Chocolate Wishes (27 page)

‘It’s the least I can do – and don’t worry,’ he said reassuringly, ‘I’ll look after you.’

I finally told Zillah about the letters I’d found, and my father turning out to be someone other than Chas, and she was not in the least surprised. I expect she’ll tell all to Grumps too, which will save me having to do it.

‘I always knew it wasn’t Chas Wilde,’ she said.

‘I only wish it was,’ I replied, and then when I explained about Raffy arranging the meeting and mediating, she insisted on reading my cards again. They looked complicated, but she read them quickly, while I was still trying to figure the meaning out upside down, then whipped the pack back together.

‘Just as I thought,’ she said darkly, but then infuriatingly refused to explain.

Felix and Poppy would probably barely register my absence. They kept drifting together like two magnetic ladybirds, but without seeming to get any further. What kind of push would it take actually to propel them into each other’s arms?

Perhaps, I thought I should get Raffy, in his capacity as vicar, to ask Felix if his intentions towards Poppy are honourable.

Practically the whole village turned out for the Palm Sunday walk around the boundaries, brought together by a spirit of solidarity and, in my case, gratitude to Raffy and a desire to distract myself from worrying about Tuesday’s meeting.

The local press and TV station were out in force to cover the blessing of the Plague Pit Field, which Raffy performed very movingly, speaking with a sincerity you couldn’t mistake, while also looking ravishingly handsome with the wind catching his black hair and flipping his white surplice about.

I reckoned I was slowly getting used to this new, improved Raffy…

What do you wear for travelling down to London with your ordained ex-rock star former lover, in order to meet a father you only just found out about?

A minor point, perhaps, but I wasted a lot of time on it, and then decided it didn’t matter after all. Jeans would do, and a favourite, flattering top for confidence, worn with heeled boots so I didn’t look quite so insignificant.

Raffy, as befitting his role, wore one of his vicar T-shirts with black jeans. His long, black coat was slung in the back with the overnight bags and a small carton of milk, coffee, tea and biscuits, which
he
had thought of, not me.

‘Supplies,’ he explained, as we headed down the motorway. ‘Someone goes in to clean the flat and I told them to switch the fridge on. We’ll stop for sandwiches or something on the way down, then we could have dinner out this evening before I go off to my friend’s place.’

But I was so nervous I hadn’t eaten any breakfast and my throat closed up when I tried to eat lunch, though I did drink several cups of tea. My hands felt cold and clammy
and my heart kept racing. I really hadn’t expected to feel like this!

Raffy’s flat was nice, on the first floor and very light, with funny little wrought-iron balconies outside the long windows. He said he remained undecided whether to sell it or let it out.

The sitting room was still furnished, and the spare room where I dumped my bag. I smartened myself up a bit while Raffy made tea and opened a packet of biscuits, and I managed to eat one or two of those, though they tasted like sawdust in my dry mouth.

The clock was ticking towards the hour…and then the bell rang.

‘This is it,’ Raffy said. ‘You stay here and I’ll go and let him in. Remember, if you want me to leave you both alone at any point, just say, OK?’

‘OK,’ I echoed hollowly.

I expect Raffy’s appearance surprised Carr Blackstock, even if he didn’t recognise who he was, but his manner and the dog collar must have reassured him because I could hear the low sound of their voices, then the unfamiliar light tenor one said impatiently, ‘Very well!’ and in they came.

Carr Blackstock was a lot smaller in real life than I had thought, but conversely had a lot more presence, even if he was currently wearing the defensive air of the found-out villain of the piece.

For a long moment we just stood and took stock of each other. He was a well-preserved man of about sixty, at a guess, with handsomely greying locks, the same unusually light grey eyes as mine and, it has to be admitted, the same pointed, elfin ears.

‘Would you like me to leave you alone?’ offered Raffy tactfully. ‘I could make some tea, perhaps?’

‘No, don’t – I’d much rather you stayed,’ I said, quickly linking my arm in his to physically keep him there at my side.

‘I, too, would prefer it if you stayed,’ my newly discovered and evidently extremely reluctant father said, looking at me with a kind of chilly distaste. ‘I’m not sure quite what etiquette demands we say on these occasions…er, Chloe, since I suspected I was being bled dry all these years for a child that wasn’t mine, only to find that I was wrong, after all. It has all been quite a shock.’

‘It was an even greater shock to me when I found out that Chas Wilde wasn’t my father,’ I told him, ‘because I’m fond of him. In fact, when I discovered it was you instead, it wasn’t just a shock, it was a
huge
disappointment!’

