The Chocolate Lovers’ Wedding

by Carole Matthews

  There’s a momentary flash of panic as the lock clicks but the door gives and swings open. He hasn’t changed the lock and I rush to punch the code into the security box. Then I breathe a sigh of relief when there’s no clanging alarm. So far, so good.

  I take Crush’s hand and we step inside. Oh, how I’ve missed this place. Even at night I love it. The scent of vanilla and cocoa hang enticingly in the air. I could be tempted to pinch a few chocolates to add a frisson to our illicit lovemaking session, but maybe Marcus’s new manager has tighter stock controls than me and would miss a few truffles in the morning. From what I’ve seen of Marie-flipping-France it’s unlikely, but we have to be careful. Better not risk it. Not even for one little chocolate, even though I’m feeling slightly drooly now. We must make absolutely sure that no one knows we’re here.

  In the darkness, we move towards the sofa. Stealthily, stealthily. Crush kisses me deeply. All I’ve had since my dad arrived is a few pecks on the cheek and I’m ravenous for more. Hurriedly, I unbutton his shirt and he strips me of my blouse.

  Together we hop out of our jeans while trying to keep our lips moving in harmony together. I think it’s a sign of the strength of our relationship that we very nearly manage to do it. We fall on the sofa; I divest Crush of his undies and he’s quick to get me out of mine. We’re on the sofa, lying full-length, kissing gloriously. Crush moves above me.

  ‘This is madness,’ he whispers hoarsely. ‘But so much fun. I love you, Lucy Lombard.’

  ‘I love you, too,’ I murmur back. I pull him down towards me.

  And that’s exactly when the burglar alarm starts to shriek.

  Chapter Twenty

  Within seconds, the police arrive. I’ll swear that there must have been a squad car parked right around the corner, just waiting. Crush and I have managed to put our undies back on at the speed of light, but the rest of our clothes are still in disarray when they’re banging at the door shouting, ‘Open up! Police!’

  Crush looks at me ruefully. ‘Shit.’ ‘I don’t want them to break the door down.’ Then Marcus will be cross.

  Hurriedly, he dashes to the door and opens up. The two policemen stride in. ‘What’s all this, then?’

  They look at me shivering in my bra and pants. All idea of romance has gone and now I just feel a little bit stupid. Why on earth did I think that this would be a good idea?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I used to be the manager here. We didn’t think we’d be doing any harm.’

  The officers look round and can clearly see that nothing – other than my clothing – has been disturbed.

  At that moment, Marie-France appears from the back of the shop. She stares at us with absolute disdain.

  ‘Thank you for coming, officers,’ she says in her French accent which some people – if you like that kind of thing – would find sexy and appealing. She is tousle-haired and in a slinky, kimono-style dressing gown. Some people – if you like that kind of thing – would say that even in a half-dressed, sleepy state she’s still incredibly beautiful. ‘I was very frightened. I live upstairs and thought that I heard intruders.’

  ‘Looks as if you were right, Miss.’

  ‘But I can explain—’ I begin.

  ‘Quiet, you two,’ he says.

  ‘I can only offer my sincere apologies—’

  ‘Shut up,’ the officer says.

  I leave my mouth hanging open for a moment, then I do shut up.

  ‘Can we at least put our clothes back on?’ Crush pleads. Not unreasonably, if you ask me. Which no one has.

  Completely ignoring Crush, the officer says to Marie-France, ‘You were lucky we were in the area.’

  Us, less so.

  This is awful, I think. How can I have let myself be so compromised? If Marcus learns about this – and, of course, he will – I’ll never hear the last of it.

  The policeman flicks a thumb towards me. ‘This young woman says she used to be the manager here.’

  Marie-France regards me coolly. ‘I have never seen her before.’

  ‘I’m Marcus’s ex-fiancée,’ I start. Then I can tell from the slight narrowing of her eyes and her tell-tale smirk that she knows exactly who I am.

  ‘I’d like to take down some particulars,’ the policeman says and I’m sure I can see them both sniggering.

  My voice sounds tremulous when I ask, ‘You’re not going to take this further, are you?’

  ‘That will, largely, be down to the owner and whether he wants to press charges.’

