Hot Chocolate, Drinking Chocolate

"I'd like to thank my editor for their sterling work. (You know who you are!) Also, please keep an eye out for some hidden Easter Eggs in this story. The title came to me when I was thinking of an old Cadbury's Drinking Chocolate TV advert from 30 years ago. "Hot Chocolate, Drinking Chocolate" was repeated several times during the advert. And then the idea for the story popped into my head.

*****

The Mercedes Limousine that their employer, Mallory Habred, had sent for them had arrived at their suburban four-bedroom detached house, and the uniformed chauffeur had silently placed their bags, a suitcase for Julie Claydon and a Bergen rucksack for her husband, Mike, into the boot.

Conversation with the driver was not an option as there was a thick glass panel between passengers and driver, so they chatted with each other and caught up on their various social media accounts on their smartphones.

The driver glanced at them from time to time in the rear-view mirror. Had they noticed, they'd have judged his expression to be one of amusement or contempt, or perhaps even contemptuous amusement. But then, what could he know? A good deal more than one might have expected, probably.

Julie and Mike had been married for twelve years, but had no children. They planned to change this, so a family was on the cards. They were both 36 years old and they felt time was running out if they wanted to have that family.

They were both employed by Habred Industries, set up by the father of Mallory Habred, George Habred, who, although still living, played a smaller, though still important part in running the family business.

He was mainly content to rest on his laurels and to leave the day-to-day running of his teabags, to pharmaceuticals and electronics systems, to confectionery empire to his son. Just think Tata Corporation, but more South Wales than South India. George still kept an eye on things, though.

Julie worked in the marketing department whilst Mike worked in accounts as a senior accountant.

Looking back on the situation, Mike would have liked to claim that he had some clue as to what had been happening, but even with the benefit of 20/20 vision hindsight, he couldn't.

The home of their boss was at the end of a bulbous piece of land on the East coast of England, and it was reachable by a long stretch of road that, although it wasn't a private road, might as well have been, so sparse was the other traffic.

The house was a couple of miles back from the coast, and the road continued on to a small hamlet several miles further on a promontory that jutted out into the North Sea.

There was a fairly short driveway to the right from the road to the house.

The house, built in the 'brutalist' style so fashionable during what became known as the interwar years, was large and seemed to spread a malign influence over the neatly manicured gardens.

It seemed a ridiculously large house for a man who lived alone, thought Mike.

As the car crunched to a stop on the gravel circle before the house, their host came out of the massive oak doors to greet them, as the chauffer removed their luggage from the boot of the car and carried them into the hallway beyond the massive door.

The driver shook his head at the Bergen rucksack, though he suddenly thought back to his time in the army when it was all Bergen rucksacks. He wondered... he stopped wondering immediately. He wasn't paid to wonder, he was just paid to drive.

He took his leave of his boss and drove the car away from the house, heading back to town.

"Well," said Mallory, "That's the transportation gone away again. I'll have your full and undivided attention for the next week and we can talk about the future of Habred Industries and of your roles within it."

They followed Mallory through the door, which he shut with a resounding echo.

"Let's get down to brass tacks" he said. "Follow me into the drawing room and we'll have some drinks and some snacks and we'll make a start."

The drinks were already available in the form of ready made chilled cocktails, and there was a finger buffet, too.

They sat and chatted about why he had invited them to his country retreat which he told them was called Malvirta.

"Apparently," said Mallory, relaxing in a plush armchair, "it was built for a British film star of the day by the name of Saphira Sweet.

"She was filming in Hollywood at the outbreak of the Second World War and she remained in Hollywood for the duration, justifying her absence from Britain by running war effort fundraisers with a group of expat chums in Hollywood and appearing in a few fairly derisible propaganda films to help boost the pluck of the jolly old British back home.

"She never came back to the UK, and the house was beginning to show signs of neglect by the time she passed away in the late 1970s, my father was able to buy it for a virtual song in 1982 and had it restored to its former glory.

"He lives most of his time in Monte Carlo or on the Llyn Peninsula in Wales, and he made this house," he gestured expansively, "over to me. Probably some sort of tax dodge, but dodging taxes is what we are all supposed to aspire!"

