café. ‘We are meant to be at Chocolate Heaven.’

  ‘But we are boycotting it because of Marcus,’ Nadia says.

  ‘It was your idea,’ Autumn chips in. ‘And we fully back you,’ she adds hastily.

  ‘We are wandering from unsuitable café to unsuitable café trying to find somewhere that you do like because you never want to clap eyes on him again,’ Chantal adds. ‘Remember?’

  ‘Ah.’ All heads swivel to look at me. I hesitate to tell them. I really do. Because I know what they’ll say.

  They wait, mouths pursed, for the revelation.

  ‘I sort of saw him at lunchtime,’ I confess.

  ‘Oh, Lucy.’ Collective voice.

  ‘What? I didn’t mean to. He turned up outside my office and begged me, really begged me, to go back and run it for him.’

  ‘You didn’t agree?’

  ‘Weeeeeell.’

  ‘Lucy!’ More group gasping.

  ‘I got sacked today. Again.’ I sigh as the overwhelming knowledge that I’m once more unemployed hits me low in the stomach. I bite into my unlovely ham sandwich and it tastes like sawdust in my mouth. What comfort does that provide, for heaven’s sake? I could lie on the floor and weep.

  ‘What for this time?’

  ‘It was Marcus’s fault. I should have been doing important things in the finance department and he persuaded me to go out to lunch with him instead.’

  They all look at me, aghast.

  ‘He offered me my job back.’

  Shaking of heads.

  ‘I didn’t say I’d go back to Chocolate Heaven.’

  They don’t look convinced.

  ‘I did say I’d think about it, though.’ And, if I’m honest, every fibre of my being is yearning to say yes.

  ‘Could you handle seeing Marcus every day?’ Chantal asks. ‘He’d be all over you like a rash. It wouldn’t stop at Chocolate Heaven, Lucy. You know what he’s like.’

  ‘I need the money.’ I gnaw my fingernails a bit. ‘This wedding is rushing up and Crush and I are trying to do it on a budget, but the bills are mounting already and we’ve hardly started. How will I manage without a salary coming in?’

  They all exchange anxious looks, as well they might. They know I am a snowflake in a fan heater when it comes to Marcus.

  ‘There would be a plus side of me going back to Chocolate Heaven. We won’t have to try out any more rubbish cafés. We could re-stake our claim there, go back to the old faithful sofas.’

  ‘I can see the attraction,’ Nadia says. ‘I know you’re desperate to get back, but there will be a price to pay.’

  I sigh. ‘I’ll have to chat to Crush about it. See what he thinks.’

  ‘Let’s hope he can talk some sense into you,’ says Chantal.

  ‘Go back to the agency,’ Nadia says. ‘Tell them to find you another job. Or I could ask if there are any vacancies at the call centre where I work. There’s a high turnover of staff.’

  ‘That’s because it’s hideous,’ I remind her. Nadia has only been there a short while and already she hates it.

  ‘Yes,’ Nadia agrees. ‘It is.’

  ‘Let’s not be too hasty,’ Autumn says. ‘Lucy loves Chocolate Heaven. We all do. Is there not a way that she could manage to make this work?’

  ‘That way danger lies,’ says Chantal. ‘You need to keep your distance, Lucy. Part of you will always be in love with Marcus.’

  ‘I’m not,’ I protest. ‘I’m over him. Truly.’

  No one looks as if they believe me.

  ‘That might be so.’ The look she gives me is sceptical. ‘But Marcus can’t be trusted. We all know that. No one more than you, Lucy.’

  And she’s right. He still knows exactly how to wind me round his little finger. There’s no way that I could ever consider working for him. Could I?

  Chapter Four

  When I leave Unsuitable Café number nineteen, I jump onto the Tube and head off to meet Crush at the wedding venue I’ve got in my sights. We’ve made a preliminary appointment with the wedding organiser there to discuss our requirements. Even though I’m squashed and bashed on the Underground and people stand on my feet and poke their copy of Metro in my eye, I get a thrill of excitement as I think that, very soon, Crush and I will become husband and wife. I love him so much, I just hope I don’t do anything to mess it up.

  Oh. Momentarily forgot that I have yet to tell Crush that I’ve lost my job. Again. I just hope I don’t do anything else to mess it up.

  I skip off the Tube and, with wings on my feet, fly to the park entrance where I’m to meet Crush. Golders Hill Park is one of my favourite places in London. Its leafy green spaces offer a calm oasis away from the hurly burly of the metropolis. When we come here, it’s like being transported to another world. Our poky flat in Camden doesn’t have any outside space at all, so we try to come here as often as we can to enjoy watching it change with the seasons, having brisk, wrapped-up walks in the winter with a hot chocolate to finish, and long leisurely hours reading and listening to music with an ice-cream in the summer. It would be lovely if we could get married here.

  Crush is leaning against the wall by the entrance gate, arms folded, eyes closed, making the most of a glimpse of cool afternoon sunshine. My heart lifts whenever I see him. As he’s come straight from the office at Targa, he’s still wearing his sharp work suit and looks so smart. He’s classically tall, dark and handsome and every time I look at him I feel as if I’m punching above my weight. Not only is he good looking, but I know that I can lay my heart at his feet and be certain that he’ll never trample on it. Not even by mistake. Not like some I could mention.

  I tiptoe up to him and kiss his cheek. He opens his eyes and smiles as he sees me. ‘Hi, Gorgeous. Good day?’

  ‘In parts.’ I try not to sound too cagey. I want to break the news of my newly unemployed state gently. My heart melts further and I slip my hand into his warm, strong fingers. ‘Ready to do this?’

  ‘Of course,’ he says with a twinkle in his eye. ‘You
?’

  ‘I’ve truly never been happier.’ I take the opportunity to kiss him again and we go together into the park.

  We meet Yvette, the wedding organiser, and she’s a lovely lady who efficiently takes us to the areas where we could hold our marriage service. I grip Crush’s hand tighter. We pass through the walled garden where the spring flowers are waving their cheerful heads in the breeze. We could be married by the pond in the Hill Garden Shelter, a more formal area, or in the Rotunda – an elevated pavilion. Both are gorgeous in their own way.

  Yvette is clearly used to dealing with gushing, giggling bridesto-be as she lets me dart about, cooing over each feature while Crush stands patiently, smiling indulgently. She points out the pluses and minuses of each area; where we would stand to take our vows, where our guests would sit. All the while she takes details on an iPad. We’re keeping the wedding small – close family and friends. That’s all. I went for the big church wedding and meringue dress with Marcus and don’t want to go down that route again. At least if Crush abandons me, there won’t be over a hundred guests to witness my pain.

  Not that he will. Crush is cut from better cloth. Cashmere to Marcus’s polyester.

  Then, finally, Yvette takes us to the last area, the Belvedere – a temple in a slightly overgrown area of gothic columns and gardens which takes my breath away. It looks like something out of a fairy tale and is surrounded by wisteria, jasmine and roses that are just in bud. Lush greenery winds itself round slender stone pillars and embraces wrought-iron gates. The vista over the rest of the park is breathtaking.

  ‘Oh, Aiden,’ I breathe. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘It’s great. I love it,’ he says.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Better than I could have imagined. But it’s what you want that matters, Gorgeous.’

  It’s so much better than I could have dreamed, too. ‘I feel that this is The Place.’

  It looks like a film set. It’s classical, elegant and wild all at the same time. There’s a stone balcony where tendrils of clematis and ivy hang down. The stone is worn, mellow and looks like it holds stories. Each area is beautiful in its own way and I’d be happy with any of them, but this one has stolen my heart. I think Autumn would be proud of me – it’s quite bohemian.