The Chocolate Lovers' Diet (29 page)

Nadia, Chantal and I all look as blank as each other.

‘The guy that attacked me the other night – that’s what it was all about,’ Autumn goes on. ‘This bag belongs to them. My dear brother had it.’

‘What’s in it?’

‘Soft toys.’ Autumn unzips the holdall and lifts out a fluffy teddy bear. ‘With a street value of a million pounds or more.’

My eyes feel like popping out. ‘You’re wearing a bridesmaid’s dress and you have a bag of Class A drugs?’

‘That’s about the sum of it,’ Autumn confirms.

‘Why did you bring it here?’

‘I couldn’t very well leave it at my flat. They might have broken in and ransacked it. I thought it would be safer here. Plus I’d been told to expect them to call me and let me know when the drop would be.’ She sighs heavily. ‘Well, they just called. I have to make the drop now.’

‘Now?’

‘It’s this side of London,’ she says, ‘but it’ll be tight for me to get back in time. That’s if everything goes according to plan.’

‘Can’t it wait?’ I say. ‘Tell them you’re at a wedding and that you’ll do the drop tomorrow.’

‘These aren’t the type of people who you tell to wait, Lucy. You know how much your wedding means to me,’ she says, ‘but I can’t let Richard down. He says they’ll kill him if they don’t get this back.’

‘And he’s letting you go out and face them alone?’

‘What else can I do?’

‘Does Addison know about this?’ Nadia asks.

Autumn nods. ‘I didn’t want to say anything to spoil your day, but I haven’t heard from Addison since he found out what I was planning to do. He packed his stuff and went back to his own place. He was so angry with me for agreeing to do this.’

Can’t say I’m surprised.

‘I don’t blame him if he wants nothing more to do with me.’ Autumn’s eyes fill with tears again and her voice wavers. ‘Quite rightly, he’s sick of me putting Richard first. But this is the last thing I do for my brother, the
very
last thing. I swear.’

I want to rake my hands through my hair, but can’t because I’ll dislodge my bloody tiara. ‘You can’t do this,’ I say. ‘Not alone.’

Autumn, Nadia and Chantal do another exchange of worried glances.

‘We are top heistmasters,’ I remind them. ‘Operation Liberate Chantal’s Jewellery was a textbook scam. We’re
women who are experienced in the ways of the dubious underbelly of society.’ Already the latent criminal part of my mind has kicked into gear. ‘We can do this together.’

Chantal sits heavily on the bed.

‘We can blat back to town. Chantal, you’re an ace getaway driver.’ I don’t volunteer to drive, as last time I did, I crashed a van. ‘Do you reckon that you could get us there and back in two hours?’

‘That butts us right up against the photographer,’ she points out with a worried chew of her lip.

‘So we have a few less bouquet shots.’ I shrug. ‘That’s plenty of time.’

‘You can’t do this,’ Autumn says with a vigorous shake of her curls. ‘You can’t even consider it.’

‘This is our “little drama”,’ I remind them. ‘It’s fate that Jacob allowed us just the right amount of extra time. We’ve got nothing else to do.’ For some reason there’s a note of excitement creeping into my voice.

‘It’s dangerous,’ Autumn tells us starkly.

‘All the more reason for us to come along too,’ I insist. ‘There’s no way you can do this by yourself. Am I right?’

Nadia and Chantal nod reluctantly.

‘Then let’s go,’ I say. ‘We’re wasting valuable time talking about it.’

‘I have to make one more call,’ Autumn says, and she moves away from the group.

‘We should take everything with us,’ Chantal says. ‘Just in case we are tight for time and can’t get back to the rooms.’ She hands us all our bouquets and then gives us all the once-over. ‘Jeez, we are looking fabulous.’

‘Right.’ I smooth my hands over my wedding dress. ‘Have you got the holdall, Autumn?’

Our friend lifts it up.

‘We ought to tell someone that we’re going out,’ Nadia says.

‘No. We can’t.’ I shake my head, and am glad to note that my tiara doesn’t even think about wobbling.

‘You should tell Marcus.’

‘No,’ I say again. ‘He’ll only try to stop us. The less that people know about this, the better. This has to be our secret. Besides,’ I say, ‘we’ll be back before anyone realises we’re missing.’

Chapter Sixty-Four

P
urposefully, we all stride out of Trington Manor and head for Chantal’s black four-wheel drive Chelsea Tractor. The sun is shining and, even though it’s February, there’s a modicum of warmth to it. A fine day for a wedding, you might say. A perfect day.

Our friend slides into the driving seat while my two other bridesmaids help me to feed my dress and veil into the front passenger seat. When I’m settled, Nadia hands me my bouquet.

‘You look lovely,’ she says.

‘Just the thing for a drugs drop?’

We all manage a nervous laugh, and while I smooth down my skirt so that it doesn’t crease too much, Nadia and Autumn hop into the back.

Chantal puts on her shades. She looks very mean. Ideal for a getaway driver. Except for the bridesmaid’s dress, of course. ‘Ready?’

‘Ready,’ we all agree and she fires the ignition.

Nothing happens.

Chantal swears under her breath and pumps her foot on the accelerator in a very aggressive manner. Still nothing.

‘It might have pre-wedding nerves too,’ I suggest with an ill-advised chew at my newly manicured nails.

‘Fucking heap of shit,’ Chantal mutters, even though her car is brand new and is something ferociously expensive. That matters not, as despite numerous attempts to get the beast to move, it steadfastly refuses.

Autumn checks her watch anxiously.

‘Don’t panic,’ I say. ‘Don’t panic. We just need to implement Plan B.’

‘We need to get another frigging vehicle,’ Chantal complains as she hits the heel of her hand against the steering-wheel. For someone who wasn’t keen to go in the first place, she seems very disappointed that we’re not shooting out of the gravel drive, wheels spinning.

I give my friends a knowing smile. ‘We have an alternative vehicle.’

They all turn to look at me. Chantal frowns. ‘We do?’

My dad’s Bentley has been volunteered to be the wedding car. The small church that Marcus and I are getting married in is in the grounds of the hotel, but it’s a long walk – particularly in silk heels – and my father has kindly offered me the use of his very posh car so that I can travel the short distance in style. Jacob has had both the interior and the exterior of the car decorated with chocolate and cream ribbons. It looks absolutely great. Excessively bridal. Now we, the good members of The Chocolate Lovers’ Club, are all standing staring at it, bouquets in hand.

‘We could take this,’ I suggest. ‘It might even save us a bit of time as we could then drive straight to the church.’

‘We’re going on a drugs drop in bridal outfits,’ Chantal reminds me. ‘We don’t want to attract any more attention to ourselves.’

‘Right. Good thought.’ I purse my lips. We all stay silent. ‘We don’t actually have any other options though.’

Plan C steadfastly fails to materialise. We all sigh as we consider the Bentley.

Eventually, Nadia says, ‘Looks like we need to get the keys to the wedding car.’

‘Wait here.’ I hitch up my dress. ‘I’ll be back in five minutes.’

As fast as I can in silk pumps, I sprint up the steps and back into Reception. Breathless already – must do more aerobics – I pant, ‘Could you please call Mr Lombard’s room for me?’

The receptionist, not appreciating the desperate hurry, slowly checks the room number and then, in an equally leisurely manner, dials it. An interminable wait ensues. I tap my foot and want to gnaw all the flowers out of my bouquet.

‘There’s no reply,’ she tells me after a few moments.

‘There must be,’ I say. Where the hell else could he be? It’s the morning of my wedding. My dad is walking me down the aisle. He should be getting ready.

‘Perhaps you could try the spa,’ the receptionist suggests.

Spa, my arse. He’ll be holed up in the Honeymoon Suite playing bouncy cuddles with The Hairdresser and too damn busy to answer the phone – that’s
exactly
where he’ll be.

I shoot over to the lift, more foot-tapping and gnashing of teeth while I wait for it to come. When I’m finally
inside I try to think pleasant, relaxing thoughts and enjoy the inane Musak filling the space. I must not want to kill my father. I must not want to kill my father.

Finding the Honeymoon Suite, I bang on the door. ‘Dad. Dad! Open up. I need to talk to you.’ Nothing. I don’t want to put my ear to the door in case I hear things that I’d rather not be party to. I know that my dad and his new wife get down to it on an alarmingly regular basis – they could barely keep their hands off each other over dinner – but it doesn’t mean that I have to be happy about that knowledge. I bang again. ‘Dad.
Dad!
’

The door opens and my father stands there in nothing but a towel. A small towel. His hair is standing on end, his face is flushed. But the dead giveaway is The Hairdresser lying legs akimbo on the bed behind him. ‘Where’s the fire?’ he says with a smile that fails to hide the fact that he’s disgruntled at having his coitus interrupted.

‘In your underpants,’ might be a good rejoinder, but this
is
my dad. ‘I need to borrow your car keys,’ I say.

His red face pales slightly. ‘The Bentley?’

‘The same.’

‘Why?’

‘I have a little errand to run.’

‘You’re getting married soon,’ he reminds me pointlessly.

‘I haven’t forgotten,’ I say. ‘I’m ready.’ I indicate my outfit. ‘It’s just something I’ve forgotten to do. Something tiny and unimportant. I won’t be long.’

‘It’s my pride and joy,’ Dad says weakly.

‘I’m your daughter and it’s my wedding day,’ I say. ‘I ask very little of you.’

My dad looks shame-faced, but still he doesn’t move.

‘Have I been a good daughter?’

A tear springs to his eye. ‘You’ve been a wonderful daughter.’

‘Then give me the car keys.’

With a very grumpy sigh, he wanders away from the door and then comes back with his car keys, which he hands over with the utmost reluctance. I kiss him on the cheek. ‘I love you,’ I say as I swing them round my finger and start to run back towards the lift. I call over my shoulder, ‘Now you can get back to your shag. But make it quick because I’m getting married soon and I don’t want you to be late!’

My dad slams the bedroom door. I smile to myself. We have no respect for our parents these days, but then they so rarely deserve it.

Chapter Sixty-Five

T
he members of The Chocolate Lovers’ Club all pile into my father’s Bentley. ‘I’d better drive,’ I say nervously. ‘If we crash, I wouldn’t want anyone else to be responsible for it.’

‘You’ve been drinking,’ Autumn reminds me.

‘Two vodkas,’ I say. ‘Still within the limit.’ Frankly, I could be blind drunk and it would do nothing to make my driving skills any worse. I’m hoping that the four chocolate croissants will have mopped up any alcohol in my bloodstream.

My friends help me as I slip into the driving seat, then fold my dress around my legs, so that I can use the pedals. Chantal is riding shotgun. Like a good bridesmaid, she takes my bouquet.

Checking that my bridesmaids are ready, I say, ‘Let’s go!’

Spinning the wheels in the gravel of Trington Manor’s sweeping drive, we head back to The Smoke. Taking in a couple of flowerbeds on the way, we speed away from my parents, Marcus and my wedding. The chocolate-themed ribbons on the car flutter in the breeze. I feel we should have some rousing hymns playing, but all my father has is Celine Dion CDs. ‘My Heart Will Go On’ booms out.

I glance over my shoulder. ‘You sure you know where we’re going, Autumn?’

‘Yes,’ she nods solemnly. ‘I’m sure. Girls . . . I can’t thank you enough for this.’

‘Enough with the grovelling,’ I chide her. ‘We’re doing this because we’re like The Three Musketeers – “All for one and one for all”.’

‘All for one and one for all,’ Nadia and Chantal chant.

Come to think of it, there were four of them too, even though they were, confusingly, called The Three Musketeers. I look to Autumn again. ‘All you need to do is tell me which way to go.’

An hour later and we’re driving through a very seedy part of North London. A part more seedy than I ever knew North London possessed – and I’ve known some pretty seedy parts, believe me. Even the sun has scuttled back behind grey clouds. Everything is bleak and monotone, and the area looks as if it’s been recently bombed out. Dubious-looking lock-up garages line the roads. Businesses offer quick tyre changes, paint jobs and repairs, and you can tell the sort of car owners that they’ll be having as customers. I’m surprised that they don’t offer blood removal and dead body disposal. I somehow don’t think there’ll be too many mums here in their Ford Fiestas getting a little dent knocked out that they’ve picked up on the school run.

My dad’s shiny vehicle complete with wedding decorations looks far too conspicuous and it makes me realise that this really is a dangerous thing that we’re doing – not
to mention illegal. Marcus would kill me if he could see me now. I hope that his Best Man is managing to keep him distracted in a rather less robust way. A few drinks in the bar might be preferable. What on earth was I thinking about when I said we should do this?

We seem to be driving deeper and deeper into the arse end of nowhere. I’ve no idea where we are, but I know that I don’t like it much.

‘Bloody hell, Autumn,’ I say with an anxious exhalation. ‘Are we nearly there yet?’

My friends turn and glare at me.

‘What?’

Autumn takes a map out of the top of the holdall. ‘Yes. We’re nearly there. Turn right at this next junction, Lucy.’

We turn into the street. The buildings have all had their windows punched out, giving the road a nice coating of broken glass.

‘The drop-off point should be around here somewhere,’ Autumn says. ‘We’re looking for a disused piece of ground in between two derelict factories.’