The Chocolate Lovers' Christmas

by Carole Matthews

  Don’t answer that.

  ‘I need to be paid,’ the driver shouts again – this time more aggressively – and jumps down from his carriage.

  ‘Keep your hair on,’ I hear Marcus say. He turns back, taking his wallet out of his jacket pocket. ‘Lucy, wait!’

  But I see this as my chance to bolt and I dash down the nearest alley as fast as my inappropriately clad feet will carry me, slithering and skidding in the snow and ice. I turn this way and that, running along past canals, pretty statues, quaint shops lit brightly for Christmas.

  I don’t know where I’m going. Not a clue. I just know that I need to be away from Marcus Canning.

  I hear him shouting after me, his footsteps on the cobbles. But, eventually, I must manage to lose him as soon I can’t hear him anymore. I stop and lean against a wall under a bridge, catching my breath. It billows out in front of me in a cloud of steam. I’m wearing a low-cut evening gown, ridiculous stiletto heels and the temperature must be below zero. I can’t believe I’ve let myself get into this stupid situation.

  The Chocolate Lovers’ Club would have seen this coming. But I like to think the best of Marcus. It seems, as ever, my trust was misplaced. Where are my best girls when I need them? Where is Aiden now?

  Of course, within minutes, I’m hopelessly lost. And the helpful tourist map given to me by the receptionist? On the pretty little writing desk in my bedroom. I put my head in my hands. Think, Lucy. Think.

  I can’t stay here all night and I don’t know which way to go. Then I hear Marcus’s voice again.

  ‘Lucy!’ He sounds very worried. ‘Lucy! Where are you? Lucy!’

  Well, let him sweat. This is all his stupid fault.

  The cobbled streets are deserted and, in the still of the night, I hear footsteps on a bridge further down the canal coming towards me. There’s no way that I want Marcus to find me.

  So I dash out of my hiding place, hitching up my long skirt and running on tiptoes along the edge of the canal. In some places the path is very narrow and icy and I am in silly shoes when I should be wearing boots. Big, sturdy boots.

  I’m looking over my shoulder, seeing all kinds of dangers in the stretching shadows, when suddenly my shoes lose what little grip they have. My heel goes into a dip between the cobbles and I feel it snap. Then I teeter and totter and topple, clutching at something to support me and finding nothing. I lurch forward into space and I’m falling, falling, falling. The pavement is above me and my arms windmill uselessly in the air. The dark water of the canal is looming towards me.

  I’m going to die, I reflect calmly. But at least my last night on earth has been filled with chocolate. I think of Crush and how much I love him.

  Then I hit the freezing water and all the breath is knocked from my body.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  In my panic I gulp in a mouthful of foul water and sink under the surface. I’ve never been the strongest of swimmers. In my view, the water is best viewed from a sun-lounger on the beach, but now I seem to have forgotten how to do it at all. I flail my arms around, but all it seems to do is drag me further under.

  ‘Help!’ I scream. ‘Help!’

  Then I remember that I’m in Belgium and no one will understand me. I have no idea what the Belgian word for ‘Help’ is. God, I wish I’d embraced being European more fully.

  I do my best and dig up my schoolgirl French. Surely that’s quite like Belgian. They’re next-door neighbours, for heaven’s sake. Aren’t they? ‘Au secours,’ I cry, swallowing even more stinking canal water. ‘Au secours.’ What’s ‘I’m drowning’ in French? ‘J’ai faim! J’ai faim!’

  I go under one more time and when I bob up again I realise it’s true that you see your life pass before your eyes; when I surface I imagine that I see Crush standing there on the bank. He’s the love of my life and it’s only right that I have a vision of him in my last moments. He is standing there looking so very handsome in a tuxedo. My eyes go cloudy.

  ‘Help!’ I shout again, more weakly now. ‘J’ai faim!’

  ‘Stand up, Gorgeous,’ my vision advises.

  ‘J’ai faim!’ I offer with faint hope. ‘J’ai faim!’

  ‘Lucy, you’re telling half of Bruges that you’re hungry. In French. Just stand up.’

  Spluttering some more water, I clutch at the air. Oblivion is coming. Goodbye cruel world.

