A Moral Dilemma: A Romantic Comedy Chick Lit Story (19 page)

“Rebecca,” he said turning to me just as I was about to hiccup, “I’d like you to meet General Scots. My uncle.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said as elegantly as I could, thankful that the fright of actually being introduced to someone had suppressed my hiccups.

“And I’m delighted. I’m sure,” he replied in a loud
General-ly
sounding voice. “And have you dined on the Epiphany before young lady?”

“No, I haven’t actually,” wondering if
Epiphany
was the name of this boat and why on earth would Charles Coombs want to introduce me to his uncle?!

“Well, you shall enjoy it I’m sure. The first time is always a memory you can never quite forget,” he bellowed warmly. “Now,” he said looking around, “where the blazes has my wife disappeared to?!” and went off presumably in search of her. I smiled, deciding that I liked him.

Charles laughed lightly. “Have your ear drums survived the General OK?”

“There’s just a slight ringing, but I’ll live,” I teased. “He’s adorable. Your
uncle
?”

“He’s married to my mother’s sister,
whom I shall try my damnedest to avoid.”

“Oh?” I laughed.

“Far too long and far too dull a story to spoil this evening with.” I smiled my acceptance of his answer and he…smiled back…as though, refreshingly, he couldn’t believe I wasn’t going to drill him about it. And then his smile widened as he spotted someone in the distance and waved them over. “Rebecca, I’d like to introduce you to one of my dearest friends,” he said as we waited for the mystery person to arrive, “
Jonathon Fox.” I smiled, but something in the back of my mind told me that this was a good time to start panicking. Jonathon Clarkson. I had definitely heard that name before. But where…? “How are you doing old boy?” Charles embraced Jonathon Clarkson and my heart somersaulted in my chest when I saw him. “Jonathon, this is Rebecca.”

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Jonathon smiled.

A very weak “Hi,” was all I could manage, trying not to look at her. But bloody Portia wasn’t going to let me off that lightly.

“Hello Rebecca,” she said sweetly enough to go undetected by any ‘
female drama
’ detector, that either of these men could have, but the look on her face said a WHOLE lot more. “Well, fancy seeing
you
here.”

I made a sound that sounded a little bit like a half laugh and a little bit like someone gasping for breath. “Yes. Fancy.”

“Do you two know each other?” Jonathon asked.

“Well, yes. We work together,” I smiled.

“Well this is great! Charlie,” he said turning to Charles, “this is my
darling
Portia.”

Charles looked at Jonathon in mock surprise when he said the word ‘darling’. “Steady on Johnnie,” he teased, “I can hear your heart there.” Then, turning to Portia, “Portia it’s a pleasure to finally meet. I’ve heard so much about you.” I tried to remain poker faced but couldn’t stop my eyes widening at the hilarity. Charles Coombs had heard so much about
Portia
?! Well,
I
could tell him a whole lot more colourful stuff!

“Well,” Portia cooed in Jonathon’s ear, “I do hope it’s all been good,” and then they started giving each other little cooey kisses. Charles and I both looked away in awkwardness, and then he lifted a glass of champagne off a tray and offered it to Jonathon.

“Come on, stop that,” he said pretending to sound gruff, and prying Jonathon away from Portia. “Pull yourself together man and get this down you.” The two of them laughed and started talking about something to do with the General and their younger days. Meanwhile, Portia, holding onto Jonathon’s arm, gave me a look that said:
You Rebecca Hardy are a very dark horse! That is a much
older
man you’re out with
.” Then her eyes widened as if to say:
An older MARRIED man
! Then a very smug look crossed her face that said:
Tut tut. Not even I date married men!

An announcement came over the loudspeaker that it was time to board, and the two sets of double doors in the VIP section opened up the way onto the boat. We filed in behind the other VIP guests who were boarding and I crossed my fingers hoping that Portia and Jonathon would be sitting as far away from us as possible. Though, in the back of my mind I already suspected that best buddies, Johnnie and Charlie, probably booked this little outing together. Hah! We were double dating! I had got plucked, pruned and was wearing a 10K dress for a double-date! I looked at Charles from the corner of my eye as we walked, wondering if Isabella had been right about him all along; wondering if this whole pre-meditated situation wasn’t enough to give her due concern. He was after all a married man…taking me…another woman, out on a date! Hmm. Well, not exactly. It was
me
who had said I’d never been to a dinner dance before…and he had just…politely offered to take me to one. Hmmmm. Not very incriminating evidence. And it was highly unlikely I would get anything remotely more incriminating this evening, sitting opposite Portia all night! I wasn’t quite sure why, but I suddenly felt deflated. Like I really couldn’t be bothered with all this…this charade.

“Are you OK?” Charles whispered in my ear. I nodded and smiled to reassure him. Then he squeezed my hand and I felt a treacherous smile stretching across my
face and was suddenly grateful for the dim lights which masked my blushed cheeks well. But not that well apparently, as bloody Portia elbowed me discreetly. I, of course, ignored her and sighed. It was going to be a long night.

