A Moral Dilemma: A Romantic Comedy Chick Lit Story

by Zara Kingsley

  Abby sighed. “I really don’t want to, but I suppose Seb will think there’s something wrong if we don’t turn up. That’s assuming he doesn’t already know! Oh gawd. That bloody Julia.” She tilted her head to the side, appraising the polka dot hat once more. “I think I’ll get this one.”

  Although I knew Abigail wasn’t lying and wasn’t one for exaggeration, I still couldn’t quite believe what she had told me about Julia. Julia was so not the type to fool around. That kind of behaviour always disgusted her. I knew for sure that Julia was not one of these immoral women. But having called her mobile phone virtually non-stop for two days, with no answer, I was just a tad concerned. Then, sitting in the back of a black cab on the way to meet Charles, I got a sudden urge to call her house phone.

  Seb answered almost straight away. “Hello?” he said, sounding far too despondent for someone engaged, soon to be married.

  “Hey Seb,” I said brightly. “How’s it going?”

  “Hey Becky. Kool thanks. You after Juju?” obviously not in the mood for small talk.

  “Er…yes please. If she’s there.”

  “Well, no. she’s not,” he said sounding rather serious. “She said she’s hanging out with the girls for a few nights. Aren’t you with them?” I literally hopped about on the back seat of the cab, holding the phone, silently yelling: Oh Fuck! Oh Fuck!

  “Ahem…no…I’ve been really busy,” talking as quickly as I could so he couldn’t ask another question, “anyway, got to go. See you Sunday. Bye.” And hung up, feeling wretched that I’d had to lie to Sebastian like that. Wondering what the bloody hell was going on?! There had to be some legitimate plausible excuse for Juju’s odd behaviour. I needed to think this through. Try to make sense out of nonsense. But I couldn’t do it now.

  Right now the cab was pulling up outside Canada Square, and I felt my heart somersaulting in my chest. It was almost ironic that this was where it all began and this is where it would end. I say ‘it’ but I couldn’t even really say what ‘it’ was. There was nothing real, nothing authentic between Charles and I. We were just two pawns in a game, forced together by Isabella. I couldn’t have any real feelings for him. And he couldn’t have any real feelings for me… Could he? No of course not. He was a married man. And definitely not the cheating kind. I took the lift to the top floor and walked slowly across to Connolly’s, grateful Charles had suggested we meet at 5pm as I really wasn’t in the mood for dodging drunken hedge fund traders today. I took tiny leisurely steps, even stopping to look over the glass and chrome shoulder-height wall, which prevented anyone from plunging the sixteen floors to the fountain centre piece on the ground floor. It sure was a long way down. I wondered if any of these city traders, after losing millions for a client, ever entertained the thought of taking the plunge. I was procrastinating. And I knew it. But in a strange way, knowing it was the last time I would ever see Charles, or the world he lived in…a part of me…for some inexplicable reason, needed to savour every moment of it. Needed to remember this evening. Always. I took the last few steps to Connolly’s, stood at the door, inhaled deeply, exhaled, and then stepped in to the wine bar to put an end to something that should have never started.

  Apart from two business men in heavy discussion, sitting at a table, and Charles at the bar, Connolly’s was deserted. The lights were dimmed and a mellow jazz tune was playing softly in the background. The air was clean and fresh with a faint smell of freesias wafting in from the front door displays. I hadn’t seen Charles since that night on the Epiphany and I was hoping that all the weird inexplicable emotions I was left with at the end of that night, would have dissipated by now. But by the sudden rush of nervousness and the way my stomach felt as if it were turning itself inside out, I would hazard a guess that they had not.

  “Hello you,” I said to his back, trying my best to sound cheery and casual.

  He turned around and stood up as I sat. “Glad you made it,” he said, not sounding quite so cheery and casual. “Can I get you something to drink?” he said as if he were talking to a business colleague.

  “Apple juice please,” I said quietly, wondering if Isabella had told him what was going on. But that wouldn’t make any sense at all. I watched as Charles spoke with the barman and saw his face looked hard and set in a constant frown. The same way he looked when I first saw him here.

  “So how’ve you been?” he asked politely, even managing to force a smile but looked distracted.

