The Chocolate Lovers' Diet (27 page)

Alongside was his battered collection of
Star Wars
figures – toys that he’d had as little more than a toddler. Autumn examined them, picking up Han Solo, R2-D2 and Chewbacca in turn, handling them as you would fine porcelain. She was amazed that they’d survived the ritual indignities that Richard had put them through, including regularly blasting them into space tied to the back of a firework. Goodness knows why their parents kept all of this stuff. It wasn’t as if they were ever sentimental about anything that their offspring did. More than likely, it was a lack of interest and never having a need to use the rooms for anything else. Even though Richard’s collection was hideously dated, there must be disadvantaged kids out there who would appreciate these toys.

Autumn lay down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, somehow hoping to connect to the boy that her brother had once been. But try as she might, it was hard to reconcile the man Rich had become with the boy who had spent so many years being formed in this room. That boy, with his passion for
Star Wars
, good books and a yearning to fly for his Queen and country, was long gone.

In the corner of the room stood Richard’s heavy mahogany wardrobe. How different from today’s teenagers’ rooms – there was no flat-screen television, no PlayStation, iPod or computer. She hauled herself from the bed and went over to the wardrobe, prising open the doors. His old school blazer still hung inside with a few other bits and pieces of clothing, but there was precious little else in the wardrobe. Autumn had brought a screwdriver and a hammer with her in her handbag in case she needed some brute force to complete the task in hand, but she needn’t have worried. There was a digit-sized hole in the wood at the bottom of the wardrobe and she slotted her index finger inside. The false bottom lifted easily away. Squashed inside was a soft black Puma holdall and Autumn lifted it out. Richard had specifically told her not to look inside the bag and she’d promised not to. Frankly, the less she knew, the better. She’d phoned the number that Richard had given her, but the person who answered simply told her to wait until they got in touch with her. Now all she could do was sit tight with her illicit stash of whatever it was. Hoisting the bag onto her shoulder, she took one last look at the room and closed the door behind her.

‘What have you got there?’ Autumn was taken aback. Addison was already waiting for her in the workshop when she arrived at the Centre. He nodded at the holdall in her hand. ‘Are you doing a runner?’

Autumn felt her face fire up. ‘This is just some stuff that Richard asked me to collect from our parents’ house.’ She hadn’t wanted to risk leaving the holdall – or, more importantly, its contents – at her apartment. For some reason, she thought it might be safer if she hid it somewhere at the Centre until she had the call to say where the drop would be. Autumn was beginning to think now that it was a rather stupid idea.

‘Why didn’t you tell me this morning? I could have come with you.’ He kissed her cheek and laughed. ‘I came to tell you that I’ve got some great news.’

She couldn’t find her voice.

‘Looks like I might have some funding in place, so Tasmin could well have her stall on Camden Market. I can get her a grant, so she’ll have enough materials to make her stock, and there are several spaces available so she should be able to get a regular pitch.’

‘Wow,’ Autumn managed, but she knew that it didn’t convey the degree of enthusiasm she actually felt.

‘I thought you’d be dancing round the room with joy.’ Addison cocked his head on one side, puzzled. ‘What’s wrong? You’re looking very guilty.’

‘No, no,’ she said.

His eyes travelled to the holdall again. ‘Anything to do with this?’

‘This?’

Her boyfriend nodded.

‘It’s just some clothes and bits, I think . . . I’m not sure.’

Addison’s brow creased in a frown. ‘I’ve been working for too long with clients who don’t necessarily stay on the straight and narrow, Autumn,’ he said. ‘I can tell someone who’s being shifty from a mile away.’

‘It’s nothing. Really.’

‘Let me look at what’s in the bag,’ he said steadily. And she didn’t resist when Addison reached for the zip.

Her boyfriend held up a teddy bear. It was cute, honey-coloured and wore a bow tie and a very stupid grin. There were dozens of identical ones packed in side by side. ‘Soft toys?’

Autumn shrugged and tried a careless laugh. It came out miserably. ‘You know Rich!’

‘Too well,’ Addison said, and taking a craft-knife from the workbench next to him, he slit the teddy bear’s stomach.

Autumn gasped. Little packets of white power were pushed inside the bear.

Addison lifted one out and rolled it between his fingers. ‘You know what this is?’