He laughed at his joke, as did his two employees. Always the safest option, that: laughing at the jokes of one's employer.

He went on to describe what would be expected of them during the next several days. The three of them would brainstorm on a number of topics related to their departments, how there could be leveraged synergy between the departments and so on and so forth.

Julie seemed to fasten on to his every word, whilst Mike felt as if he was going to have to try to seek his happy place during some of the discussions. Being virtually locked in a room with his wife and Mallory whilst the latter would pepper the sessions with buzzwords like "leverage" and "synergy," and with Julie lapping them up like the words of the wise, was his idea of hell.

Eventually, after giving them a guided tour of the house, including seeing a fully restored 1930s massage bath which was obviously an early a precursor of the Jacuzzi, Mallory allowed his two guests to go and take their luggage to their room on the magnificent second floor.

Julie and Mike talked as they emptied their baggage. "Why the hell did you bring that thing?" Julie indicated the Bergen, laughing.

"Oh, it's just a very practical piece of kit. Besides, I thought we might go for a walk in the country if we have any spare time."

"Not sure about that," laughed Julie. "Looks like Mallory will keep us very busy."

"That's true," replied Mike. "Though I can't quite help wondering why he would only invite us to his gathering?

"I wonder if he is going to look for a new department combining marketing and accounts? Though I can't really see any natural or easy link between marketing and accounts. If that is his angle, then this whole week could turn out very important for us and our careers with Habred Industries."

Julie smiled and said: "I'm certain it will."

The whole idea of this week was starting to worry Mike, somehow. The meals were ready prepared and taken out of the massive chillers in the kitchen, having been readied in advance by Mallory's staff, who had been given the week off. The meals were part of the company's "Grässlich Gourmet" range of pre-prepared meals.

Mallory boasted to them that he was able to heat the food in the microwave and seemed inordinately proud of this achievement. "Who in the hell would be proud of the fact that they had mastered the art of "ping" cuisine?" thought Mike.

However, he considered it best to keep any criticisms of Mallory to himself, as he realised they'd probably not go down too well with his wife who seemed to be acting a little as if she were a teenager at a Justine Bieber concert, waiting for her pop idol to caper onto the stage.

After dinner that evening in the large dining room, they retired to the drawing room and drank brandy and ate chocolates (from Habred Industry's own Böse Confectionary range, naturally) until, at 11pm, when their host suggested they retire for the night.

Mike changed into his sleeping gear and was intrigued when Julie disappeared for some twenty minutes, returning with a mug of hot chocolate for him. "Oh, thanks, Jules!" He said. He sipped it, but realised it was too hot to drink just yet.

He placed it on the table by the side of the bed. "Bit too hot, yet. I'll drink it in a while. Aren't you having one?"

She shook her head. "No, I don't feel like one. Too many pralines with my brandy," she said by way of explanation.

"Anyway, there's that absolutely amazing 1930s bathing device with massage jets and the like that we saw on our tour. You drink your cocoa, slip into bed and I'll be back with you after I've had my bath!"

"Okay," said Mike, as she swept from the room.

A few minutes later as he prepared to try for a more substantial drink of the now cooler drinking chocolate, he felt a shiver go up his back as the hairs on the back of his neck bristled to erectness.

There was a strange, unpleasant smell and a nasty chemical taste to the drink that he couldn't quite place. He spat it out.

There was definitely something in his drinking chocolate that shouldn't have been there, but what could it be?

He was suddenly suspicious. He quickly dressed and then he picked up his Samsung Galaxy S9 phone and fingered his Motorola Moto watch that was on his left wrist. They were unlikely tools to help him find out what was going on, but they'd be equal to the task, he thought.

He walked along the corridor to the massage bath. The light in the bathroom was off. He used the torch function on his Moto watch to cast its eerie glow throughout the room, he touched the inside of the bath and noticed that it was bone dry, as were the towels on the rail by the head of the bath.

Obviously, Julie had not had a bath. Where was she? What was she doing?

He shook his head. Something was going on, and he was going to find out what.