  “Well I’ve lost my job, been made homeless and due to be sectioned soon actually,” I said cheerily.

  “Oh good. Good,” he said, hearing the sound of my voice but from a million miles away.

  “Charles,” I said matching his grave tone, “are you OK?” He tapped the side of his brandy glass thoughtfully, obviously not hearing my question. “Charles?!”

  “What? Sorry?” he asked turning toward me from a million miles away.

  “Are you OK? You just don’t seem yourself today.”

  “Aaah, Rebecca. Sorry,” he said patting my hand. “I was so looking forward to seeing you today.”

  “Then you saw me and changed your mind?” I teased.

  He laughed lightly. “No not at all. You are adorable as usual.” I felt my face flush and I had to bite my bottom lip to stop myself from giggling like an idiot. “No it’s not you, my dear,” he said sounding grave again. “It’s just…I loathe saying it…I had a disagreement with my wife this afternoon…that’s left me out of sorts.”

  “Oh,” I said, feeling that oh so familiar lump rising at the back of my throat. “Anything you want to talk about?” I asked cautiously, getting ready to leg it through the door at the mention of my name.

  He looked at me shaking his head as if he definitely didn’t want to talk about it, then caught the petrified look in my eye, must’ve misread it for concern, and changed his mind. “Well…my wife, Isabella, told me this afternoon that she was leaving me.”

  “What?! Why? That doesn’t make any sense!” I blurted out, wanting immediately to kick myself very bloody hard.

  Charles knotted his brows at me, probably trying to figure out why I was taking this news so personally. Then he smiled softly. “You Rebecca Hardy, are most definitely something else. I wish more people were so compassionate.” I gave a half smile feeling like the biggest fraud who ever walked this planet. “It’s not such a concern that she says she’s leaving, she’s been threatening me with that for years. It’s just that today…” his jaw stiffened and he sat further upright, “…today she told me that she’s taking my boys with her. She’s never said that before.” He sounded solemn and wounded. “She knows I would never let that happen. But she sounded…quite…serious when she said it.”

  After I picked my jaw up off the floor and reminded myself that I was a woman of peace and tranquillity, and that screaming all kinds of obscenities or even passing out was not going to help the situation, I said, as calmly and as neutrally as I could manage: “But why would your wife want to leave you?”

  “Oh, she’s wanted to leave for years. I’ve lost count of the amount of lovers she’s had.” My eyes widened and the voice in my head was screaming BLOODY HELL!!! “I’ve told her many times that she is always free to go. Would be doing me a big favour actually. But I make it quite clear that she will be leaving without one cent, and certainly without my boys.” He turned to look at me, “You see, we got married in the States, where we have dual citizenship, and that’s where any divorce petition would need to be filed. But the problem for Isabella is that we have this pre-nuptial agreement, which clearly states that if there is infidelity, then the adulterous party would get nothing. Not money, not custody. Nothing.” He sipped his brandy and looked across the bar thoughtfully. “The ironic thing is, that this pre-nuptial which is virtually cast iron clad, was all her idea. I think she thought she would receive a huge inheritance from her parents which she didn’t want me staking a claim on. But her parents, devout Catholics you know, cut her off a long time ago
. After her third indiscretion, I think it was. So if she leaves me, she’ll have nothing, which is why I know her offer to leave is just another empty threat. She loves the lifestyle too much. The pool boy she’s enamoured with doesn’t stand a chance long term.” I sipped my apple juice in an attempt to soothe my whirring head. Questions were ricocheting in my mind like machine gun shells and I wasn’t able to ask a single one of them. “So I’m used to her saying she’s leaving…that doesn’t concern me one bit. It’s been a marriage of convenience for years. It’s just…she sounded so very certain that she would get the boys.” Then he looked down into his brandy with a sad smile. “They’re my world. Everything I do is for them. They’re the first faces I see every morning and the last ones I see every night.” He straightened his back in defiance, “And I don’t intend for that to change.” I felt my heart lurch in my chest and my eyes started to sting with the realisation that I was somehow partly responsible for his pain. I felt a desperate desire to hold him. To give him a cuddle and tell him it would all be OK. But I had a dreadful feeling that perhaps it wasn’t going to be OK for him. Isabella was definitely up to something that would probably destroy him. And of what that something was, I had no idea. But of one thing I was absolutely bloody certain, whether it meant me losing my job or not, I will no longer be a part of her plan to tear Charles down.

