The Chocolate Lovers' Diet (20 page)

Her phone rang. Perhaps it was Toby. All her calls to him had gone unanswered, but he might have relented and be trying to get in touch with her. There was a drunk passed out on the ground by her feet, his bottle poorly disguised inside a rolled newspaper, as she sank down onto a small wall to answer the phone. She looked at the caller display as she pulled it out of her handbag. Her heart plummeted when she saw it wasn’t her husband. It was a text message from Lucy. Not what she expected, but it made Nadia smile tiredly. Even though it must have been the middle of the night, her friend was still thinking about her. It read
STILL NO LUCK
? She texted back
NOT YET
. Lucy came back with:
TAKE CARE
,
WE ALL LOVE YOU
. Nadia snapped her phone off. It was good to know that she had her friends on her side.

By now, she felt almost delirious with jet lag and lack of food. There was nothing she’d like more than some chocolate – a Toffee Crisp or a cold bar of Dairy Milk. A sugar rush would surely help her concentration. Maybe she should give up for now, grab a hamburger or something, go back to her scabby pit of a hotel and crash out on the bed, get a few hours of much-needed rest. But maybe yards from here, her husband was about to place his next bet. And maybe she could find him just in time to stop him.

Marshalling her last ounces of strength, she pushed on to Treasure Island where the regular pirate shows had long since stopped for the night. By-passing the deserted galleon in front of the hotel, Nadia followed signs to the casino. New York might like to bill itself as the city that never sleeps – but it was Vegas that was the insomniacs’ dream come true. It was past 2.00 a.m., but there were still plenty of people seated at the tables and the slots. Toby wasn’t among them. Neither was he in Circus, Circus, Riviera or the Sahara.

By now, she could have passed out with exhaustion. It was taking every ounce of her willpower not to lie down on the ground and sleep, but to keep going. She consulted her map. The last hotel on this part of The Strip was the Stratosphere. Its soaring tower reached into the sky above her, and a spectacular light-show danced tantalisingly across the Las Vegas valley. At the very top, 100 storeys high, there were thrill rides – the Big Shot, the X Scream
and Insanity. Rides that dangled the truly fearless with death-defying precision over the edge of the tower and 1100 feet above the reclaimed desert below. Nadia shook her head. What on earth would make someone want to do that for fun? She liked to have her feet firmly on the ground.

Once she’d checked out the Stratosphere, she’d have done one full length of The Strip and have taken in more casinos than she cared to remember. Then she could catch a cab back to her hotel and rest. So that tomorrow she could do it all over again. Maybe twice.

The lights were starting to blur before her eyes now and she rubbed them in an effort to keep awake. Then, out of the blue, there was a horrified gasp from the people on the sidewalk just ahead of her and a bolt of cold dread hit her body. As the screaming started, Nadia broke into a run. Pain jolted through her legs, but still she powered on. There was the noise of a siren, shrill and piercing from behind her, and an ambulance screeched to a halt at the kerbside. By the time Nadia reached the tower, legs pulsating with pain, a crowd had gathered.

‘There’s a jumper,’ someone said to her and her heart turned to ice.

A woman in a loud Hawaiian shirt and shorts that were too tight was sobbing hysterically, eyes focused on the top of the tower, while her ineffectual husband tried desperately to comfort her. His head was bald and he was sweating in the heat. Whereas Nadia felt cold, so cold. The paramedics pushed through, trying to clear the rubberneckers away. Against her best instinct, she let her gaze travel
upwards where all eyes were fixed on a tiny, barely visible figure at the top of the tower – a pinpoint on the vast blackness of the sky. The man was dangling on the wrong side of the safety barrier, the glare of a spotlight fixed on him and the crowd screamed whenever he made a move. On auto-pilot, she followed the paramedics, taking the path that they’d cleared through the crush of people. Despite the noise of the wailing sirens, she could hear her own breathing.

It didn’t matter that she couldn’t clearly pick out the man, she knew instinctively who it was. She just hoped that her hunch was completely wrong. Nadia moved forward, easing past the people who’d managed to get prime viewing spots. She touched one of the paramedics on the arm.

‘Lady.’ He held up a hand. ‘Please step back.’

Very calmly, in a voice that Nadia didn’t recognise, she said, ‘I think that’s my husband up there.’

Minutes later, Nadia had been ushered through the crowd and was being whisked up in the elevator. It seemed to take just seconds to reach the pinnacle where she was hustled out onto the observation deck by a burly policeman.