  I turn pleading eyes to Marie-France. ‘Please don’t tell Marcus,’ I beg. ‘We can sort this out.’

  Then, when I think that nothing can make this evening any worse, the roar of a throaty sports car cuts through the air and the oh-so-familiar red Ferrari belonging to one Mr Marcus Canning pulls up outside the door.

  My heart would plummet to my boots, if I was wearing any.

  He bounds in grim faced and yet the minute he sees Crush and me standing there like lemons – particularly guilty lemons – he breaks into a wide grin.

  ‘Good evening, officers. What’s going on here?’ Marcus looks Crush and me up and down. Especially me.

  ‘Marcus,’ I say, trying to cover as much of myself as possible. ‘Tell them that you know us. That you don’t mind us being here.’

  ‘Don’t I?’ he counters.

  ‘Do you know them, sir?’ the officer asks.

  ‘Hmm.’ Marcus strokes his chin as he considers.

  ‘Marcus!’ There’s a warning note in my voice, though I hardly have the high ground here.

  ‘Yes,’ he says eventually. ‘I think I do.’

  Crush looks as if he wants to kill someone and I’m not really sure if it’s me or Marcus who’d be first in the firing line.

  ‘Do they have your permission to be here?’

  ‘Hmm.’ More chin stroking from Marcus. ‘Not exactly.’

  I’m shaking inside and I don’t know if it’s with fury or terror. I don’t want to go to jail for having a bit of rumpy-pumpy in a chocolate shop. Is that a punishable offence? We might not exactly have Marcus’s permission, but we haven’t broken in, either. I used my key. It’s Marcus’s stupid fault that he didn’t take it off me. How was I supposed to know that Ms Flipping France was living upstairs?

  ‘Are we needed here?’ the officer says. ‘Can you resolve this yourself or do you want to take it further?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure that we can come to some amicable arrangement,’ Marcus says smoothly. Then he turns to me and raises a questioning eyebrow. ‘Can we, Lucy?’

  It’s fair to say that Crush doesn’t look happy.

  ‘What exactly did you have in mind?’ I feel my negotiating stance is somewhat undermined by still being in nothing but my bra and knickers.

  Marcus takes my elbow and steers me to one side, away from Crush, away from the police officers.

  ‘Come back,’ he murmurs. ‘Come back and run this place and I’ll say nothing more about it.’

  I fold my arms across my chest. ‘That’s blackmail, Marcus.’

  ‘Yes,’ he says, unperturbed. ‘Do we have a deal?’

  I feel backed into a corner and excited at the same time. ‘Aiden will be furious.’

  ‘Quite probably.’ Marcus has the smile of a man who knows he has won.

  ‘The salary I proposed?’

  ‘Yes,’ Marcus says. ‘I don’t want you on the cheap but, make no mistake, I do want you.’

  ‘And, if I agree, you won’t press charges?’

  Marcus nods.

  ‘And we’ll never speak of this again?’

  ‘Never.’ Then his smile widens. ‘Well, not very often.’

  ‘I hate you, you know,’ I tell him.

  ‘There is a very thin line between love and hate, Lucy Lombard.’

  ‘I’ll come back,’ I say. Inside me is the perfect storm of trepidation and exhilaration. I’m coming home. Chocolate Heaven is to be our domain once again. The girls will be thrilled. Thoug
h quite how I’m going to break this to Crush, I have no idea.

  ‘Excellent.’ Marcus pretends to spit on his hand and holds it out to me. ‘Done.’

  And, do you know, a significant part of me feels that I have been.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Autumn thanked her lucky stars. Only a few short days after the last abortive meeting and she’d been able to arrange to meet Mary again. And, hopefully, Willow too. This time she was biting the bullet and going to their home turf as Mary felt that it would be easier for her daughter. Autumn could only hope that Willow would be happy to go along with that. She was so desperate to meet her and now that she knew the girl was struggling, Autumn wanted to help as much as she could.

  Miles and Florence stood on the pavement and waved her goodbye. Flo had given her a bag of Minstrels for the journey and she blew her a kiss. They were both heading straight to the park while Autumn was borrowing Miles’s car to drive up the motorway – hopefully – to her reunion with Willow. Although Miles and Flo hadn’t been long in her life, she already hated to be away from them for any length of time. But this was an important day for her.