He turned off the torch function and glanced at the time. It was a quarter past midnight. He left the bathroom and made his way down the corridor to Mallory's bedroom.

The room was a double room, with an outer dressing room which led on to the bedroom.

There were voices coming from the bedroom. Mallory and Julie. Mike began to feel angry but he felt that he needed evidence: proof of what he suspected.

He accessed the apps on his phone and selected the voice recorder and placed it against the bottom of the door. As it was an older building, the doors were not snug in the frames and there was a large gap for the fitting of carpets. For reasons best known to himself Mallory obviously detested carpets so there was no carpeting in the house, just veneer flooring, meaning there was a substantial space for Mike's phone to pick up their voices.

"You gave him the drinking chocolate, Jules?"

"Of course I did, Mallory. That stuff you put in the drinking chocolate, it is safe, isn't it? It won't make him ill, will it?"

"It's perfectly safe, Jules. After all, although I intend to be making love to his very beautiful wife, I don't dislike Mike. In fact, I quite like him, so I don't want him hurt. I put two capsules of sleep medicine into the drink. That's twice the usual dose, but all that will happen to Mike is that he'll sleep until about noon. He might feel a bit groggy, but we can blame that on the brandy he drunk this evening.

"And while Mike is in the land of Nod, I'll be entertaining you, his beautiful wife, to the best sex you've ever had. But before we commence, I'd like to lay some ground rules down for this week. Firstly, no condoms, because you and I are going to be bareback all the way, every time we fuck. Do I make myself clear?"

Julie gulped before she replied.

"But I am not on protection now, Mike and I are trying for a baby."

"Really? That's interesting, because I am going to tell you to cut Mike off from any sexual contact with you at all, during this week. That's because I want to be the only man using your body this week, including, no, especially your husband.

"But if you aren't on protection and I make you have unprotected sex with me, several times a day for an entire week, what would happen should I knock you up? Get you pregnant? Pregnant with my baby?"

"Wow... I don't know? And pass it off as Mike's child?"

"You sound excited by the idea, Jules. Would you do that for me? Let me breed you, and have Mike raise my child as his own?"

"Yes! Yes, I would, Mallory! Please breed me!"

"That's a nice fantasy for us, Julie. Not going to be possible, sadly, as I am sterile. Not due to a vasectomy, but due to mumps when I was a child."

"That's too bad, Mallory. The idea of you breeding me, that word makes me shudder with excitement, it really turned me on!

"Good girl! Get your knickers off, get on the bed and let's pretend I am going to breed you."

"How will I put Mike off from pestering me for sex?"

"Oh, Jules! You are a woman! You'll be able to think up something! But if you are feeling guilty, just tell yourself that you'll make it up to Mike next week. Now, get your legs open wide for me. And you'd better be ready any and every time I want you, this week. I hope Mike likes drinking chocolate, because he'll have a mug every night whilst he is under my roof!"

Julie gasped, and squeaked out "It's in! Oh, God! You are in me!"

When Mike heard Mallory grunt in response, he decided he had heard more than enough. He retrieved his phone, turned off the record app and noiselessly moved away, returning to their room. The rage within him was building.

He packed his Bergen and carried the now cooled mug of hot chocolate down into the kitchen where he soon found a large circular plastic food storage jar with a sealable lid. He put the cup into the container and screwed the lid down tight.

He pulled his Android tablet out and switched it from using the Wi-Fi of the house to using his mobile phone as a Wi-Fi hotspot. Luckily there was a reasonably good signal and he silently thanked Vodafone for the nationwide upgrade a couple of years back that promised better signals no matter where you were in the country.

He looked at the map of the local area on his Android tablet. He realised walking back to town was beyond even his fairly advanced walking skills, being about 40 miles.

Then he noticed a footpath and cycleway that was part of the National Cycle Network, which continued in an easterly direction until it hit a small village about 10 miles away, and there was a railway station there, according to the map.

The village was called Ceeland, and he looked at the National Rail Enquiry line app and found out that the first train was due out of the station at 5.25AM.

On an impulse he bought a one way ticket from Ceeland to town using the app. "Now I'll have to do it," he thought.

He crept out of the house and silently pulled the front door closed.

He quickly found the path and saw that it had a "part funded by the EU" sign at the beginning, so he reasoned that it was probably not all that old so, he hoped, would be in a reasonable condition.

It was actually in better condition than he had hoped and was properly metalled with tarmac.

He set himself a firm pace, this was in part in order to make sure he did not miss the train, but it was also to try and walk off his growing fury with his damn slut of a wife and his fucking bastard of a boss, Mallory Habred.

"Just what the fuck do those lousy bastards think they are doing?" he shouted. The noise of a pigeon fluttering up caught his attention. "Sorry Mr or Mrs Pigeon. I didn't mean to frighten you."

He realised that shouting out loud was not a good idea, so contented himself with an inner monologue.

"Just what the fuck has happened to Julie? Only this morning we were talking about trying for our baby, even talking about names for a boy or a girl, working out the decoration scheme for the room that we had decided on for the nursery. Why this sudden change of mind from a faithful wife to a fucking slapper of a slut?"

He paused for a second as more terrible thoughts flashed up in his mind. "Shit! This was no spur of the moment thing! The fact that he had sent his staff away for the week, the funny sneering look the bloody car driver gave me. The lack of other key members of staff at these so-called meetings! The bastards! The rotten, conniving bastards! They must have been planning this for fucking ages!

"Was this their first time together? Still, it doesn't matter. We are finished as a couple, now. Fucking another man is bad enough, but feeding me with drugs to keep me out of the way? How the fuck dare she? She didn't have a clue what that stuff was! It could have been anything! She put my life at risk, and she obviously didn't give a shit!"

Random thoughts of revenge against the two lovers tumbled through his mind as he power-walked along the dark lonely path.

Although the path didn't have any side roads going off it, he saw the odd lights on farm houses, cottages and farm buildings as he walked towards Ceeland. There were obviously other roads and farm tracks that were running through the surrounding countryside.

It was a pity, but if he did not feel so furious, hurt and betrayed it might have been a pleasant walk.

As he strode purposely along the path he worked out a course of action. Divorce was a certainty. They'd always made known their views on cheating. Or at least, Mike thought they had. Perhaps when a couple they knew split up due to cheating and they had both expressed their antipathy toward the cheater, Julie's words had been mere lip service?

He was also hurt that Mallory had used Mike's own term of endearment for her, Jules. Obviously their relationship had been going on for a while. So why this stupid charade of a working week at his home? Was it just to rub his face in the affair? Probably.

Mike realised that he had picked the poisoned drink up with a view to taking it to the police. He was not going to allow Habred to get away with it!

He half expected someone to follow him from the house, but that wasn't the case.

He arrived at the station at just after 5AM and collected his ticket from the large and surprisingly modern ticket machine on the platform by keying his details into the machine. He checked which platform he needed to be waiting on and sat on a bench, waiting his train.

At 5:20AM the rather modern looking three carriage train arrived at the station and a guard stepped down onto the platform. "Mornin', sir!" He called to Mike. "Not often we see passengers at this station. Well, least ways, not at this time of the day. Been hiking, have you?" he nodded toward Mike's Bergen.

"Sort of!" said Mike. "Just walked along that pathway from the coast road."

"Bloody hell!" said the guard, with a grin. "You'll be ready for a sit down, then."

Mike acknowledged that he would. He climbed on board the train, showed the guard his ticket and as the train travelled the 40 or so miles back to town, he dozed, fitfully.

Mike woke up about 15 minutes before the train pulled into its final destination and used his tablet to do some research. He found out that there was a private forensic laboratory in town called: Eastern Counties Forensics Ltd, which was just round the corner from the train station.

When he got off the train he put his bag on his back and left the station. It was still very early, 6:50AM, so he found a typical greasy spoon café where he ate a couple of bacon sandwiches and drunk a large mug of coffee, partly because he was hungry, partly to pass the time.

At 7:40AM he found himself standing outside the premises of Eastern Counties Forensics Ltd. He was at a loss what to do, to be honest.

He was about to walk away when a man crossed the road, and approached him. The man was wearing a pair of slacks and a rather elderly sports jacket. "Can I help you?" he asked.