The Chocolate Lovers' Diet (21 page)

‘Marcus has organised this especially for you,’ Chantal points out. ‘What would you tell him if you cancelled?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘And what’s more, I don’t care.’

‘Be sensible, Lucy,’ she counters. ‘You need help. You know Jacob. You can trust him.’

You know, I really don’t think my friend is being ironic.

‘Please,’ she says. ‘Just listen to what he has to say.’

‘I’ve booked a table in the restaurant,’ my wedding planner says. ‘We can try the food, look at menus. They have great chocolate desserts here.’

They do? Maybe things are looking up.

‘And we need to choose a theme,’ Jacob adds.

‘A theme?’ That sounds truly terrifying. How can I begin to explain to Jacob that I’ve actually had trouble settling on a bloody groom?

‘Say you’ll do it,’ Chantal pleads.

My brain is having its usual quandary and is knocking round uselessly in my skull, while my mouth says, ‘Okay.’ I hold up my hands in resignation. ‘I’ll give it a go.’

Jacob and Chantal smile at each other.

‘But if I ever find out that the two of you cooked this up between you then you are no longer my friend, Chantal Hamilton.’

‘I want you to do this because I love you,’ Chantal says, ‘and I’m worried about you. I know that Jacob will take good care of you.’

I’m not even going to ask how she can be so sure of that.

‘Now I’m going to leave you two alone so that you can get down to business,’ my friend says. ‘I’ll take Lewis out into the garden to run off some energy. He’ll be bored otherwise. But I want to be filled in on every single detail when I get back.’

With that, she leaves us standing there together and before I can consider the wisdom of my decision, Jacob says, ‘Well.’

‘Quite,’ I reply.

He offers me his arm which I take, then with his usual impeccable manners he escorts me through to the restaurant. Nerves have twisted my stomach into a knot and it’s not just the thought of getting married very shortly.

We’re seated at a table in the corner before we speak again.

‘I want to offer you my congratulations,’ Jacob says. He’s wearing a smart charcoal-grey suit that flatters his beau
tiful, baby-blue eyes. His teeth are perfect, his smile just the right side of utterly charming. I can see why he was so successful as a high-class hooker. I can still see why he was a great boyfriend. ‘But I also want to apologise to you.’

‘There’s no need,’ I say dismissively.

‘There is,’ he insists. ‘I’m really sorry for the way things turned out between us.’

‘It’s all water under the bridge,’ I say airily, but I’m surprised that I can still feel something burning up inside me.

I liked Jacob. I
really
liked him. And I wonder if Chantal has encouraged me to use him as my wedding planner with the hope that it might actually reignite something between us and snooker my marriage to Marcus. I wouldn’t put it past her – she can be a very sneaky American person when she wants to be. Well, she’s wrong. There’s no one for me now but Marcus.

‘Thanks for agreeing to work with me, Lucy,’ Jacob says. ‘You won’t regret it, I promise. I’ll make sure that you have a great wedding.’

It’s not a great wedding that I’m worried about. I’m more concerned that I’ll have a great marriage to go with it.

Chapter Forty-Five

‘
C
ome on, slowcoach.’ Marcus comes up behind me, lifts my hair and kisses me on the neck. ‘We’re going to be late.’

It would be true to say that I am dragging my heels somewhat. Tonight, we’re having dinner with Marcus’s parents and, frankly, I’d rather have my teeth pulled. All of them. Without the benefit of modern anaesthetics.

‘How did the meeting go with the wedding planner yesterday?’

‘Oh, fine,’ I say. There’s no way I’m going to tell him that our wedding planner is an ex-call boy and my ex-boyfriend to boot.

‘Was he any good?’ Marcus says. ‘I only want the best for my girl.’

‘I think the wedding will be wonderful,’ I say evasively. Even I have to admit that Jacob came up with some great ideas – a chocolate fountain for the evening reception being among the best of them.

‘I’ve booked a table at Alfonso’s,’ Marcus continues. ‘Your favourite.’ It’s not really my favourite, Marcus just thinks it is. I wonder what else he thinks about me that simply isn’t true?

‘Lovely,’ I say, but I make it sound as if it’s anything but lovely.

‘I know that you find seeing my parents an ordeal, but they
adore
you,’ Marcus tells me.

They don’t
adore
me. Marcus’s mother, Hilary, barely tolerates me. She makes it abundantly clear that she thinks I’m stealing her only baby away from her when, patently, I’m not worthy. The more I talk, the more she glares at me, so I talk less and then she glares at me as if I’m a moron. Can’t win.

