“Men, plural?” Ted’s fists were clenched and white.
“Yes.” She lifted her chin defiantly, but inside she felt like throwing herself to the floor and sobbing. Somewhere inside she always knew that this day would come—the day of reckoning—but she never knew that it would feel quite so painful.
“Then I think that there’s no more to say.”
“Ted—” she started.
“Get out,” her husband said. “Get out of my sight.”
She stood up and walked toward him. Now that it was out in the open, she felt sick, felt as if she could throw up there and then. She wanted Ted’s forgiveness and didn’t know how to ask for it. “I don’t want our marriage to end,” she said, and touched his arm tentatively. Ted pulled away from her. “I want to get back to where we used to be. We should talk about this. We should talk about where we’re going to go from here.”
There was a look of pain and loathing on her husband’s face. “The only talking that we’re going to do, Chantal, is through our lawyers.”
Chapter Fifty-five
I TEXTED ALL THE GIRLS to meet me at Chocolate Heaven for a quick drink and a bite of our favorite substance at the close of business. Jacob isn’t coming for another hour and I thought it would give me and my fellow criminals a chance to catch up on the events of Friday evening while I wait for him—seeing as I unceremoniously passed out before we’d had an opportunity to celebrate in proper fashion. I’d also like the members of the Chocolate Lovers’ Club to check out my new boyfriend. I want them to see that I am capable of attracting cool, gorgeous men who are also nice and not emotional fuckwits.
I’m already tucking heartily into a heap of champagne truffles, working on the theory that less is not always more, when Chantal arrives. She flings herself on the sofa next to me and lets her head drop back with a heavy sigh. My friend looks more subdued than she normally does. Her face is tired and drawn. She picks up one of my truffles listlessly and pops it into her mouth. The usual gasp of ecstasy is missing.
“Problems?”
“Big-time,” she says.
I thought that after she retrieved her stolen jewelry in such grand style she’d be walking on air for weeks. A cold panic spreads in my stomach, nudging the comforting glow of the truffles out of the way. “You haven’t heard anything from Mr. John Smith, Gentleman Jewelry Thief?”
“No.” She waves her hand dismissively “My troubles are closer to home.”
“Let me get you a drink,” I say. The girl looks as if she’s in need of a double brandy. “Then you can tell me everything.”
“Hot chocolate, please,” Chantal says, and I scuttle off to order it from Clive.
Minutes later, my friend is nursing a steaming mug of chocolate in her hands. She looks better already. Chocolate does, indeed, have healing powers. Women all over the world know this. When the chocolate has had time to work its magic, Chantal looks up at me. “Ted’s thrown me out,” she says, shrugging at my shocked expression.
“Thrown you out? Why?”
“He noticed the money missing out of the bank account and he didn’t buy my explanation.”
“Nadia will feel dreadful,” I say.
“Don’t tell her,” Chantal begs me. “She has enough to worry about. Besides, this isn’t really about the money. There are other more … pressing issues too.”
“You’re still not sleeping together?”
Chantal laughs and she sounds slightly unhinged. “Would you believe it, we had a great time when I got home on Friday night. Mad passion on the couch. The first time in months.” She cackles again at the irony of it. “Then I found out that Ted wanted us to have kids.” My friend looks at me in amazement. “He knows how I feel about children. Everyone knows how I feel about children.”
“Maybe he’ll come around,” I say soothingly. “Or maybe you will.”
“I don’t want kids,” Chantal insists. “Never have. Never will.”
“And Ted’s absolutely set on it?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s over?”
She nods. “Looks like it.”
“What will you do? Where will you go?” I ask her. “If I didn’t live in a shoe box you could come and stay at my place. I can offer you my sofa until you get sorted.”
“I packed a case this morning, then I phoned round all of my friends and contacts until I found someone who could rent me a flat for a few months.” Chantal risks a smile. “I moved into a fully furnished, two-bedroom apartment in Islington this afternoon.”
“Wow.” I’m suitably stunned at the pace of this.
“I’m nothing if not resourceful,” my friend admits with a rueful expression.
Before I can comment further, Autumn and Nadia bowl in through the door. They come and sit with us, fussing as they strip off their jackets and dump their handbags. Clive comes over, pad in hand. “How are my favorite girls?”
“Fine.” I think “of mixed fortune” would be a more accurate answer but that would then involve lengthy explanations and we are women in want of chocolate. Our esteemed host takes our order and then disappears to minister to our needs. It has to be said that neither Autumn nor Nadia looks in great spirits today.
“Spill the beans,” I say.
Nadia launches in first. “I’ve found out that Toby’s gambling again,” she says. “I’m leaving him.”
Chantal and I burst out laughing.
“What?” she says darkly. “What’s so funny?”
Tears are streaming down my face and I don’t know if they are of sadness or hilarity. “It’s not funny,” I say, trying to bring my hysteria under control. “It’s not funny at all.”
“It is,” Chantal says, clutching her sides. “I’ve just left Ted.”
Now Nadia starts to smile too. “Impeccable timing,” she says with a tired chuckle. “What a sad bunch we are.”
When I’ve calmed down I ask, “Where will you go? What will you do?” It seems inappropriate at this point, but nevertheless, I say it anyway.
“I don’t know yet,” she admits.
“Move in with me,” Chantal states. “I’ve just rented a great apartment and I have a spare room.”
Nadia shakes her head. “I’m not sure that my meager budget will run to anything in your league, Chantal.”
“That isn’t an issue. Pay me what you can,” our friend says earnestly. “I’d rather share with someone I know than rattle round that place on my own. We can be young, free and single together.”
“Not so free in my case,” Nadia corrects. “Remember Lewis?”
It’s clear that Chantal hadn’t factored a toddler into this cozy arrangement, but she recovers well. “That’s fine,” she says brightly, but her voice sounds ever so slightly strangled.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. We’ll manage.”
They look at each other sadly. “I’d like that, Chantal,” Nadia says softly and squeezes her hand. “It will give me some breathing space.”
“Then it’s settled,” Chantal says. “I’ll jot down the address for you. Move your stuff in when you’re ready.”
Clive reappears with a tray laden down with goodies which he sets in front of us. “You ladies look like you need this today,” he says, and there’s never been a truer word spoken. We all dive in.
“I’ve been left too,” Autumn tells us quietly. “Richard’s gone.”
None of us laugh this time as we know how much Autumn worries about her brother.
“My flat’s been ransacked,” she continues, her voice cracking, “and my dear brother is missing.”
“Oh, Autumn.”
“I’ve not heard from him since.” Our friend lets out an unhappy sigh. “I thought about going to the police to report him missing, but how would I explain it? Richard would kill me for involving them. I’ve no idea what to do other than wait.”
None of us pipe up with any bright ideas either.
“Tell us that you’re all right, L
ucy,” Nadia urges. “We need one of us to be doing okay.”
“I’m fine,” I say. “I’m happy. Marcus is well and truly out of my life and I have a great new boyfriend. Everything in the garden’s rosy.”
“Thank goodness,” Nadia sighs.
“Jacob’s coming along in a few minutes,” I tell my best friends, “and I want you all to meet him. I’m not sure if he’s the One, but I really, really like him.”
“Good for you, girl,” Chantal says. “You go for it.”
I smile coyly. “I have great hopes for this relationship.”
And, on cue, Jacob walks through the door.
Chapter Fifty-six
JACOB STRIDES INTO CHOCOLATE HEAVEN looking oh so cool. He’s wearing a sexy dark suit, his blond hair is tousled in all the right places. A surge of pride goes through me. This guy is going out with me! Ha, ha!
When he sees me, he gives a casual wave and walks toward us. And, as he does, Chantal gasps. This time not in ecstasy, as I would expect; this time she gasps in horror. There’s a check in Jacob’s confident step and the sunny smile on his face fades slightly, but he continues toward us. Chantal is nibbling her lip nervously and her body language is registering extreme discomfort.
“What?” I say. “What’s going on?”
A hush has fallen over our group. Autumn and Nadia look as puzzled as I do.
Jacob joins us. “Hi,” he says, his voice overbright.
“Hi,” I reply. There’s an uneasy tremor in my voice and I don’t know why. I feel I should get up and give Jacob a kiss or something, but I don’t. So he stands there looking discomfited while I stay rooted to the spot. “Good to see you,” I say. “These are my friends. Autumn, Nadia and—Chantal.” I see my date and my friend exchange an anxious glance. Somewhere in my fuddled brain a lightbulb pings on. “But then I think you already know that.”
“Hi, Chantal,” Jacob says quietly. He tugs uncomfortably at the collar on his shirt.
“Jazz,” she says.
“Jazz?” I look to her for an explanation, but she remains silent and Jacob speaks instead.
“I know your friend,” he says. “In a business capacity.”
But I get the feeling that he isn’t one of her interviewees for Style USA magazine. Call it female intuition or put it down to too much experience of deceit with Marcus, but there’s definitely something between these two—a spark, some chemistry, shared history. I don’t know, but I’d certainly like to. “How?” I want to know. “How do you know each other? What type of business?”
“I think Chantal should explain that to you,” Jacob says. His confident demeanor has vanished and he suddenly looks lonely and vulnerable.
Turning to Chantal, I say, “Tell me what’s going on, please.”
My friend is staring intently at her lap.
“You probably won’t want to know me after this, Lucy,” Jacob says sadly, “but if you do, I’d really like it if you’d call me. I’ve really enjoyed your company, our short time together. You’re a lot of fun. I thought …” He clears his throat as he searches for the words. “I thought we might have had something special.”
I’m speechless. So speechless that I say nothing as I watch Jacob turn around and walk away from me.
Everyone fidgets while I sit there in a catatonic state. “Well,” I say to Chantal eventually, “are you going to let me into your little secret?”
She forces herself to look at me and then says, “Your boyfriend—Jacob, Jazz—is a male escort.”
“A male escort? What type of male escort?” I’m trying to recall whether Chantal has been to any glamorous parties recently where she’d need someone to accompany her—someone who wasn’t her husband.
“Lucy …” my friend says with a raised eyebrow and an exasperated tone.
Then I realize that she hasn’t been to any parties at all. I let this sink in for a moment.
“I’ve been hiring him,” Chantal continues.
“Hiring him to do what?”
The other members of the Chocolate Lovers’ Club shift uneasily in their seats.
Then there’s a rush of blood to my brain and it all becomes horribly clear. “You’ve been shagging my boyfriend?” The question comes out hideously loudly, even though I nearly choke on the words, and a hush falls over Chocolate Heaven as the rest of the customers spin round to enjoy the commotion.
“Lucy,” Chantal says in the voice of reason, “I didn’t know he was your boyfriend. I had no clue that Jacob and Jazz were the same person. How could I have guessed?”
I can barely bring myself to breathe. “My boyfriend’s a rent boy?”
“He’s hardly that,” Chantal snorts. “He’s an escort.”
“Who you pay for sex,” I snap back.
My friend has the good grace to blush. “It isn’t as sleazy as you make it sound. He’s very professional.”
“Good,” I say. “Oh, good. I wouldn’t like to think you were paying for substandard services.”
“I’m sorry,” she tells me. “Really sorry. I know that you’re fond of him.”
“ Was fond of him,” I correct. “How can I face him now? How can I face him knowing what he does, knowing that you’ve … you’ve slept with my boyfriend when I haven’t.” I want to hang my head in my hands and weep buckets. Jacob seemed so lovely and our developing friendship, relationship … I don’t know what to call it now … was really helping me to get over Marcus. I’ve never been an exponent of the “all men are bastards” theory, but at this moment I can see the attraction in it. How could I have been so easily deceived again? As the prime offender has made a hasty exit—and who could blame him?—I turn my anger onto Chantal. “I thought you were a better friend than this. I can’t believe you’ve been seeing Jacob behind my back.”
“I haven’t been seeing him, Lucy,” my friend insists. “I’ve been hiring him by the hour.”