‘No,’ she said, ‘not exactly. But I know that it’s not good.’ She’d always been a useless liar. Her shoulders sagged and she dropped heavily to sit on the nearest stool. ‘I’ve agreed to deliver this holdall for Richard,’ she confessed.

Addison looked even less happy. ‘To who?’

She took a deep breath. It was time to be straight with him. ‘To some very dodgy blokes.’

‘You have to go to the police with it.’

‘I can’t. Richard could be in big trouble.’

‘He’s in big trouble anyway, Autumn.’

‘Me shopping him is hardly going to help,’ she pleaded. ‘I’ve always been the one to get Richard out of the shit. But no more, I promise. I have to do this one last thing for him and then that’s it. He’s on his own.’

‘You’ve brought this into a drug rehab centre,’ he said tightly. ‘Risking your job and our reputation just to save your brother’s skin?’

‘Yes,’ she said quietly. It was the first time she’d seen it in quite that light.

Addison handed her the teddy bear. From deep inside it came a fearsome growl. ‘I can’t deal with you any more, Autumn. I’m sorry. Your brother’s completely fucked up and he’s dragging you down to his level. Don’t mess up your own life by getting involved in this.’

‘What else can I do?’ she cried. But by then, Addison was already slamming the door behind him.

Chapter Fifty-Nine

M
arcus takes me in his arms and holds me tightly. ‘This is it, babe,’ he says. He never calls me babe.

We’re at Trington Manor. I’ve been ensconced here for a couple of hours already. Doing nothing much more than panicking, really. I’m glad that Marcus has finally bowled up as I’m sure that will make me relax more.

It seems as if I’ve hardly seen my fiancé for weeks. There’s been so much to do, so much to organise, despite Jacob’s wonderful input. It’s been so frantic that I haven’t even had the chance to move out of my flat and into his apartment. Yet, already, the wedding is upon us. ‘Feeling nervous?’ I ask.

Marcus shakes his head. ‘Not a bit. I’m really looking forward to this,’ he tells me softly. ‘Lucy Lombard’s going to be my lawfully wedded wife. That makes me the luckiest man alive. Why should I be nervous about that?’ He tightens his arms around me and gazes lovingly into my eyes. ‘Are you nervous?’

‘No. No,’ I say. Not nervous. Shit scared would sum it up better.

As well as living separately, we’ve also booked separate
bedrooms for tonight. Marcus is hideously superstitious and doesn’t want to see me before I get to the church. I agree. It doesn’t take much for bad luck to rain down on my head, and I’m not keen to tempt fate.

‘My parents have arrived,’ I tell him as I wrinkle my nose.

‘That will make you feel better,’ he says. Actually, that will make me feel like picking up a pump-action shotgun and killing people indiscriminately.

‘I’ve booked a table for dinner at seven o’clock.’ This will be fun as it’s the first time my parents will have been in a room together since their rather acrimonious divorce. Perhaps time will have mellowed them all, water under the bridge, etc., and my mum won’t feel like clawing out The Hairdresser’s eyes and my dad won’t be tempted to deck The Millionaire. Perhaps, also, Victoria Beckham will cut back on her spending and the polar ice caps will stop melting.

Marcus rubs his chin thoughtfully. ‘I haven’t seen your parents since . . .’

‘Since they were married to each other,’ I remind him. ‘I’ve barely seen them myself since then either.’ My father now resides in connubial bliss on the South Coast of England with a woman half his age, while my mother has opted for sex-filled siestas in Spain with a man who looks twice hers.

‘Sneaking away to a Bahamian beach by ourselves is suddenly very appealing,’ I say.

‘The wedding will be fabulous,’ Marcus promises me as he kisses my lips tenderly. ‘Everyone will remember it for years.’

First we have to get through dinner. Marcus is at the head of the table. I’m at the foot. My warring parents are facing each other. You try doing a table-plan for people who you know will all detest each other. Three biros ran dry in the process. This could well be the longest evening of my life and I suddenly wish that Crush and I could be hiding out in the ladies’ loo together again to liven it all up. Then, summoning all my strength, I push any images of Aiden Holby to the back of my mind and smile widely at my assembled guests.