He didn’t seem interested in how I was feeling. ‘My chief concern, as it has always been, is that my wife and daughters don’t hear about this.’ He began to pace up and down, as if he was about to give birth to a Shakespearian monologue. ‘But Chas Wilde and your vicar here both assure me that you don’t want anything from me, either money or recognition?’

Raffy put his hand over mine, where it lay on his arm, and squeezed it reassuringly.

‘No,’ I said steadily, ‘I have a very good business of my own and a loving family. I certainly don’t want to upset your apple cart, just because my mother caught you in a weak moment and I was the result.’

‘We were staying in the same hotel one night,’ he explained abruptly. ‘We met in the bar and I’d had a drink or two – it was just one of those things.’

‘That’s pretty much how I thought it must have been.’

‘So, what
do
you want?’ he demanded testily.

‘Nothing!’ I replied, surprised. ‘Chas said
you
wanted this meeting!’

‘He told me that
you
wanted to see
me
!’

‘Chas has clearly engineered this meeting with the best of intentions, trying to bring you two together,’ Raffy said.

‘Well, if you don’t want anything except to satisfy your curiosity, then the whole thing seems pointless,’ Carr Blackstock said coldly. ‘You didn’t expect me to have any fatherly feelings for you, at this late stage, I suppose?’

‘No, certainly not. In fact, I wish I could pay back the money you gave my mother!’

‘Since you turned out to be my mistake, I suppose it was right that I should pay for it, after all,’ he said with a shrug.

‘Then look on the bright side: at least you’ll never have to see your mistake again,’ I said tartly, and he looked a bit shame-faced.

‘Before you go,’ Raffy said, ‘perhaps Chloe would like to hear if there are any hereditary health problems she should know about?’

Carr Blackstock looked insulted. ‘Absolutely none! Healthy stock on both sides.’

‘Then I think that’s all we need to say to each other,’ I said. ‘You’re nothing to me, or me to you, except for an accident of conception, so there’s no reason why our paths should ever cross again.’

‘That suits me very well!’ he said. He seemed furious, but I suppose guilt takes some men that way.

I was certainly glad to see the back of him and I could hear Raffy talking as he showed him out, though I couldn’t imagine what he was saying.

By the time he returned, I’d found a bottle of Armagnac in his drinks cabinet and swiftly sunk the very large snifter that was burning its way right down into my empty stomach and doing something to dispel the cold shakiness that must have been a delayed reaction to the tension.

‘For someone who doesn’t drink, you keep a pretty good stock of booze,’ I said, trying to sound normal, but he wasn’t fooled.

‘Chloe, I’m so sorry it turned out like that!’ he said, giving me a comforting hug and it was only then that I realised that there were tears running down my face.

‘I can’t imagine why I’m crying, because I’m angry more than anything else! I know finding out I really was his daughter wasn’t a welcome surprise, but it wasn’t
my
fault.’

‘I know,’ he said softly, his arms encircling me as I leaned against him. ‘I’d hoped he would be nicer about it all, but unfortunately he seems a very self-centred and meanspirited sort of man. He doesn’t deserve a daughter like you, and I told him so.’

‘I bet that went down well,’ I said, ‘but I think I’m starting to get over it. Could I have another brandy? It seems to be helping.’

He held me away slightly and looked down at me with some concern. ‘Do you think you should? It might be better if we went out and had something to eat first, before you start on the spirits.’

‘I’m still not hungry, but maybe we could have something sent in later?’ I suggested and, my legs going a bit wobbly, sank down onto the sofa while he fetched me a more modest slug of brandy – in fact, it was more of a damp glass. He sat down with one arm around me, in a
brotherly sort of way, and I put my head on his shoulder and sighed. ‘I’m
so
glad you were there, Raffy!’

‘And I’m glad I was there for you, too. I’ll
always
be there for you, now that I’ve found you again – even if you marry that stupid David Billinge!’

I turned my head and stared at him a little fuzzily, since the second glass of brandy had gone to my head, rather than my stomach. Alcohol can be
so
perverse. ‘You’re quite mad! I’m not even going out with him – he was just a mistake from the past.’

‘Like me?’

‘You’re not so much a mistake, more like unfinished business,’ I said, and then, I’m not quite sure how, suddenly we were in each other’s arms and locked in a long, long kiss.

Finally he drew back and started to say, ‘Chloe, this is
really
not a good idea—’

But I didn’t even let him finish the sentence, just wrapped myself more firmly around him, running my hands up his back under his black T-shirt, and kissed him again…

After a while we transferred our activities to the spare room, though I’m sure at that stage he intended doing the honourable thing and leaving me there alone, while he found some food to soak up the brandy.