“What do you pay him?” I ask.
“Lucy,” Chantal says. “Don’t do this to yourself.”
“I want to know.”
“Two hundred pounds an hour.” There’s a sharp intake of breath from Autumn and Nadia. I would give a sharp intake of breath too—if I could actually breathe. That’s a lot of money, by anyone’s standards.
“Is he good?” I ask petulantly.
Chantal’s face looks bleak when she answers, “Yes. He’s very good.”
“I so don’t want to know that,” I wail. “I so do not want to know that!”
Chapter Fifty-seven
CHANTAL HAS TRIED TO CONTACT me about a hundred and seventy-nine times, but I’m not returning her calls. I’m having a mega sulk and, frankly, I think I have every right to. My mobile phone rings again and it’s her number on the caller display, so I let it go to voicemail and stuff my phone back in my pocket.
“Hey, Gorgeous,” Crush says as he comes up beside me. “Why the long face?”
I’m not in the mood for this either. Team bonding of the go-carting kind. Everyone else is bouncing around jovially, eager for the off, and here I am, alone in my misery, hating every minute of it. We’re down in the Docklands and the track is set out on some of the wasteland surrounding the Millennium Dome. It’s a fairly godforsaken place with the wind whipping across the acres of flat tarmac. Why couldn’t they build a designer outlet mall here? That would have been a much better use of the space, in my humble opinion.
We’ve watched the drivers’ briefing on a DVD in a boldly painted temporary building—which made this all look quite terrifying—and now we’re waiting at the trackside for the fun and frolics to begin. The sales team is positively champing at the bit, while I will need wild horses to drag me into one of these silly-looking little machines. Why do grown men of all ages still need to play with toys to prove their manhood? It is a psychological trait far too complicated for me to contemplate at the moment. Needless to say, I’m dressed in some disgustingly unflattering red overalls that are too tight round my big, fat bottom, and a white cra
sh helmet is currently flattening my hair which I spent so long styling in the hope of giving my battered confidence a boost. Why do all our team-bonding experiences require terrible clothing? Why do they not involve slimming, black designer outfits? Next time, I’m going to choose the team-bonding exercise and see how much more pleasant that will be. Ha. A week at the Chiva-Som Spa in Thailand would suit me.
I look at Crush and the words “Bog off” are not far from my lips.
He slings his arm round my shoulders. “Someone stolen your chocolate stash?”
“No,” I say crisply. “I found out that my best friend has been bonking my boyfriend.”
“Ooo.” Crush’s face takes on a look of concern. “Not good.”
“No.”
“This will cheer you up.”
Of course it will. Dashing madly round a track in a pathetic-looking boys’ toy for no good reason. I can’t think of anything else that would soothe my wounded heart. But I might as well give it a go, as so far today a Mars Bar, a Bounty, a Turkish Delight, two packets of Rolos, an entire box of Thorntons Continental and three bars of pure plantation Cardamom and Black Pepper chocolate have failed to offer any kind of succor.
Mr. Aiden Holby gives me a friendly squeeze. “I’ll make sure you have a good time, Gorgeous,” he says with a big grin. “I’m going to whoop your peachy arse out on that track.”
Hmm. So he thinks my arse is peachy? I smile in spite of my pain. “I’d like to see you try.”
“Ten pounds says I beat you.”
“You’re on.” We shake hands on the bet.
“I love a woman who doesn’t know when she’s beaten.” Despite the fact that we’re essentially in a work environment with the sales team all around us, he gives me a rather lingering kiss on the cheek. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I see Charlotte the Harlot from the call center sashaying her way through to the front of the track. Crush lets go of my shoulders when he sees her and his grin widens. My mood blackens once again. What is it with all this kissy-kissy flirty-flirty “Hello, Gorgeous” business? I’m not so stupid that I can’t tell that I’m dropped like a hot coal when the girlfriend appears in the vicinity. Not so gorgeous then, am I? Huh! He’s just another bloody alpha male who thinks he can toy with my affections. I’m sure steam must be coming out of my nostrils.
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