The Chocolate Lovers' Diet

by Carole Matthews

  ‘I’ll get tea sent up.’ Chantal heads to the phone. ‘And vodka.’

  ‘You are my best girls,’ I wail.

  ‘Darren can start on us,’ Nadia says. ‘You just take half an hour to calm down. What you need is something to distract you.’

  I’ve had a good cry, two shots of vodka, three cups of tea and four chocolate croissants – which definitely has to be the last chocolate I eat as a single woman otherwise they won’t be able to zip up my blessed dress. Suffice to say, I’m feeling much, much better.

  Jacob pops his head around the door of my room. ‘Are you all decent?’

  ‘That’s a matter of opinion,’ Nadia says. ‘But we’re all clothed.’

  He comes inside, taking in the scene. ‘Wow!’ He gives us a beaming smile. ‘Don’t you all look great.’

  The girls have all had their hair and make-up done now and are resplendent in tight silk numbers. Autumn’s dress is the colour of chewy caramels, Nadia’s wearing a rich shade of coffee and Chantal has on a dark, bitter chocolate. Jacob has gone for a chocolate theme – what else? My dress is white chocolate and, collectively, we look like a box of handmade delights. The man really is an angel and I have long forgiven him his dodgy past. The bouquets have arrived – glorious confections of cream flowers, interlaced with chocolate-coloured ribbons.

  I’m currently having my make-up repaired and am still in my underwear. I don’t care if Jacob gets an eyeful – actually, I puff out my chest and cross my legs seductively, hoping it makes them look slimmer. It might make him realise what he missed. But then I remember that he has seen lots of women in their underwear in a professional capacity and that this is just a different profession for him, so I give up with the vamp pose.

  Flopping down on a chair next to me, Jacob asks, ‘Everything okay?’

  I nod. I really think that it will all be fine. My histrionics were just a temporary blip, nothing more. If I don’t think about Crush – even in a friendly way – then everything will be tickety-boo.

  ‘The dining room is looking splendid,’ he assures me. ‘You’ll be bowled over. The florists are just finishing in the church and that looks amazing too. This is going to be one hell of a wedding.’

  ‘I hope you’re right, Jacob.’ I give him a brave smile. ‘Thanks for all your help. There’s no way I could have done this without you.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have wanted you to.’ He kisses me tenderly on the cheek.

  ‘Don’t smudge the make-up,’ I warn.

  ‘See you later,’ he says. ‘I’ll be there all the way making sure that everything is just perfect.’

  We’re all ready and raring to go, yet there are more than three hours left to wait. Darren and his assistant have finished their work here, so they’ve gone off to do my mother’s hair and make-up, leaving us alone.

  I’m swinging my legs, kicking my cream silk shoes against the fluffy carpet.

  ‘What do we do now?’ I say. It seems as if Jacob has been a bit over-zealous with his timetable. ‘We’ve got at least two hours to kill before the photographer arrives.’

  ‘We could give you a pep talk about marriage,’ Chantal suggests. ‘I’ve got a few tips on how not to go about it.’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘That will only start me off all over again. Besides, Marcus and I had a little heart-to-heart last night. We both know that we’ve got to work hard at keeping on track, and we’re both prepared to do that. I know that the wedding day is all very symbolic and stuff, but I really do feel that this is the start of a new, more mature era in our relationship.’

  My friend smiles at me. ‘I’m sure it is, honey.’

  The clock in my room ticks loudly. I kick my heels a bit more and puff out a breath. ‘We could have had a lie-in.’

  ‘I guess Jacob’s left plenty of time for unexpected emergencies,’ Chantal says. ‘There’s not a wedding day that doesn’t have some little drama crop up.’

  ‘I should have brought some of Lewis’s board games,’ Nadia says. ‘Snakes and ladders would have kept us amused.’

  ‘I spy with my little eye something beginning with “C”.’ My eyes light on the remains of the box of Chocolate Heaven goodies.

  ‘No more chocolate, Lucy,’ Chantal tells me. ‘You’ll make yourself sick.’

  ‘As if!’

  ‘You’ll get it on your dress,’ Nadia adds.

  ‘I need something to do,’ I whine. ‘I’m just getting more nervous again, sitting here waiting.’

  Then a mobile phone rings and we all jump sky high – Autumn more than any of us. She scuttles across the room to her handbag to find it. ‘Hello,’ she says, turning away from us into the corner.

  We all crane to hear what she’s saying as we’ve nothing else to do. Then we pretend that we weren’t when she hangs up and comes back towards us.

  ‘I’ve just had some bad news,’ she says. Autumn turns to me, her eyes brimming with tears.

  ‘Don’t mess up your make-up,’ I warn. Chantal sweeps in with a tissue again. ‘The chance of any of us getting down that aisle without mascara tracks is looking slim.’

  ‘It might not matter,’ Autumn says. ‘I don’t think I’m going to be able to be your bridesmaid after all.’

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  ‘You've got a delivery to make? What kind of delivery? I want to know.’

  Autumn drags a holdall out of the corner of the room. ‘This kind.’

  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

  Purposefully, 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

  The 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.’