Despite my mother’s mahogany tan, I know that her face is white and tight beneath it. My dad is looking exhausted and I don’t think it’s because he plays too many rounds of golf. The Hairdresser – Myleen – has come dressed as a hooker. She has on a white plunge-neck top that is barely skimming her nipples. Those things
cannot
be her real tits, surely? She’d be impossible to drown, that’s for certain. The Millionaire is transfixed by her. He’s laughing very loudly at every single thing that she says – which isn’t much. Every now and again The Millionaire winces, which must be when my mum’s foot connects with his shin. My dad is glowering darkly at my mum across the perfect arrangement of white roses.

This is fabulous, I sigh to myself. And we’re only on the starters. How in hell’s name are we going to get as far as the dessert? Believe me, we are sticking it out that long. I’m not going to go through all this angst without the lure of chocolate at the end. This could well be my
very
last chance to eat chocolate as a single woman and I have to seize it.

Marcus is doing his best to be the congenial host. ‘Did you both have good journeys?’

‘Wonderful,’ my dad says. ‘Always get a good ride in a top-of-the-range Bentley.’

I assume he’s talking about the roads, but I can’t be sure these days.

My mum toys with her champagne glass. ‘Howard chartered a private jet,’ she says coolly.

My dad splutters into his fizz. I’d say that a private jet trumps a top-of-the-range car – even a Bentley. One nil to Mum.

Marcus tries harder. ‘This is a great hotel, isn’t it? Are your rooms nice?’

‘We’re in the Honeymoon Suite,’ my dad tells us without taking his eyes off my mother.

‘Presidential Suite,’ my mother slaps down. ‘Enormous.’

Hmm. Not sure about that one. The Honeymoon Suite implies that you’re still having loads of sex, but the Presidential Suite smacks of having loads of money, but possibly needing Viagra. Think that one might go to Dad. My mum must think so too as she necks her champagne in a very aggressive manner.

This is a nightmare. I almost wish that we’d invited Marcus’s parents along too. At least, I’d have had the distraction of fending off being fondled by Dave the Groper, and Hilary the Hun is more than a match for my mum. No doubt, they’d have started a hat war or something.

My fiancé glances at me in a tortured manner. I return his gaze with a sympathetic smile. I’m so cross with my parents – here’s Marcus trying really hard to make us have
a nice evening and they’re all being so rude. Why is it that weddings and funerals bring out the very worst in people? They’ve only got to be civil to each other for a few hours and then we needn’t see them again until their first grandchild is born. That’s how it works these days, isn’t it? I look round the table at the folded arms and the scowling faces and my heart sinks. There’s a lot of effort and expense going into this wedding; all I can hope is that they behave themselves long enough for us to have a truly memorable day.

Chapter Sixty

M
arcus sees me to my bedroom door. He pins me up against the wall, presses himself against me and kisses me long and hard. ‘Mmm,’ he murmurs in my ear. ‘Is it bad luck to shag the bride senseless the night before the wedding?’

‘Quite probably.’

‘Want to risk it?’ he says as his hand caresses my bottom. His kiss deepens. ‘I wanted to run my hand up your thighs in the restaurant, like I did that night at Alfonso’s.’

I break away from his embrace. ‘That was
you
?’

Marcus laughs. ‘Who did you think it was?’

I can’t really say, ‘your dad’, can I? If I’d thought it was Marcus caressing my cellulite then I wouldn’t have legged it to the ladies’ loo and I wouldn’t have ended up kissing Aiden ‘Crush’ Holby. A headache starts behind my eyes and I can feel a chocolate crisis coming on. ‘We have to be up really early,’ I tell him. ‘I should go straight to bed.’

‘That’s what I’m suggesting,’ Marcus says with a twinkle in his eye.

‘Tomorrow,’ I promise, kissing him. But now the mood
is broken. ‘Let’s save it until we’re husband and wife. It will be more exciting then.’

‘Will it? Isn’t that the end of our sex-life, when we get married?’

I shrug. ‘Doesn’t seem to be that way for my parents.’

Marcus pulls away. ‘Yes, but they’ve both remarried,’ he points out. ‘Were they like that when they were married?’

‘Of course not!’

Marcus lets go of my hands. ‘That’s what I’m saying.’

‘They were normal,’ I tell him. ‘They rowed. They sulked. They probably had sex once in a blue moon. But most of the time, while they were married, they rubbed along pretty well together.’

My fiancé suddenly looks very serious. ‘Is that what you want for us? To rub along nicely?’

‘No,’ I tell him. ‘I want more than that. I want you to be my husband and my best friend. I want you to be my lover and a great dad to our kids.’

‘I want all that too.’