The Chocolate Lovers' Christmas

by Carole Matthews

  ‘Merry Christmas, everyone,’ I say.

  Then everyone gets up and hugs me and wishes me merry Christmas and I’m nearly in pieces again.

  Chantal says as she hands me a glass, ‘Did you sleep well?’

  ‘Like a log.’ I lift my drink to toast my friends. ‘Cheers. Here’s to a fabulous Christmas!’

  ‘Cheers!’ they echo.

  Eventually, after much kissing and hugging, breakfast is resumed. Clive and Tristan budge up and I sit down next to them. Clive puts his arm round me and I lean against him, cosy in his cuddle. I don’t really want to talk about Chocolate Heaven now, as reality is a vastly overrated state and I can’t face this conversation on an empty stomach, but it must be had.

  ‘Why didn’t you sell Chocolate Heaven to Autumn?’ I say miserably. ‘We’d have made a great job of it. You would have left your business in safe hands.’

  ‘It will still be fine,’ Clive assures me. ‘I’ve sold it to a great company. I told them what a fantastic job you’re doing as manager. They’re still going to run it on the same lines. Things won’t change at all.’

  ‘You can’t be sure of that.’

  ‘They were so keen to have the business, Lucy – desperate almost – that I can’t believe they’ll want to change it. When I told them someone else was interested, they just upped the offer. And they’re paying cash, which means it could go through quickly.’

  ‘Even so . . .’

  ‘You have absolutely nothing to worry about,’ he says. ‘Trust me. This is a great solution for all of us.’

  ‘It would have been a good venture for Autumn.’

  ‘It’s a massive commitment, Lucy. We’re talking a lot of money. I’d have worried about Autumn being in too deep.’ He hugs me. ‘You won’t even notice the changeover.’

  ‘I hope you’re right.’ I’m still not sure if I’m mollified.

  ‘You’re our friend. Our best friend. We’ve done this in your interests, too.’

  And I should believe in that. The guys wouldn’t deliberately let me down. They’re great and I should trust Clive’s instincts.

  In fact, looking round the table, I can’t believe how lucky I am to have such good friends and I sit and let the general chatter wash over me, feeling content despite my bruised and battered heart and the inevitability of having a new boss soon. There isn’t one of us here who hasn’t weathered similar or more difficult storms and I know that with their help I’ll survive again.

  Nadia looks more relaxed than I’ve seen her in a long time. She’s chatting easily to Jacob and I’m so pleased to see that they’re still friends. Lana is on her lap and the baby is dozing happily. Autumn looks quite smitten with Miles and I can see them holding hands beneath the table. Nice. I can also see them down the aisle within a year.

  Chantal piles sausages and bacon on a huge platter and puts it in the middle of the table. A few seconds later there’s a big dish of scrambled eggs.

  ‘Dive in,’ she instructs. Whereupon we all fall on it.

  While we eat, Nadia comes and sits next to me and kisses my cheek. Lewis slides onto my lap. ‘Hiya, champ. How are you doing?’

  ‘Good,’ he says, but he’s engrossed with the car he’s running along the edge of the kitchen table.

  ‘This is a fantastic place,’ Nadia says. ‘We drove through the town yesterday. I only got a brief glimpse, but it’s so lovely that it makes me wonder why I live where I do.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I agree. ‘It’s a tough choice. Dirty old Camden or rather splendid Keswick?’

  ‘We’ve had a few holidays up this way,’ Chantal throws in. ‘The only trouble is that you can buy any product you want in the world – so long as it’s made of fleece.’

  ‘And we’d miss you at Chocolate Heaven,’ Autumn says.

  I don’t give further voice to my fears for the future of our favourite chocolate emporium. I’m just going to have to keep my fingers and toes crossed and hope that Clive is right about what will happen there.

  ‘Nadia has already been eyeing up the local talent,’ Autumn teases.

  ‘I have not!’ Our friend is outraged.

  ‘Tell me more.’

  ‘Gentleman farmer James Barnsworth came calling yesterday,’ Chantal fills in.

  ‘He owns this place,’ Nadia says. ‘But he lives just down the hill. He invited us all there on Boxing Day.’

  ‘All of us?’

  ‘He’s just being neighbourly. Nothing more,’ she insists. ‘And he has children similar ages to Lewis and Florence. I thought it would be nice. He suggested a walk by the lake.’

  ‘You’ve been quick, Ms Nadia Stone,’ I whisper.

  ‘Stop it, Lucy,’ she hisses back at me. But her cheeks flame with colour and she looks remarkably coy.

  ‘I have some good news to share with you all,’ Autumn adds. ‘Nadia and Miles already know, but I had a call yesterday from the Find Families agency. Willow’s adoptive mother has been in touch with them. Willow wants to meet me in the new year.’

  ‘That’s fantastic.’ I give Autumn a hug.

  ‘I hope so. I still can hardly believe it.’

  That’s the hard thing about Christmas, isn’t it? For some it’s a time of family, reconciliation, unity and happiness. For others it’s a time of loneliness – even in the midst of a crowd of wonderful friends – regret and thinking about what might have been. I have my phone; I could just call Crush and wish him merry Christmas. That would be the thing to do. But I don’t know where he is and, what worries me more, he may not be alone.

  Chapter Ninety

  When our carb levels are topped up with a multiplicity of toast and marmalade to finish off breakfast, we all head through to the living room. The Christmas tree lights are already on and the fire is roaring in the grate. Beneath the tree is a pile of presents, including the mystery one from Marcus, which I put there last night.

  There are so many beautifully wrapped boxes that I’m not sure how Autumn and Miles actually managed to fit in the car with them. Supervised by Autumn and Nadia, Florence and Lewis are already over-excited and are ripping open presents at a rate of knots. I think we’d better take them out to play in the snow later to run off a bit of energy. A bracing walk and a snowball fight wouldn’t go amiss and, at some point, there’s a Christmas dinner to be cooked – my favourite meal of the year.

  Before that though, we have important business to attend to. The rest of us sit on the sofas and, while Lana is still contentedly snoozing in her chair, Chantal and Jacob do the honours of handing out the many gifts.

  He gives me a present and kisses my cheek. ‘Merry Christmas, Lucy.’

  I pull him close and, while no one’s paying us any attention, whisper, ‘It’s good to see you here, Jacob. I hope everything turns out well for you and Chantal.’

  ‘I hope so, too.’

  ‘We need a happy ending.’

  ‘It seems to have been a convoluted route getting here,’ he says. ‘Why do we all make our lives so complicated, Lucy?’

  ‘Sometimes it happens without us really meaning to.’ Look at my own scenario. Everything I try to do, however well-intentioned, turns to total disaster. I am the past master of it.’

  ‘Speaking of which, no Crush?’ he asks.

  ‘We’ve split up,’ I tell him. ‘Sadly.’

  ‘I thought you’d got it right this time, Lucy.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I agree. ‘Me too.’

  ‘Jacob,’ Chantal says. ‘Pass this one to Lucy.’

  He hands me the box from Marcus. ‘This is from you-know-who,’ I confide. ‘Chantal will kill me if she knows.’

  Chantal flops down next to me. ‘If I know what?’

  Gah. ‘This is from Marcus.’ I show her the pretty box.

  She tuts at me, exasperated. ‘It will be something ridiculously expensive and extravagant. More one-upmanship than gift.’

  ‘He’s no one to out-do,’ I point out. ‘Crush isn’t here.’

  ‘Sorry, I shouldn
’t have said that. It’s a gift and, even though it’s from Marcus, I’m sure it’s well-intentioned.’

  ‘You were probably right the first time,’ I admit.

  ‘Better get it opened then.’

  I do as I’m told, carefully untwining the lavish ribbon. As Chantal has voiced, I bet it’s more diamonds or something profligate. That’s Marcus’s style.

  When I lift the lid off the box, I look inside and see a chunky key made out of glossy dark chocolate.

  Chantal wrinkles her nose, puzzled. ‘Has to be something cryptic.’

  ‘There’s a note with it.’ Taking out the key, I retrieve the small card from underneath it. A cartoon reindeer grins at me. I open it and read out loud: ‘My darling Lucy. This isn’t the key to my heart – you already hold that.’

  ‘I think I might be sick,’ Chantal says.

  I roll my eyes in agreement and continue, ‘I told you that I’d prove to you how much I love you and I only hope this makes you realise that I’m truly sincere. This is the key to Chocolate Heaven. I’ve bought it for you.’

  I look up at Chantal and Jacob and their mouths have dropped open.

  My own mouth has gone as dry as a bone. He said he’d do something to prove that he loved me. I guess this is it. Oh, Marcus. I let out a long and bewildered breath. ‘I can’t believe this.’

  Chantal shakes her head. ‘Me neither.’

  Now my hands are trembling. Gripping the note, I read on. ‘I want you to have it, to run it as your own business. No strings.’

  But there will be strings with Marcus, I’m only too aware of that.

  ‘Have a merry Christmas, my dearest darling. I love you as I always have. Marcus.’ There are lots of kisses on the bottom.

  I hold up the chocolate key, struck dumb. Marcus has bought Chocolate Heaven. I don’t know whether to weep with joy or despair.

  Chapter Ninety-One

  We all sit and stare at the key in my hands, unspeaking.

  ‘Wow,’ Chantal manages eventually. ‘Is this for real?’

  ‘Of course it is.’ I want to bang my head hard on the rather attractive coffee table, but I consider the candles and the stags. ‘What shall I do? What can I do?’

  ‘It might not be a bad thing,’ Jacob says, a hopeful note in his voice. ‘You’ve got to hand it to Marcus. He’s big on the grand gesture.’

  ‘There’s no way he’s going to hand the business over lock, stock and barrel. I know Marcus too well. I’ll be his employee, his serf.’ My heart sinks. ‘He’ll be my boss. I’ll have to see him every day, answer to him. He’ll meddle to his heart’s content. There will be strings.’ As many as Marcus thinks he can get away with.

  ‘I could kill Clive,’ Chantal says. ‘What was he thinking of?’

  Clive looks up from his present opening, suddenly aware of our complaining, and grins at us. ‘What have I done?’

  ‘You sold Chocolate Heaven to Marcus,’ I wail. ‘Why would you do that, Clive? Out of all the people in the world you chose Marcus?’

  The colour drains from Clive’s face. ‘Marcus? We didn’t. We sold it to an investment company. They assured us they’d still want the business to run as it had been. It’s a fantastic deal and I thought that Chocolate Heaven would be in safe hands. I told you this. We recommended you as manager and they sounded thrilled. They seemed really keen for the business to continue seamlessly.’

  ‘Did you ever meet this company?’

  ‘No,’ Clive admits. ‘We did it all through the agent. They came highly recommended.’

  ‘And what was the company called?’

  ‘Canning Investments,’ Clive says.

  ‘Marcus Canning,’ I tell him. ‘Bloody Marcus bloody Canning bloody Investments.’

  ‘Oh.’ He and Tristan exchange a worried glance. ‘We didn’t even consider Marcus might be involved. Why would we?’

  ‘I wish you’d taken Autumn’s offer. You know that we would have loved to run it.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Lucy.’ He looks distraught at this turn of events. ‘We signed on the dotted line before we left yesterday. I think we’re fully committed now.’

  ‘I wish you’d talked to us. Given us some time. Autumn could have perhaps got more money and the Chocolate Heaven legacy could have continued unchanged. Who knows what will happen now?’

  Clive looks distraught. ‘Couldn’t you still manage it for Marcus?’

  ‘No.’ I shake my head sadly. ‘Never.’ Knowing Marcus as I do, he’d twist me round his little finger until I didn’t know which way was up.

  Now Autumn and Nadia come over. ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘Marcus has bought Chocolate Heaven,’ I tell them, flatly. ‘He’s given me this.’ I show them the chocolate key and hand over Marcus’s note for them to read.

  They scan it, looking increasingly worried.

  ‘We know how much Chocolate Heaven means to you,’ Nadia says. ‘Think carefully about this, Lucy. Don’t be in too much of a rush to say no.’

  ‘You might feel differently in the new year,’ Autumn offers.

  ‘I won’t,’ I vow. ‘Marcus has only done this to get me in his grasp again. I’m devastated.’

  ‘There’s only one thing for it.’ Chantal hands me a chocolate reindeer.

  But, do you know, I don’t even feel like eating chocolate. My appetite has completely disappeared. That’s how bad this is.

  Chapter Ninety-Two

  When we’ve unwrapped all of the presents, we manage to drag ourselves away from the heat of the roaring fire and head out into the snow. The day is bright, sharp and there are a few tentative snowflakes falling. It’s just how Christmas Day should be.

  We bundle ourselves into all the warm clothes we’ve brought and walk down to the lake in the freezing air. Meandering along the snow-sprinkled shore, Jacob leads the skimming of flat stones into the slate-coloured water. We all try our hand and stand to watch them hop and skip across the surface of the lake. Then we admire the majestic peaks around us beneath a grey-white sky that threatens yet more snow. I show Lewis and Florence, both in colourful wellies, how to stamp on iced-over puddles until they crackle, satisfyingly, under foot.

  The beauty of it all makes me forget that I’m unloved and about my dilemma with Marcus and Chocolate Heaven. Almost. Afterwards, we go back to the garden of the cottage and build a snowman, project-managed by Jacob and Miles, who clearly both have degrees in snowman building. He is a fine specimen though, when we’ve finished. Chantal finds a short, fat carrot from our veg stash for his nose and we use black stones for his eyes. Clive hands over his pink cashmere scarf to bring a touch of Islington to our creation and Miles donates his beanie hat. When we’re tired and our gloves are wet through, we head back indoors. The scent of the cooking turkey in the Aga wafts out to greet us and makes us realise that it’s been quite a while since breakfast.

  We spend ages stripping off our outdoor clothes and hanging them to dry in the utility room where the boiler is kicking out plentiful heat. Everyone’s hair is damp or tousled from hats. Our faces are pink-cheeked, raw with cold. Divested, we then pad about the kitchen in our socks, huddling close to the range, while Chantal makes hot chocolate for the children and mulled wine for the adults.

  This has been a lovely day and, despite my sadness and the Crush-shaped hole in my heart, I’ve really enjoyed myself. It would be hard not to fall in love with this place.

  Someone puts Michael Bublé on the iPod and he croons out Christmas tunes while we sing along. Once she’s had a restorative glass of wine or two, Chantal starts to prepare the Christmas dinner. We all fall into helping her. Clive and Tristan are put in charge of the starters – pea and ham soup or smoked salmon blinis. I peel potatoes and carrots. Jacob is in charge of sprouts. Nadia is slicing parsnips. Miles, with the help of Lewis and Florence, sets the big farmhouse table for us all. It’s a lovely time of chatter and laughter.

  It’s still a hive of activity when there’s a knock at the front door and w
e all jump.

  ‘I didn’t hear a car,’ Chantal says. ‘We’re not expecting anyone else, are we?’

  ‘It could be farmer James,’ Autumn teases.

  ‘It better not be Marcus.’ I wipe my hands on a towel. I remember letting slip that we were heading for Keswick. Despite my earlier crossness, I had actually managed to push my troubles to the back of my mind – not hindered by three glasses of mulled wine. ‘It would be just like him to follow me up here.’ He’s probably hiding behind a bush waiting for just this moment.

  ‘You stay put,’ Chantal says. ‘I’ll get it.’

  ‘I’ll go. If it is Marcus,’ and I have a very strong suspicion that it is, ‘then I’m the one who has to face him.’

  So, with a deep breath, I gird my loins – even though I’m not exactly sure what that means – and I march to the door ready for action.

  Chapter Ninety-Three

  When I wrench open the door, the wind whips up a flurry of snow. It’s coming down really heavily now and fat, lacy flakes drift in the air. It feels as if I’m on the inside of a snow globe.

  Standing there is a man in a bright red Santa outfit, trimmed with fake fur. His beard curls down to his waist. Despite the disguise, I’d know him anywhere. Also his car is parked on the drive. Which is a bit of a giveaway.

  ‘Hello, little girl,’ he says softly through his beard. ‘I’ve come to bring your Christmas present.’

  I think about being cool, taking this in my stride. But I can’t. That’s just not me. Instead, I launch myself into his arms. ‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘Thank you so much.’

  ‘You don’t know what it is yet,’ Crush says.

  ‘I don’t care.’ I’m sobbing now. ‘You’re here and that’s all that matters.’

  ‘Don’t cry,’ he says, wiping away a tear with his black-gloved thumb.