  Mary had already explained that she and Willow lived in the heart of the Cotswolds and that their home was a farmhouse that they’d converted into a bed and breakfast. It was hard to imagine her daughter living somewhere like that – she’d always imagined that she’d been in London somewhere or the suburbs rather than the country – but she was glad of the chance to see where she’d been brought up.

  Traffic was heavy, yet just over an hour later she was turning off the M40 and leaving the built-up towns behind, heading out into the gently rolling hills of the Cotswolds. Ugly brick houses gave way to gorgeous mellow stone cottages; the tangle of busy roads dissolved to meandering lanes and acres of untrammelled farmland. It was a beautiful area and a glorious day. Autumn felt some of the tension leave her shoulders.

  A short while later, instructed efficiently by the sat nav, Autumn pulled up at the edge of a small village, outside Manor House Farm. Finally, she was here. She breathed a sigh of relief. In the last few miles her palms had gone clammy on the steering wheel and she was as nervous as she could possibly be. Nothing had ever meant this much to her and she was desperately anxious for it to go right.

  She took a moment to compose herself and absorb her surroundings. The farmhouse was double-fronted, Georgian, both grand and homely at the same time. The yellow stone building was surrounded by a low wall covered with sprawling purple aubrieta and white rock which was in bloom. A riot of spring flowers in a multitude of colours filled the mature garden – daffodils, tulips, irises, grape hyacinths and a dozen other plants that Autumn didn’t know the names of. A delicate pink rose draped itself around the front door. It looked idyllic and she was glad to think that Willow had grown up somewhere so lovely.

  Getting out of the car, Autumn went to the door, feeling shivery inside. This was the moment she had never dared to dream would happen. She rang the bell and moments later, heard the snappy bark of a little dog and the sound of footsteps in the hall. A moment later, Mary opened the door, wiping her hands on a tea towel.

  ‘Do come in, Autumn,’ she said. ‘Nice to see you again. Have you had a good journey?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you. This is a lovely place.’

  ‘And you found us all right?’

  ‘I managed not to get lost once,’ she said.

  It was a big hall with stone tiles and stripped pine doors. A large and quite imposing wooden staircase with a tartan carpet runner dominated one side. On the other was a table full of family photos, a phone, a rack of pamphlets about the attractions of the area for the guests and a book for comments. There was a lamp, too, switched on even though the day was bright, with a shade in a tartan pattern that differed from the carpet.

  It was cosy and welcoming. If you arrived here for a few nights’ break, Autumn imagined that you’d be quite pleased.

  The little dog – a Jack Russell – jumped up to be fussed, his claws scrabbling on the stone floor.

  ‘Don’t mind him,’ Mary said. ‘He’s normally restricted to the kitchen when guests are here. Get down, boy. Leave our visitor alone.’

  ‘It’s all right, really. I like dogs. I’d love to have one but I live in a flat with no garden.’

  Mary lowered her voice. ‘Willow is actually here – which is a bonus.’ She shook her head as if perplexed by the ways of her daughter. ‘But I have to warn you that she’s very scratchy today.’

  ‘It’s understandable.’

  ‘She’s a teenager and is going through the usual hormonal angst. She’s been through a lot. I think she’s trying to find her place in the world and part of that is knowing her history.’ Mary seemed just as anxious as Autumn was. ‘I can’t blame her for that, but it makes me nervous, too. I’m sure you’ll take things slowly with her.’

  ‘Of course. I’ll go entirely at her pace. However, I have to say that I can’t wait to see her.’ Autumn put her hand on Mary’s arm. ‘I can’t thank you enough for agreeing to this. It must be hard.’

  There were tears in the woman’s eyes again. ‘You have no idea.’ She managed a weak smile and put down her tea towel. ‘I’ll go up to get her. You go through and make yourself comfortable in the conservatory. We haven’t got any guests in until later this afternoon. When you’re settled, I’ll make myself scarce and put the kettle on while you two get to know each other.’

  Butterflies whirled in Autumn’s stomach at the thought. Mary turned away from her and climbed the stairs, a little weariness evident in her step. The dog bounded after her.

