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The Chocolate Collection

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2018
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Raffy must have gone to see Grumps immediately after lunch, much earlier than I’d expected, because there was a knock on my door ages before David was due to pick me up and there he was, standing two steps down on the pavement and disconcertingly eye to eye.

The expression on his pale, chiselled features was guarded, though I noted that he seemed remarkably undisturbed considering where he’d just come from: but then, I already knew he was made of much less yielding stuff than Mr Merryman.

My automatic reaction was to slam the door in his face, except that he foiled that by leaning on it.

‘Chloe, can I come in? I think we need to talk.’

‘I don’t need a visit, thanks. I’m not one of your parishioners!’

‘No, I think I’ve already grasped the message that the Lyons aren’t churchgoers from your grandfather. But I would like to talk to you – please?’

If I hadn’t just at that point inconveniently remembered what the Angel cards said that morning and hesitated, then I’m sure he wouldn’t have managed to insinuate himself over the threshold. But somehow there he was, standing in the middle of the workshop and looking around him in an interested sort of way.

‘It smells delicious in here,’ he said appreciatively, ‘but I hope I’m not disturbing your work?’

‘No, I don’t make chocolate every day, and actually, I’m going out shortly.’


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