  “Charles,” I said quietly, “I am so, so very sorry,” and I never meant those words more.

  “Rebecca, darling,” he said wiping my tears away. “Don’t get upset sweetheart. She’ll never get the boys. And if truth be told, I hope she does leave me. Maybe it’s because I’m so old fashioned, but I could never leave her,” he said softly. “I made a vow, and what kind of immoral man would I be if I didn’t stand by my word?” I felt my shoulders start to heave as my tears flowed freely. He was too good. Too good for her. Too good for me. “Shhh, sweetheart,” he soothed. You’ve been such a breath of fresh air in my life…and I wish I were free to pursue you…the way you deserve to be pursued. But I’m not, Rebecca. And I don’t deserve you.” It was too much. I just couldn’t stop my foolish tears from flowing. And when he held me close to his chest in comfort and I nestled into the nook of his neck with my damp cheeks touching his skin, my heart felt something it had never felt before. It felt completely safe. And when he gently lifted my chin, looked into my watery eyes and touched my lips with his own, the kiss felt like no other kiss before. It felt…completely natural. Complete.

  C hapter Fifteen

  “Oh. My. God!” I bolted upright in my bed, Saturday morning, praying that the night before had just been a dream. But that prayer probably didn’t even touch my bedroom ceiling, as what happened in Connolly’s last night could not have been more real. I heard the BlackBerry vibrating on my bedside table, and watched until it stopped wriggling, before forcing myself to reach across and check the display. Eight missed calls. Oh fuck! I switched it off and dived back under the duvet for cover, not wanting to face the day. Or the world. Or anyone. And certainly not wanting to face up to what happened last night. What the hell was I thinking?! He’s a married man! I kissed a married man! Over, and over, and over again! I squirmed about under the duvet, moaning with the realisation at what this all meant. And what this all meant, of course, was that I, Rebecca Hardy, was now officially…an immoral woman. No better than any of Jeremy’s ‘bits of fluff’. A home-wrecker. A Judas. A Jezebel. Great! Just great!

  Now, hold on a second. Let me just think this through. I mean, surely this doesn’t really mean that I’m as immoral as some of Jeremy’s strumpets? OK, yes, so I kissed him. Admittedly. Repeatedly. But it’s not as if I slept with him. And his witch of a wife did set us up. Surely these are extenuating circumstances that don’t warrant the title of being ‘immoral’? Not really. Feeling a little less chastised, I peeped out from under the duvet and looked at the BlackBerry. Eight missed calls. Were they from him? Maybe they were from the bitch. Isabella. Boy oh boy, did I have a few choice words lined up for her! I considered switching the BlackBerry back on, but I wasn’t ready to talk to her just yet, and I certainly wasn’t…not sure if I ever would be, ready…to talk to Charles. One thing was for damn sure; I could not meet up with Charles Coombs ever again! Isabella’s obviously out to destroy him somehow, and she’s not going to bloody well use me to do so! In fact, first thing on Monday morning I will call and tell her as much, and ask Lauren to refund her any personal shopping days still owed. And I really do not care what she threatens me with!

  I finally managed to rouse myself from the safety of my bed and tucked the BlackBerry well away in the back of a drawer. If I couldn’t see it, I wouldn’t have to think about it…or about who was calling. And whether it was him. And wondering how he was feeling, and what he had to say. I looked in the fridge for something to distract me, saw nothing there, so looked in the cupboard. Closed that too, empty handed, and curled up on the sofa, hugging a cushion whilst flicking through channels. I saw the pictures moving on the screen in front of me, but nothing registered. All I could hear was him saying: “I don’t deserve you.” My heart started aching again. I closed my eyes and inhaled then exhaled deeply. Life just didn’t seem fair at times. I tried meditating on something positive, but I was struggling to find something that made me smile. Something that would help me not to think about him. I stroked Kitty Kat, watching as she arched her back, and sighed when I heard the familiar annoying sound of the house phone ringing.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Abigail asked. “You sound as if you’re about to slit your wrists.”