His father, David, is a bit better, but I always try to sit as far away from him as possible. This might be a terrible slur on his good name, but he looks like one of those old Lothario types who’d be happy running a hand up your thigh under the tablecloth. Know what I mean? You might say like father, like son – but I don’t want to go there.

I’ve seen them barely a handful of times in the five years that I’ve been with Marcus and that, I would say, is rather too many. I’m sure they’d agree.

Finally, I’m ready. Or as ready as I’ll ever be.

‘You look fabulous,’ Marcus tells me. He lets his hands travel over my body. ‘I think I’d like to make love to you right now.’

I ease away from him. ‘Then we’d be even more late.’ And your mother would know, she’d just
know
, exactly what we’d been up to.

‘Later then, you sexy bitch,’ he growls playfully, and squeezes a handful of my bottom.

Even in the cab Marcus can’t keep his hands off me and I wonder what’s making him feel so damn frisky. He’s been
like this since we got back together. To be honest, I’m having more sex than I can comfortably cope with. I’ve been taken over the back of the sofa more times than I care to count. I don’t know if this is Marcus trying to show just how much he loves me. Or whether it’s the fact that he hasn’t got another woman on the go for once that I’m being rogered senseless every five minutes. We can’t continue at this pace. It’s not human.

It’s sort of flattering that Marcus wants me so much, but as his finger slips inside my bra and toys with my nipple, out of the corner of my eye, I can see the cab driver looking in his mirror. Not only is he getting an eyeful, but I bet he’s thinking, Slut! Has Marcus been taking Viagra, I wonder.

I manage to get to the restaurant without being ravished in public, but I’m feeling flustered and flushed. While Marcus, of course, is as cool as a cucumber. His parents are already there, which knocks off points for me straight away.

David hugs me warmly, but I feel his hand slide over my back as if he’s checking out whether I’m wearing a bra. Hilary keeps a safe distance while she pecks at both of my cheeks, clearly hoping that I’m not riddled with some infectious disease. We sit down and, of course, I end up sandwiched between David and Marcus.

‘Let’s have champagne,’ David says magnanimously. ‘We’ve not yet had a chance to celebrate your engagement.’

Hilary makes no comment.

The champagne comes and the obligatory toasts are completed. Marcus turns to his father and starts to talk about golf, leaving me to deal with Hilary.

‘This is all rather short notice,’ she says crisply.

‘Well,’ I say, ‘we’ve been together for five years. I guess it was going to happen sometime.’

Marcus’s mother looks as if she rather wishes that it hadn’t. ‘People who we
desperately
want to be there are struggling to be able to accept their invitations.’

There are about two thousand people coming to this damn wedding, all of them invited by Hilary and none of them ever heard of by me. Even Marcus is clueless about most of them. They’re Golf Club, Cricket Club and Bridge Club cronies, I think and, personally, I don’t give two hoots whether they’re there or not.

Hilary continues in the same vein and I try to blank her out while giving Marcus the evil eye which says, ‘Rescue me!’ He’s so engrossed in recounting the intricacies of his last round, that he completely fails to acknowledge me. I scan the restaurant, hoping that I can see succour arriving in the name of food.

Then my eyes alight on a table in the corner. A very romantic nook of a corner, as it happens. Crush is sitting there. And he’s not alone.

Chapter Forty-Six

A
luscious brunette with catwalk model looks is sitting opposite Mr Aiden Holby. They’re chatting away, laughing lightly. A nasty green thing flares inside of me. Not five minutes ago he was trying to snog me in his combat gear, face covered in crap. Now look at him! I’ve spent all day in the office with him and he didn’t mention a thing about having a date. Then again, why should he? I didn’t tell him that I was coming here with my future in-laws either.

As if he realises that he’s being watched – or maybe I should have turned down my death-ray glare – Crush turns to look at me. He recoils slightly and I’m not sure if it’s in surprise or terror.

He lifts his hand and gives me a friendly wave. I grit my teeth and wave back. He’s wearing a black shirt and looks fucking gorgeous. Inconsiderate bastard.

‘An admirer?’ Hilary asks, as if she’s amazed that I have one.

‘My boss,’ I tell her, unable to keep the note of misery out of my voice.

Why am I suddenly so depressed that Crush is here with
another woman? I’m here celebrating my engagement and forthcoming wedding. Why should it matter what Aiden I’ve-Got-A-New-Girlfriend Holby is up to? I bet she’s useless with a replica AK-47 fully automatic paintball machine gun. She looks the sort who’d be happier having a manicure than crawling through the dirt on her knees. Come to think of it, so am I.

We get through dinner somehow. Hilary whines on in my ear and David keeps giving me very funny looks. Course after course arrives and I keep having to check out Crush’s table and it seems they’re eating at exactly the same pace as us. I had hoped that they’d rush through a couple of dishes and clear off, but no such luck. But then if they had cleared off early, I’d only be wondering what they were up to. Bollocky-bollocks.

Finally, thankfully, dessert arrives: molten chocolate cake with vanilla cream. Oh yes, oh yes. I risk a glance at Crush’s table and he’s being served exactly the same thing. Marcus has chosen summer pudding which has no chocolate in it at all. How can that be classed as a real dessert? I wonder how much I really have in common with my future husband. How can anyone sane choose flipping fruit when there is delicious chocolate on the menu?

Crush spoons a mouthful of his chocolate cake into Miss Catwalk Model’s mouth. He’s only doing it because I’m watching. How childish. I won’t look over there again just to spite him.

Then, just as I’m tucking into my chocolate cake, I feel a hand slip up my thigh. Freezing, I clamp my knees together – which does nothing more than force the hand higher. I
look over at Marcus, but he seems completely oblivious. I look at David, and he’s grinning widely at me. Ohmigod. I’m being sexually assaulted under the table by my fiancé’s father!

Yes, there it goes again. Another over-familiar squeeze.

‘Excuse me.’ I abandon my dessert. ‘I must visit the ladies’ room.’

Dashing across the restaurant, I take refuge in the loo. It’s very chic in here, all hardwood with cherry-red highlights of colour. I splash water on my face even though it’ll ruin my make-up and then I run my wrists under the tap. While I’m contemplating my next move, there’s a tentative knock on the door and I hear Crush’s voice call, ‘Lucy? Are you in there, Lucy?’

I’ve nowhere to hide. There’s no rear exit. I’m cornered. Aiden Holby pushes the door ajar. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine,’ I say, sounding half-strangled. For some reason, I lower my voice to a stage whisper. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘In here?’ Crush says. ‘Or in the restaurant generally?’

‘Both!’

‘I’m in the restaurant because I have a lovely date. I’m in here because I’ve come to see if you’re okay. You looked very distressed when you shot across the restaurant like a scalded cat.’

‘I
am
distressed.’

‘Want to talk about it?’

‘In here?’

He pulls me into the cubicle at the end of the row and closes the door behind him. I put the lid down on the loo
and sit. Crush leans against the wall. ‘Is it anything to do with me?’

I fold my arms and try to look haughty. ‘Why do you think my whole life revolves around you?’

He grins at me. ‘You looked pretty pissed off when you saw me with another woman.’

‘I was not!’

‘I’ve had a few dates with her,’ Crush tells me, even though I’m not the slightest bit interested. ‘That’s all. She’s Italian. A catwalk model over here on assignment.’

Oh, no! Not only does she look like a catwalk model, but she bloody well
is
one! Life is
so
fucking unfair. She’s probably one of those bitches who’s ‘not
so keen
on chocolate’, as well. I despise the very ground she walks on.

‘You look like you’re having a great time.’ I try not to sound bitter and twisted.

‘You, on the other hand, look thoroughly miserable.’

I say nothing to incriminate myself.

‘Who’s the scary old bat with the Botox and hairspray overdose?’

‘That’s Hilary,’ I say. ‘Marcus’s mother.’

‘Ooo,’ Crush says. ‘
That’s
going to be your mother-in-law for the next twenty-five years or whatever.’

I sag on the loo. ‘Don’t remind me.’ I shake my head, trying to get the image of David’s hand creeping up my leg out of my mind. ‘That’s not the worst of it. I’ll kill you if you breathe a word of this to anyone else.’ I give him a look that says I mean it. ‘I’ve just been groped by Marcus’s dad.’

Crush laughs out loud.

‘Don’t laugh,’ I moan. ‘It’s not funny.’

Then I hear the door open, so I shush Aiden. A moment later, Hilary’s voice trills out. ‘Lucy? Lucy? Are you all right? You’ve been gone ever such a long time. Marcus has sent me to look for you.’