This high up on the top of the tower there was a cool breeze and, for a moment, Nadia thought how pleasant it was to be out of the heat. And then she saw Toby and she wished with all her heart that her instincts had failed her. The area had been cordoned off and there was a policeman, crouched, talking softly to him. Her husband was standing on the outside of the railings, clinging tightly to them. His
hair was dishevelled and there was a wild, despairing look in his eyes.

‘We have someone here to talk to you,’ the policeman said, and Nadia was guided forwards.

‘Toby . . .’ She had to clear her throat because suddenly it was as dry as the desert beneath them. ‘Whatever you’ve done, we can sort this out.’

‘Nadia.’ Her husband started to cry. ‘I’ve messed up big time,’ he shouted to her. ‘I can’t see any other way out.’

Her knees had started to shake. ‘There’s always another way. Think of Lewis. Think of me.’

‘I’ve lost everything,’ he wailed. ‘I lost ninety thousand pounds online. In less than an hour.’ He giggled hysterically. ‘Do you know how long it would take me to earn that kind of money?’

Nadia knew only too well. She stood frozen to the spot. Ninety thousand pounds. The floor swayed beneath her and she thought that her legs would surely buckle.
Ninety thousand pounds
. Somehow, she found her voice. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said shakily. ‘I’ve come to take you home.’

The policeman indicated to her that she should move forward slowly, so she inched towards her husband.

‘I came here to try to win it back,’ Toby continued. ‘I was going to send you the money, but I lost even more here,’ he confessed. ‘So much more. There’s no way out. I’m so sorry.’

‘Just come back inside,’ she urged. ‘We can talk it through. Do it for me. I love you.’

Toby looked down at the ground. Nadia thought she
saw a waver of indecision in his eyes. He moved towards her and she reached out her trembling hands to him.

‘I love you too,’ he said.

And then she watched as her husband let go of the railings and fell backwards into thin air.

Chapter Forty-Three

M
arcus is lying on my couch, feet up, hands behind his head, watching football.

‘Marcus,’ I say. ‘You’re not listening to me.’

‘I am.’

He’s not.

‘I am,’ he insists and then goes, ‘Ooo!’ as someone misses a goal on the screen.

‘What’s your opinion then?’ I have my pen poised against my notepad.

My fiancé drags his eyes from the television. ‘About what?’

I pick up a cushion and hurl it at him. ‘You are
so
not listening!’

He giggles as I start to beat him in frustration. ‘It was something about flowers,’ he guesses. ‘Or dresses.’

I twist his ear. ‘Ouch. Ouch. I give in,’ he whimpers. ‘I might not have been listening.’

‘You’re not the slightest bit bothered about this wedding,’ I say in an accusatory tone as I fold my arms. ‘I don’t even know why we’re doing this.’

Marcus uncrosses my arms, takes my hands and kisses
them. ‘We’re doing it because we love each other.’

‘If you loved me then you’d help me. There’s so much to do.’ I feel as if the pressure is mounting on me and I can’t even begin to think about all the stuff I’ve got to organise.

‘Because I love you, I’ve done something even better,’ Marcus tells me smugly. He pulls me to him.

‘What?’ I’m still pouting to show that I’m not a complete pushover.

‘I’ve organised a wedding planner for us.’

‘Oh.’

‘I’ve arranged for you to meet him to go through everything that your heart desires.’

I sit back. ‘Him?’

Marcus shrugs.

‘He’s not gay, is he?’

‘I don’t know,’ Marcus admits. ‘Does it matter?’

‘He might want to put me in a big pink meringue of a dress.’ I know what Clive and Tristan are like. Their sartorial taste doesn’t run to understated. I’ll end up wearing some hideous monstrosity and probably fairy wings to boot. It would make Jordan’s nuptials look low-key.

‘The guy’s just organised a wedding for someone at work. They said he was the business. It was the wedding of the century, just as ours will be. Gay or not, he comes very highly recommended.’

‘And he sorts everything out?’

‘Yes.’ Marcus curls his fingers through mine. ‘I want you to enjoy this, not to be stressed out. We’re never going to do this again, Lucy. I want it to be perfect for you.’

‘I bet he’s hideously expensive.’

Marcus sighs. ‘Will you let me worry about all that,’ he says. ‘I just had a great bonus and I want to blow it. This is a day that you’ll remember for the rest of your life. It should be special.’

‘Okay.’ I hug him, as I surreptitiously reach for the remote control and turn off the football.

‘I can deny you nothing.’ Marcus smiles at me indulgently. ‘Can you meet him tomorrow? I know that time’s getting tight.’

‘Sure.’ It will give me a great excuse to phone in sick, thus avoiding having to see Aiden Holby’s sad face in the office. ‘Thank you, Marcus. That’s a really lovely thought.’ I plant a kiss on his lips.

‘Come here, sexy,’ Marcus growls and pulls me down on top of him.

‘Ouch!’ I complain.

‘Oh, sorry,’ he says, as he lifts the hem of my skirt. ‘How was the paintballing?’

‘Painful,’ I tell him. For more reasons than I could ever explain.

‘Ooo.’ My fiancé’s eyes widen when he sees the black and blue blotches that cover my legs. ‘Those are pretty heinous bruises.’

‘Yeah.’ I admire my war wounds – which, frankly, hurt like stink. ‘You should see the others.’

Marcus laughs. ‘I bet you gave them all hell.’

I laugh too and then my arrogant demeanour fails. What Marcus doesn’t need to know is that I put one of my colleagues through more hell than the others. To my
shame, once again I’ve left Aiden Holby with a great big bruise – and it wasn’t anything to do with my skill with a gun.

Chapter Forty-Four

C
hantal takes my hand and pulls me forward. ‘I don’t want to be here,’ I say.

‘Do you think I do?’ she replies. ‘You’re the one getting married here in a few short weeks. Maybe you should get used to the idea.’

She yanks again, more forcefully this time, and I fly up the steps and into the Reception of Trington Manor.

‘I didn’t know that Marcus had set up the meeting here,’ I sulk, ‘otherwise I would have refused to come.’

‘Why?’ Chantal wants to know. ‘This is your wedding venue. You can’t avoid it for ever.’

I tut heavily.

‘You’re behaving like a four year old.’ Lewis, the four year old who’s holding her other hand, smiles angelically at me. If I was behaving like him, all would be well. It seems strange to see Chantal with a kid in tow, but it doesn’t seem to be phasing her. ‘It’s not often I agree with what Marcus does, but this is a really great idea.’

‘I’d just prefer it if Marcus and I went away somewhere quiet and did the dirty deed,’ I say, referring to our forthcoming nuptials. ‘I don’t want a big fuss.’

‘Looks like you’re getting a fuss whether you like it or not,’ Chantal reminds me. ‘Besides, this is your big day. Relax and enjoy it, honey. Marcus has said no expense is to be spared.’

‘That’s why I’m having a wedding planner.’

‘There’s no way you can organise everything by yourself,’ my friend tells me crisply. ‘Not at such short notice. You need help. And Marcus, like most guys, won’t be anywhere in sight when there’s anything practical to be done.’ Chantal releases her death grip and links her arm through mine instead. ‘Who are we meeting?’

I look at the business card that Marcus gave me.
Elysian Occasions
. Very posh. Giggling nervously, I say, ‘It’s a bloke. What kind of bloke wants to be a wedding planner? I’m worried that he’s going to be gay.’

‘No,’ Chantal says cagily. ‘He’s definitely not gay.’

‘Are you speaking from experience?’ I joke.

Then I notice that she’s gone slightly pale and turn to follow her gaze. The smile is wiped off my face, for standing in front of me is Jacob, Jazz or whatever incarnation this is of him. Chantal does indeed have personal carnal knowledge of him. And we both know that he’s not gay. This is my ex-boyfriend who was the male escort with whom my friend Chantal enjoyed several lusty liaisons.

‘Hi, Lucy,’ Jacob says shyly.

He’s looking as gorgeous as he ever did and my panic button is hit right on the nose. ‘Oh no,’ I say, backing away. ‘I can’t do this.’

‘Lucy—’ he says.

Turning to Chantal, I say, ‘You knew about this!’

‘I didn’t,’ she swears. ‘Jacob is the very person I would have recommended for you, but I had no idea that Marcus had contacted him. Please do this, Lucy. I still think it’s a fabulous idea.’

‘No!’

‘Come on,’ Chantal urges. ‘This is Jacob’s new career and he’s really great at it.’

‘I heard that he was pretty good at his last career,’ I say snippily, as we talk about Jacob as if he isn’t there.

Chantal laughs – which I have to say I think is inappropriate. ‘Let bygones be bygones,’ she tells me. ‘Isn’t that what you guys say?’

‘I have some great ideas,’ Jacob offers.

‘Yeah? Well,
shagging
one of my best friends wasn’t one of them.’ I lower my voice because of Lewis.