  “You’re as subtle as ever, I see,” I said dryly.

  “So, how did it go last night?” she asked cautiously. I sighed. “Well?”

  “Well…we ended up kissing.”

  “Oh,” she said, sounding rather disappointed. “So I guess Isabella was right about him all along then?”

  “What do you mean?” I said sounding a little defensive.

  “About him being the cheating kind. You know. The whole point of the exercise.”

  “No! He is definitely NOT the cheating kind! That bloody Isabella set us up. Right from the beginning. It was all just some fuckin’ game to her!”

  Abigail was quiet for a few seconds and then said, “Darling, Isabella may well have set you up, but she didn’t make Charles kiss you. He did that of his own free will. Knowing that he’s a married man. That sounds to me, very much like the cheating kind! And the fact that he’s married to some psycho bitch is really beside the point.”

  I could feel my blood beginning to boil and I had to delve real deep to find that woman of peace and tranquillity. “You don’t know the whole story Abby.”

  “Oh there’s always some story!” she said tartly. “And I’ve heard them all before. So what’s he telling you Becky darling? Is it that he’s not really cheating?” she said sarcastically. “That he and his wife have grown apart? Living separate lives?”

  I really wasn’t sure what had got into Abby today but I really didn’t have the patience for it. “Why don’t you just shut up?! You don’t even know him, but yet you want to cast judgement! YOU! You of all people!”

  “Darling I’M not married! And I would NOT get married in the first place, if I still wanted to be fucking around with someone else, which is obviously what Charles Coombs is after!”

  “Oh really?” I said throbbing with rage.

  “YES. Really!”

  “OH! Well THAT must be why after he wrenched himself away from me he told me that HE Did Not Deserve Me!” I sobbed, scaring Kitty Kat off my lap. “And THAT must be why, despite the fact his wife has a lover, and is making his life a living HELL, he told me that he can NEVER SEE ME AGAIN, because he’s made a vow to Isabella, and he has to honour it!! So Abigail, you, with your hypocritical judgements can just FUCK RIGHT OFF!!” And I slammed the phone down. It started ringing again almost immediately. I sat rigid, cross-legged on the sofa, listening to the answer machine click on and off, followed immediately by t
he ringing of the phone again. I snatched it up “What?!”

  “Becky…darling, I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I had no idea you felt…so strongly about it all,” sounding as though she were treading particularly carefully.

  “I don’t,” I sulked.

  “OK,” she paused as if she were going to say something else but changed her mind. Or thought better of it. “Anyway, whatever. Look I’m sorry. I guess I’m just really pissed with the whole Julia and Seb situation.”

  “Sure,” I said sniffing, grateful for the change of subject. “Have you heard from her?”

  “No. Have you?”

  “No, do you think she’s avoiding us?”

  “Humph! Well it won’t be so easy for her to avoid us tomorrow now will it?”

  And Abby had been right of course. In their house, at the weekly Sunday cookout, it was definitely not so easy for Julia to avoid us. But that didn’t stop her trying.

  “Hi girls,” she said greeting us happily with kisses as if nothing was wrong. “I’ll have to catch up with you guys in a sec OK,” she said, already walking off, before either of us could even open our mouths. “I’ve a million things to do,” and disappeared into the house. Abby and I exchanged looks.

  “Oh no she bloody well doesn’t,” Abby said racing back into the house after Julia, with me following very swiftly behind, all the time waving across the patio and smiling at Seb, who was watching the three of us extremely keenly, as if everything was just hunky-dory. “Juju, darling!” Abby called after her, but when Julia saw that Abby was hot on her tail, she weaved through a crowd of guys watching the football, darted back out onto the patio, and threw herself into the midst of Budweiser-drinking City traders, surrounding Sebastian at the barbecue. By the time Abby and I surfaced, Julia was already in deep conversation with the Denzel Washington lookalike.

  “Abby, darling,” Julia said loudly, presumably for Seb’s benefit, “I haven’t even properly introduced you to Bradley?” and literally pushed Bradley in front of Abigail. Bradley laughed at Julia’s not so discreet attempt at matchmaking. Abigail, suspecting Julia’s motives, did not. She calmly, not wanting to alert Sebastian, smiled thinly at Bradley and said: