The Chocolate Lovers' Club by Carole Matthews

an amazed silence. We all exchange an anxiouslook and it’s up to me to be spokesperson. ‘That sounds pretty serious.’
    ‘Yes,’ she gulps. ‘Because I’ve no idea whose baby it might be.’

Chapter Twenty
    W e get the therapists to come and take off our yummy chocolate masks, abandoning our treatments so that we can comfort our friend. I think of asking can I save mine to eat it later, but good manners get the better of me.
    Then the four of us find a quiet spot, sitting on a swing out on the front porch overlooking the beach, giving ourselves succour in the form of ice-cold honey and vanilla milkshakes and handmade caramel truffles, a speciality of the house. They’re helping, but I think we should all eat more. I hand round the plate again, making sure that it stops twice at Chantal. Let’s face it, it looks as if she’s going to be eating for two now.
    Our friend has got her crying under control, but her usual cool assurance has yet to reappear. She shakes her head as if dazed. ‘What am I going to do?’
    ‘You’re absolutely sure?’ I ask.
    ‘I’ll have to go out and get a pregnancy test to confirm it, but it looks pretty certain.’ She takes a shuddering breath. ‘I’ve missed my period for a couple of months, but I put it down to stress. The same with the nausea. The nurse is absolutely convinced that’s what’s wrong with me.’
    I don’t point out to Chantal that pregnancy isn’t generally considered an illness – this may not be the moment.
    Our friend spreads her hands over her possibly pregnant belly, showing us her burgeoning bump. ‘Does that look like a baby?’
    Now she comes to mention it, it does. Either that or she’s got a Terry’s Chocolate Orange in there whole, which isn’t beyond the realms of possibility.
    ‘What an idiot,’ she spits out with a sigh.
    I flick a glance at Nadia and Autumn, asking with my eyes if we should pursue this further, but I guess it’s something we can’t ignore. They nod their approval.
    Resting my hand on Chantal’s knee, I ask, ‘Whose baby do you think it
might
be?’
    Chantal lets her head fall back against the cushion and takes a moment to answer. ‘It could be Jacob’s,’ she admits, giving me a rueful look. This is my ex-boyfriend and male escort with whom Chantal had a brief liaison. Even though I’d only dated him for a few weeks, I really liked him and the thought that he may well be the father of Chantal’s child does make me feel a bit weird. ‘I thought we were careful with protection, but in the heat of the moment . . .’ She leaves the sentence unfinished for us all to draw our own conclusions.
    And I thought Jacob was supposed to be a professional.
    ‘Even worse,’ she continues, ‘it could belong to that smooth bastard who I slept with at the hotel in the Lake District. The one who robbed me of all my jewellery afterwards.’
    ‘And the one who we managed to get it all back fromwith a superbly executed heist at Trington Manor,’ I remind my friends.
    We allow ourselves a little giggle at the memory of our victory.
    ‘It could even be Ted’s,’ she says with a melancholy air. ‘We did sleep together once during that time.’
    ‘This isn’t the end of the world,’ Nadia assures her. ‘Look how great you’ve got on with Lewis while we’ve been staying with you. I bet you never thought that would happen in a million years. You’re wonderful with him. A natural.’
    Chantal puts her hands over her eyes as if trying to envisage it. Nadia gives us a nervous glance.
    ‘And Ted would love a baby,’ I remind her. ‘He’s dying to become a father.’
    ‘I might be on the verge of motherhood, but Ted may not be about to become a father,’ she reminds me.
    ‘There’s DNA testing,’ I try to reassure her. ‘You can find out.’
    ‘But suppose that I don’t want to know?’ Chantal drains her milkshake and then stands up. ‘I should get this over with,’ she says, putting a brave smile on her face.