  Autumn walked through to the kitchen, which was large with an ancient-looking range cooker. Pots and pans filled every possible shelf. A blue jug filled with daffodils stood on the huge, scrubbed pine table. Beyond it, the conservatory ran along the length of the house. The end nearest to the kitchen was taken up with four small tables, already set for breakfast. The far end had two sofas facing each other, both of which looked well-loved. They were covered with hand-crocheted throws and an excess of mismatched cushions. Autumn went to sit in one of them.

  A few minutes later, Mary came back looking agitated. ‘Here she is!’ Her voice was too cheery and forced. Behind her trailed Willow, exuding reluctance.

  Autumn stood, mouth dry, eyes brimming with tears. After all this time, the child that she thought she might never see again was standing right in front of her. She wanted to run to her, gather Willow in her arms and hold her for the rest of her life, but that clearly wasn’t going to be an option. Instead, she simply stood up and made do with saying, ‘Hi.’

  Willow nudged closer to Mary and mumbled back, ‘Hi.’

  The girl was a small, angry mirror image of Autumn. If Willow was in any doubt about her parentage then this must surely confirm that Autumn was her birth mother. They were like twins, only separated by years. Willow was slender and dressed head to toe in black – Doc Marten boots, lacy tights, black denim shorts and a hoodie with a pentagram on the front. You certainly couldn’t mistake her leanings. Her face, naturally pale, looked more so due to the thick black eyeliner around her eyes and the slash of red lipstick on her mouth. The sprinkling of freckles probably matched Autumn’s dot-for-dot. Her hair – as bright in colour and clearly inclined to be as exuberantly corkscrew as Autumn’s – had been straightened and gelled within an inch of its life. Obviously, Goths didn’t do crazy curls.

  ‘Why don’t you sit down with Autumn?’ Mary said, shepherding the girl forward. ‘I’ll leave you alone for a bit while I make some tea. I’m sure you have a lot to talk about.’

  Willow shuffled forward and plonked herself on the sofa opposite Autumn, the scowl never leaving her face. The little dog came and sat next to her and Willow pulled him to her side and fussed his ears. Autumn took her seat again and wondered how to fill the awkward silence.

  ‘He’s a lovely dog,’ Autumn said, voice cracking. ‘What’s he called?’

  ‘Jack.’ />
  ‘Did you have him as a puppy?’

  Willow nodded.

  ‘Why did you call him Jack?’

  She looked at Autumn as if she was an idiot. ‘He’s a Jack Russell.’

  ‘Oh. Of course.’

  Willow softened slightly. ‘He came from a rescue centre. That’s what he was called when we got him.’

  ‘It’s a nice name.’ Willow stared at her. This was going to be like pulling teeth, so she might as well just get to the crux of the matter. ‘I expect you have a lot of questions that you want to ask me.’

  The girl shrugged.

  ‘Then I’d like to hear all about you, if you wouldn’t mind.’

  Willow stuck the toggle of her hoodie in her mouth and sat back on the sofa.

  ‘Or I could tell you a bit about myself first?’

  ‘OK,’ Willow mumbled.

  So Autumn took that as her cue to begin. ‘It’s hard to know where to start.’ Her voice sounded shaky. After a deep and steadying breath, she continued, ‘I’m twenty-nine years old and I live in a flat in north London. I’m not working at the moment, but I’ve been teaching at a drugs rehabilitation centre. I run classes on how to make stained glass.’ Autumn tried a laugh. ‘That must all sound very dull.’

  The expression on Willow’s face didn’t contradict her.

  ‘I live by myself, but I have a really nice boyfriend called Miles and he has a little girl of his own. She’s called Florence and she’s three. Will that do for now?’

  ‘Dunno,’ Willow muttered.

  ‘I was so thrilled when Mary contacted me. I didn’t think you’d be able to look for me until you were eighteen and I always hoped that you would.’

  ‘I just wanted to know who I looked like. That’s all,’ Willow ventured with as much condescension as she could manage. ‘I’m not like Mum or Dad.’

  Autumn held out her curls. ‘Same hair.’

  Willow’s resulting smile was reluctant and barely noticeable, but Autumn was sure it was in there somewhere.

  ‘You’ve done a better job of straightening it than I’ve ever managed. I gave up years ago and decided to let it do its own thing. Thank goodness for GHDs.’