As I stepped into the boat’s banqueting suite I couldn’t help but gasp. Lit entirely by candlelight, circular tables dressed with opulent red and beige silk linens, with shimmering gold charger plates and crystal glasses that twinkled in the light, were set against a backdrop of pure glass which made it look as if the entire floor was drifting on the Thames, amidst the backdrop of London’s night-lit skyline. The jazz band’s melodic tunes wrapped around me like a dream, as Charles and I followed slowly behind one of the ma
î
tre d’s toward the back of the boat, where I could see as clearly as I could touch, Big Ben, the Houses of Parliament and the London Eye. I looked up at the roof, wondering how these seemingly fragile glass walls could possibly support it, only to find that it too was made completely of glass and the starlit night sky spread out above us like a magical ocean.

“Do you like it?” he asked softly.

“It’s beautiful,” I sighed, feeling, I’m ashamed to say, a little emotional. I had never been taken anywhere quite so beautiful, quite so romantic before…and it was a little sad that this was not…a real date. But never mind. Here I was. And not even having to sit next to Portia all night was going to blight it for me. “Right then,” Charles said turning to Jonathon, and I suddenly realised that Portia was being seated at a table looking directly out onto the Thames, “enjoy your evening.”

“You too old boy,” Jonathon winked and took his seat beside Portia. I smiled at Portia, feeling a little guilty for my thoughts, and she smiled back, raising a glass of champagne to me.

Charles and I were seated at the very back of the boat looking out onto the Thames with our backs facing all the other dinners. As though, we were all alone in our own little world. “Alone at last,” he said teasingly and stupidly I blushed. What the devil was wrong with me?! I am not a blusher! I reached for my glass of champagne and remembering my one glass limit, opted for the water. “You not drinking?” he asked.

“Well, I’m not much of a drinker, so I think I’d better not.”

He placed his hand gently over mine. “You’re safe with me Rebecca,” he said softly looking into my eyes. My heart literally stopped. Then suddenly he snatched his hand back and cleared his throat. “What I mean is…I’ll make sure you get home safely. Ahem, so don’t worry, OK? I want you to enjoy yourself tonight.” I smiled realising that I adored his inexplicable vulnerability and raised my champagne glass to him. He breathed a sigh of relief and met my glass with his own, and with unspoken words we somehow managed to agree to enjoy the evening without further anxiety.

By the time I staggered to the bathroom after the third course and two bottles of red wine, I had completely forgotten why I was even there and who Portia was. But as soon as she stepped into the bathroom behind me, it all came flooding back like a bad memory.

“Rebecca Hardy! You’re drunk!” she accused sounding like the vicar’s wife.

“I most certainly am not,” I slurred.

She rolled her eyes. “I thought you didn’t drink?!”

“I don’t. Much.”

Then following me into the powder room like an
oppressing shadow, “He’s Isabella Coombs’s husband isn’t he?! Oh my god Rebecca. Are you crazy? She will kill you! Gwendolyn will definitely fire you!”

“Portia,” I hiccupped calmly, as I checked my reflection in the mirror, aware of how most women’s faces look like molten wax after a few drinks, silently praising my facial exercises for keeping mine looking fresh and tight. In fact even with my bleary eyes it was very difficult to tell if I was intoxicated or not. Unless of course, I spoke or walked. “Portia, this is not what it looks like. OK!”

“My arse it’s not! If Gwendolyn finds out you took the afternoon off to have your hair coiffed and face air-brushed, just so you could…”

“Well she won’t,” I cut her off. Then, seeing her impertinent face, “Will she?
Please?!
”

“Well she won’t hear a word from me,” she said flippantly, then looking at me quite seriously, “But I
do
hope for your sake that you know what you’re doing Rebecca Hardy!” Then she turned in a huff and left.

I studied my reflection in the spot-lit vanity mirror, realising that was the whole problem right there. I was suddenly entirely unsure about what I was doing. And why I was doing it. And when I stepped back into the banqueting hall and Charles teased me onto the dance floor, maintaining a respectful distance as we danced, whilst gazing through my eyes and
piercing my soul as the saxophonist serenaded us, I knew for sure, that whatever this was that I was doing, definitely had to stop!

C
hapter Thirteen

I had Portia marked as many colourful things, but a common old gossip was not one of them. A common old trollop, maybe, but I would never have said a meddling teller of tales! But as soon as I stepped into the salon on Monday morning and saw her suspiciously huddled up with a shocked looking Lauren at the reception counter, heavily whispering and shaking her head, I could hazard an educated guess as to which ‘
tale
’ she was telling.

I stood silently undetected by the door for a few seconds, straining my ear to catch a word which could be used in evidence against the double-crossing Portia. But their voices were so suspiciously hushed; I couldn’t make out a thing. “Good morning,” I said cautiously. Lauren, startled, literally jumped and dropped her paper file all over the floor.

“Oh for goodness’ sake!” she said, sounding almost grateful for the distraction so she wouldn’t have to look at me.

I narrowed my eyes at Portia. She narrowed hers back at me. “We,” she said, “definitely need to talk!”

“Oh, really?” I said marching straight past them into the staff room.

“Yes. Really!” she said, hot on my tail. “What on earth do you think you’re playing at Rebecca?!”

