Free The Chocolate Lovers' Diet by Carole Matthews Page A

work out how to do it, so stay put, further increasing my discomfort. ‘It’s better this way.’
    ‘Not for me, it isn’t,’ Marcus points out. ‘I’m starving. And I still love you, Lucy. I know we’ve had our problems . . .’
    I go to speak, but he holds up his hands. ‘All of them my fault. But don’t harden your heart against me. It isn’t like you.’
    Then, before I can tell him that this is the new, improved me and that he can no longer mess with my emotions – okay, with one small aberration – the phone rings. Because I still have the dressing-gown dilemma, I stay put in the bed and let it go to answerphone.
    ‘Hi, Gorgeous. It’s me.’ The sound of Crush’s voice causes my jaw to drop open. ‘I’m so, so sorry that I haven’t been in touch,’ he says brightly. ‘I hope you haven’t been worried about me. You won’t believe what happened. I can’t wait to make it up to you. Anyway, I’m sorry. Really sorry. Hope you had a great Christmas Day and I love you. We’ll speak really soon. I love you, love you, love you. Did I say that already? Love you. Bye, Gorgeous.’ Crush hangs up.
    This doesn’t sound like a man who’s been caught waving his willy around on a webcam. He sounds suspiciously like a contrite boyfriend who’s had a genuine problem. I’ve heard enough lame excuses from Marcus to know when I’m being spun a line. So what does this mean? I sit as stillas a stone while my brain crashes around inside my skull with all the coordination of a Friday-night drunk. What on earth has really been happening on the other side of the world? I feel as if I’m one piece of a jigsaw missing. One very important piece.
    ‘He loves you,’ Marcus says eventually.
    Somehow, I find my voice. ‘Yes.’
    I look at the person sharing my duvet and a whole heap of smugness is evident now. ‘Then it seems as if you have some explaining to do.’

Chapter Fifteen
    T he Chocolate Lovers’ Club has reconvened – and not before time, in my opinion. It’s fair to say that we’re not at our sparkling best. It’s January and we’re all suffering from that post-Christmas lethargy. I’m back at work but no one – especially me – can be bothered to do anything. It’s even quiet in Chocolate Heaven, the atmosphere unusually muted. We’re welded to the sofas, trying valiantly to buoy ourselves up with some of Clive’s finest delights. We have fresh mango strips coated in rich, dark chocolate – because fruit is good for us. And this counts as one of our five daily portions of good stuff. We have some mocha and pistachio truffles – because we don’t want to be sickeningly healthy. We have fudge brownies too – because we’re fat pigs who are addicted to chocolate.
    ‘How was Christmas?’ Nadia asks.
    ‘Uneventful,’ Chantal complains, biting viciously into her brownie. ‘Ted took me to a fabulous hotel, the mood was right, it should have been perfect. But it was still
uneventful
.’ She shakes her glossy hair. ‘I don’t know what I have to do to get that man to sleep with me. He says he wants me to have his baby, but he doesn’t want toperform the dastardly deed that procreation normally involves. What does he think he’s going to do? Send his sperm through the mail to me? Is that what he thinks Special Delivery is for?’ She huffs. ‘Perhaps my marriage is a lost cause.’
    ‘Don’t give up,’ Autumn says. ‘I’m sure there’ll be a breakthrough just around the corner.’
    ‘Chocolate is a great substitute for sex,’ I remind her.
    Chantal looks at her half-eaten brownie with disdain. ‘Says who?’
    ‘Say people who can’t get any sex,’ I concede.
    ‘Was your Christmas with Addison perfect?’ Chantal asks Autumn.
    ‘My drug addict brother turned up unannounced, drunk and as high as a kite. Christmas lunch ended up on the floor and Addison narrowly avoided third-degree burns of the testicles. But, apart from that, it was wonderful.’
    We all laugh.