But since I had an unbreakable grip on him and most of his reservations seemed to have been discarded along with his clerical T-shirt, he came down onto the bed with me where, in some respects, he proved to be very much the old Raffy…

I slept right through to early next morning and woke feeling truly awful: my head ached and my stomach howled like a banshee. Then memories of the previous
day all rushed in at once, like a very mixed bag of unwelcome visitors.

There was no sign of Raffy, but someone was clashing things about in the kitchen and a few minutes later he appeared with a tray of coffee, toast and orange juice.
And
aspirin, I was happy to see. His eyes were anxious and he was frowning, but he set the tray across my knees carefully, when I dragged myself up a bit, then stepped back.

I wasn’t wearing anything, so I tucked the edge of the duvet around myself to preserve any modesty that might have escaped last night’s conflagration.

‘I feel like grim death,’ I groaned.

‘Yes, I know, but I thought you’d feel better if you ate something, so I went out to the local shop. Don’t take the aspirin until you’ve at least had some toast.’

Someone – most definitely not me – had picked up yesterday’s clothes and folded them carefully over a chair, and I wondered just how long Raffy had been awake. Going by his expression, long enough to get himself back into his vicar T-shirt and his coat of many scruples, at least.

Sipping strong coffee between the hammer blows of my headache, I realised that the pain I was feeling wasn’t entirely physical. Last night had shown me that I still loved him – I suppose I always had, and always would. But even if he felt the same way about me, which I was pretty sure he didn’t, it was never going to work out.

‘Last night…’ he began, while I winced at the sound the toast made when I crunched it, like a whole platoon of soldiers marching over gravel.

‘I know – you were just comforting me. It’s all right. I was too full of brandy to think straight.’

‘But I feel I took advantage of you when you were upset,’ he said guiltily.

‘No,’ I said, feeling a rosy blush spreading upwards from the duvet, ‘I think actually it was the other way round. Don’t give it another thought. We’ll pretend it never happened.’

‘But, Chloe—’

I managed a smile, probably not a terribly convincing one, but a smile. ‘No, really, I’m fine. I just grabbed at you for comfort…though maybe I should take one of those morning-after pills?’ I added, suddenly remembering that unscheduled actions can sometimes have unexpected outcomes. You’d think I would have learned that lesson the hard way.

Raffy went white, which was interesting, since he’s naturally pale anyway. ‘Oh my God!’

‘Tut, tut, aren’t you taking the name of the Lord in vain?’ I said, dipping my toast into the coffee to see if it was quieter to eat that way.

He ran both hands through his hair distractedly. ‘Yes, but…I never even gave it a thought, Chloe – and
I
was the sober and presumably sensible one!’

‘Don’t worry,’ I said, giving up on the rest of my breakfast and lying back with my eyes closed. ‘I don’t take after my mother.’

‘You wouldn’t have to blackmail
me
into anything. I’d marry you tomorrow!’

‘That’s kind of you, but I couldn’t even if I wanted to,’ I said firmly, still feeling like grim death and in no mood to deal tactfully with fits of gallantry and guilty conscience. I pushed the tray away and leaned back, closing my eyes again. ‘Have you forgotten? You’re a vicar and I’m the daughter of Gregory Warlock, author of sensational occult fiction and
the proprietor of a museum dedicated to paganism and witchcraft: does jumping the broomstick with me
really
sound like something your bishop would favour?’

That was a pretty unanswerable question, because even if he had loved me back, it was clearly impossible: it would be a marriage if not made in hell, still destined to descend there pretty quickly – so I wasn’t surprised when he didn’t reply.

When I opened my eyes, he had quietly vanished with the tray, presumably back to the kitchen and his own breakfast.

We had a fairly silent journey back. Raffy was remote and tight-lipped at the wheel whereas I was just tight, the effects of the brandy not having quite worn off. My headache had now reached aspirin-defying proportions.

He dropped me off at home at about midday and I crawled straight into bed, instead of checking for urgent Chocolate Wishes orders among the avalanche that awaited me on the computer: poor business technique. Poor
anything
technique.

Zillah must have come in at some point while I slept, because when I woke up a couple of hours later, there was a note on the kitchen table and a hotpot with a pastry crust sitting in the fridge.

By then, I was suddenly ravenous, and by the time I’d eaten that and a good wedge of crumbly Lancashire cheese, I felt like a new woman. Not a particularly
good
one, but definitely new.

This was just as well, because Poppy called in.

‘I can’t stay long – we switched the Parish Council meeting to today, because of Maundy Thursday being busy for Raffy,’ she said. ‘I only hope he’s remembered
it! I’ll have to go straight home afterwards – the vet’s coming out – so I thought I’d look in on you now to see how things went in London…and actually,’ she added, taking stock of the way I looked, which was probably worse than I felt now I was on the mend, ‘clearly it didn’t go well!’