  This is all Marcus’s fault. It’s his fault that I won’t grow old with Aiden, that I won’t marry him, that I won’t have his children. His fault that I will end my life in a watery grave in Bruges, the home of some very excellent chocolate.

  ‘Lucy!’

  My vision sounds quite a bit more exasperated than he should. I flounder about some more and the water closes over me. Who knew that it would take so long to drown?

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake.’ There is much tutting.

  My vision walks down three steps that I hadn’t actually noticed before. I gasp as I surface again. ‘You’ve come to save me!’

  I hear a heartfelt sigh. Still in his full evening dress, Crush wades into the water and comes towards me.

  ‘Stand up, Gorgeous,’ he instructs as he towers above me.

  I can’t quite stop splashing around. So he grasps me, rather roughly, by the front of my evening gown and yanks me out of the water.

  Crush sets me upright and I sink up to my ankles into thick mud on the bottom of the canal. It’s really disgusting. Really disgusting. Think of the most disgusting thing you can imagine and then double it. Yet, even in my shell-shocked, half-drowned state, I notice that the water only comes up to my waist.

  ‘Oh.’

  With a weary laugh, Crush sweeps me into his arms. ‘Trust you, Gorgeous.’ He shakes his head. ‘I’m the one supposed to be giving you a surprise.’

  ‘I’m not dead?’

  ‘Not yet,’ he says candidly.

  He carries me out of the canal and back onto dry land. My knight in a slightly sodden tuxedo. My heart swells and not just because it’s water-logged. He’s come to save me from a fate not worse than death, but actual death, in the very nick of time. I couldn’t possibly love him anymore.

  I’m soaked through the skin and shivering now. I also seem to be covered in slime and weed and unspeakable goo from the canal. Can you get any deadly diseases from canal water? I bet you bloody can. My shoes have disappeared, probably eaten by the mud.

  ‘I thought you were a mirage or something,’ I confess, dazed. ‘But you’re not, are you?’ Tentatively, I stroke his rather soggy lapel.

  ‘No,’ he says flatly.

  ‘I thought you were in Glasgow or somewhere. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Apart from saving you?’ He shakes his head again. ‘My mysterious client never turned up for the meeting. If I’m not very much mistaken, I think the whole thing was a big hoax. So I jumped on the first plane that would get me here. My idea was that we could still salvage a romantic Christmas weekend.’ He looks at me sideways. ‘Now I realise that you’re actually not safe to be left alone for five minutes. What on earth were you doing in the canal?’

  I fling myself into Crush’s arms and wail. ‘Oh, it’s all Marcus’s fault.’

  His face darkens. ‘Marcus?’

  ‘He was chasing me and I was running away from him and hiding under the bridge.’ I hang my head in shame and humiliation. ‘It all went a bit blurry after that.’

  Crush puffs out a very cross-sounding huff. ‘I bet it did.’ He tsks. ‘Bloody Marcus Canning. I might have known he’d be behind this.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I bet your talk’s been cancelled, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’ I’m still puzzled.

  ‘There never was a talk, Lucy. Exactly like there never really was a client with a multi-million-pound contract on offer for me. We’ve both been duped by him.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘When will you learn, Gorgeous? All he wanted was to get you here alone.’ He shakes his fist in a very
manly way. ‘Just wait until I get my hands on him.’

  I think that’s probably best avoided. My heart sinks. Am I really that gullible? I thought Marcus was trying to do his best by me – until the bit with the dancing and the attempted kiss and the romantic horse interlude. Probably best if I don’t actually mention all that.

  ‘Can we just go back to the hotel?’ I’m on the verge of tears, the slime is freezing to my skin and my feet are about to drop off with the cold. I don’t feel the slightest bit fucking festive or romantic. This was all a very stupid idea. And now I want a hot bath and hot chocolate and to curl up next to my hot man who has just rescued me from what I was convinced was certain death. ‘Have you any idea where it is?’

  Crush turns round and nods. Behind us the hotel sign swings slightly in the breeze.

  ‘Oh.’

  It’s a good job that they have excellent chocolate in Bruges, otherwise I think I might just hate it.

  Chapter Fifty

  Fucking Bruges. Crush carries me back to the hotel, dripping wet. He still holds me in his arms while I shiver and shake as we go up to my bedroom in the lift.

  When we’re inside, he turns on the bedside lamps so that the light in the room is subtle – in different circumstances, it might be classed as romantic. Then he starts to run me a bath while I stand here and look suitably pathetic and ashamed. If Crush notices the nearly empty bottle of champagne on the desk and the half-eaten box of chocolates or, indeed, the monster bouquet of red roses, then he doesn’t mention them. But I grit my teeth together and think, bloody Marcus. He planned this all along. I realise that now. There was no presentation on British chocolate, blah blah blah, no networking. He just wanted to get me here all for himself.

  I wonder what he’d have done if Chantal had come along. That would have thwarted his plans. Would Marcus have contrived to lock her in a cupboard or something while he tried to have his wicked way with me? I wouldn’t put it past him. I wish she had been here; Chantal’s so much sharper than me and would have seen through his ruse right away. It’s only me who’s completely stupid when it comes to Marcus.

  While all this is going through my mind, Crush is very patiently picking bits of slime and weed and smelly goo off me. I catch sight of myself in the mirror. My hair seems to have a million snakes coming out of it. I look like something out of Pirates of the Caribbean. That green, barnacled bloke that’s encrusted with all sorts of sea crap who emerges from the walls of the ship. Him. That’s who I look like. It’s not what I was aiming for when I set out this evening.

  As Crush tenderly slips the shoulder straps down from my dress, I start to well up.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘Thank you for coming to Bruges to save me.’

  He smiles at me, indulgently. ‘Glad to be of service. I’m just relieved to have got here in time. Otherwise the whole of Belgium would have been rushing out with food for you.’

  Shit. Must look up what ‘help’ is in Belgian for future emergency occasions – as there are sure to be some.

  ‘Thank you for loving me even though I’m an idiot.’

  Crush sighs. ‘We have to talk about Marcus. You have to cut him out of your life, Gorgeous.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘He seems to have a hold over you, Lucy, and that worries me.’

  ‘I was only trying to be friends with him.’

  ‘Men like Marcus can’t do that.’ He moves to undo my zip. ‘He won’t be happy until he’s ruined our relationship.’

  I throw my slimy arms around him and hold on tightly. ‘Tell me that won’t happen. I couldn’t bear to lose you.’

  ‘Of course it won’t. But it would certainly help if I didn’t always feel that I had to watch out for a knife in my back.’

  ‘I’ve learned my lesson,’ I swear. ‘Marcus is history. Total history.’

  My phone tings. I’m surprised that it even works, having had a thorough soaking in the canal. I reach into my handbag for it. Brown water pours out. I look at the sodden phone. A text from Marcus.

  Ru OK? It says. I love u.

  I show it to Crush.

  ‘Exactly,’ he says.

  ‘I’ll get a new phone.’ I’m probably going to need one so it’s not the grand gesture it might be. ‘I’ll change my number.’

  Crush strips off my dress. My underwear looks as if it’s gone mouldy. There’s the tail of a little fish sticking out of my bra, still flapping.

  ‘Aaaargh!’

  Crush picks it out with his fingers, takes it to the window and returns it, still flapping, to the canal.

  ‘I hate Bruges,’ I whimper. ‘Especially the wet bits.’

  If I was mayor or whatever, I’d fill the canals in with concrete. They are dangerous, dangerous things.

  ‘We’ll have a lovely time, Gorgeous,’ he assures me. ‘Now get into the nice, hot bath before you catch your death of cold.’

  ‘Are you going to join me too?’ I look at his ruined tuxedo.

  ‘Of course. Do you think I’d risk leaving you in water alone?’

  I’m grateful that he’s still smiling. Another, less tolerant man, would be fed up of me acting like a twat all the time. Even though I never mean to.

  Crush starts to undress. He, unlike me, is still managing to look suave. Canal chic suits him. I feel a rush of love and lust for him.

  When he’s naked and in my arms, I say huskily, ‘Have you ever made love to a slime-covered woman?’

  ‘No.’ He takes my hand and leads me to the bathroom. ‘And I’m not about to start now, Gorgeous.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I am, however, going to scrub you from head to toe with a loofah.’ He grins at me. ‘Roughly.’

  I grin back. ‘How roughly?’

  He gives the matter some consideration and settles on, ‘Quite roughly.’

  I guess tonight I’m going to have to take my pleasure where I can.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  They say that you can’t catch a cold by getting wet. It’s a virus, they say. Well, they can’t have had an encounter with the bottom of a Belgian canal.

  I have a cold. A streaming one. But that doesn’t stop me and Crush from wrapping up warm and heading out to explore the delights of Bruges for the rest of the weekend. The non-wet ones. Marcus will not spoil this for me.

  Despite having snot dripping from my nose it will be ROMANTIC if it kills me. So there.

  Once Crush had loofahed all the slime off me, obviously, and shortly before my cold came on, we made love a million times last night. Over and over again until we were sated. Well, maybe not a million times, but four. At least. Certainly three. But that’s bloody brilliant, right?

  So, all loved up like the lovers we are, we set out to explore all that Bruges has to offer. Arm in arm we go to the exhibition of ice sculptures and wander through the freezing halls of carved ice statues, marvelling at them even though we haven’t a clue who some of them are. Clearly big in Belgium.

  Then we trawl the stalls of the Christmas market for unnecessary festive tat and buy some baubles for our tree at home. I select some chocolates to take home for the girls – having duly sampled them first, of course. I can hardly take them substandard chocolates, right? When we’re laden with carrier bags, we drink hot chocolate in steamy cafés and stuff ourselves with delicious fresh cream Belgian chocolates until we’re fit to burst.

  We have a traditional lunch of moules-frites and sit in the warmth of the crowded café for too long, trying different flavours of Belgian beer. After lunch – a bit squiffy from the beer – we climb aboard the carousel in the Markt. The snowflakes land on our faces as we canter round on our brightly painted horses, holding hands as we rise and fall. Christmas is the most magical time of the year and it’s even better when you have someone you adore to share it with. I gaze into Crush’s eyes and grin at him.

  ‘Hold on, Lucy,’ he says. ‘Don’t fall off.’

  ‘I’m fine, really.’

  And when the ride ends, without
incident, he helps me down from my horse.

  Then we skate at the ice rink beneath the magnificent Bell Tower and Christmas tree. The sound of festive songs fills the square. Holding tightly onto Crush, I find my feet, and we might not be the most elegant couple on the ice, but at least we stay upright. Every time I start to scrabble, he catches me and holds me steady. Much like he does in the rest of my life. Breathing in ice-cold air and giggling like loons we while away the time and, leaving the pressures of Chocolate Heaven behind, I think of nothing but having fun. I feel like I’m cocooned in a beautiful snowy bubble and I never want this day to end.

  I do another quick bit of teetering and tottering. Crush clamps his arm around me. ‘You’re not planning on falling and breaking an ankle, are you?’ Crush asks, as we glide together across the ice. ‘This is all going too well at the moment.’

  ‘No. This is the all-new, sensible Lucy,’ I assure him, slightly breathlessly. ‘The era of pratfalls and unadulterated idiocy is officially over. I’m a grown-up now and I’m going to behave like one.’

  Crush doesn’t look overly convinced.

  ‘You will never have to fish me out of a canal again. Or anything else.’

  ‘I have to say I’m slightly relieved about that.’

  ‘I love you more than I ever have,’ I tell him. ‘Nothing is more important to me than this relationship.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Skilfully, he steers me round a kid clinging onto a plastic penguin.

  I’ve been slightly worried that Marcus would stalk us, popping up at inopportune moments behind an ice carving of Snow White or the Taj Mahal. But I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him. Perhaps he’s given up graciously. I wonder if he saw me take a bath in the canal. It was all his fault and yet it would be all my fault if I let him come between me and Crush.

  The ice is getting busy now and I’m not sure that I have the required skill to cope with a crowd.

  ‘Shall we quit while we’re ahead?’ Crush says.

  ‘Yes, good idea.’

  ‘Besides, it must be nearly an hour since you’ve been topped up with hot chocolate.’