“He’s a married man!” Lauren’s little, well-informed voice, came from behind Portia’s shoulder.

I gave Portia a pissed off look. “I thought you promised not to tell anyone?”

“I promised not to tell
Gwendolyn
,” she corrected. “And I’m sure I won’t have to as she probably already knows!” My eyes opened up like saucers at her comment.

Portia shook her head in mock pity. “Ah, Rebecca, Rebecca. You were obviously too starry-eyed to notice,” she said sounding almost happy for me, “but half of Pamper Moi’s clientele were on the Epiphany last night!” I suddenly felt very light headed and heard Lauren groan in the background. “Well what did you think? That you could have an affair with one of London’s most well-known MARRIED men, and not have anyone find out?”

“I am NOT having an affair!” How dare she assume that I was just another immoral woman ruining someone else’s relationship! I was trying to HELP someone in their relationship! By request, at that! I felt suddenly weak and fell back onto the locker bench, looking up at Portia and Lauren, who were both looking down at me with a combination of being strangely happy for me but frightened for me at the same time. For a brief second I thought about telling them what I was doing for Isabella, but I doubt they would have understood my rationale. Too complicated. I exhaled, reminding myself that I was a woman of peace and tranquillity, and I would not allow someone else’s ill-informed judgement of me to piss me off any further. “I know what it looked like,” I said calmly, “but it really is not what it seemed.”

Lauren gave me a little half smile, wanting to believe in me. Portia just said, “Humph!”

“And even if I was doing…what you say I was…it really would be no one else’s business.”

“Oh, except Isabella Coombs’s!” I opened my mouth to respond and thought better of it. “You know, Johnnie has known Charles Coombs longer than anyone, and…”

Lauren looked impressed, “Jonathon Clarkson? Really?!”

Portia, reverting to a giggling school girl at the mere mention of Jonathon’s name, clasped Lauren’s hand excitedly and gushed, as if it were the most romantic news ever, “Uh uh, they
were at boarding school together. I saw the photos of them. Johnnie looked so adorable in his cute short trousers.”

“Aaaw,” Lauren cooed, “Aahh.” I rolled my eyes at the both of them.

Portia, suddenly remembering why she had mentioned her most beloved in the first place, straightened up back into serious mode, looked at me said: “Anyway, like I said, Johnnie has known Charles for years, and according to him he has never ever seen or heard of Charles so much of having a coffee with another woman apart from his wife…until now!” I suddenly felt an ache in my chest and an inexplicable desire to laugh. Ashamedly, I quickly sucked my cheeks into a fish face so my lips couldn’t deceive me by looking even remotely happy about this news. Because why on earth would
I
be happy about this? “They’ve spent a lot of time talking these past few days and Johnnie gets the distinct impression that Charles is torn between loyalty to his wife and affection for you!”
REALLY?
A part of me wanted to press her for details but I forced myself to look uninterested and started changing into my salon tunic. Portia looked at me as if I hadn’t heard a word she had just said. “Don’t you understand Rebecca Hardy?
YOU
are leading this man astray! This honest, decent, LOYAL man.
YOU
are leading him down a path he would never ordinarily tread…and it may
destroy
his marriage!” I felt a rapid piercing cold shiver all over my body and the ache in my chest, which I could now pin point to my heart, suddenly worsened. Is
that
what I was doing to Charles?
Leading him astray?
I tried inhaling but the air in the room seemed to have thinned out and I couldn’t get enough of it into my lungs, so I instinctively started taking shorter breaths, but with the throbbing lump that had risen in the back of my throat and the nerve-racking palpitations, it wasn’t very easy to do. Was I having a heart attack? My legs started to buckle and Portia and Lauren rushed over, grabbed a hold of me and sat me back down on the bench.

“You’ve gone pale,” Lauren said sounding concerned. “I think she needs some air,” and dashed to open up all the windows.

Portia peered into my face as if she were looking for something specific.

“Oh. My. God!” she deadpanned.

“What?!” I asked in alarm, wondering if it were possible that Portia was some covert medical genius and had spotted in my face the tell-tale signs of some rare tropical incurable disease that was about to change my life for ever.

“You, Rebecca Hardy, are without doubt, most definitely, in love!”

I looked down at the display. Three more minutes to go. I tapped the arrow to increase the incline, and picked up my speed even more, my arms and legs moving in powerful rhythmic motion as I ran, pounding the treadmill, as if I were running for Olympic gold.
When the display started flashing with my workout summary at the end of my thirty minute session, I checked the calorie counter out of curiosity. I was dripping with perspiration, pink faced and could hardly catch my breath, and I had only burnt 112 calories! Yippee! Good job I wasn’t on a calorie counting diet. How depressing would that be? I cancelled the cool-down option, grabbed my towel and panted up the steps to the viewing gallery where Abigail and Julia sat watching me with interest.

“Well,” Abigail started, stretching further out on the sofa, “that wasn’t very sociable now was it darling.” She was wearing a cute black and white two-piece outfit which of course emphasised her chest and unaccountably flat tummy.

I shoved Abigail’s feet to one side, and plonked myself down beside Julia.

“This is a gym,” I said flatly. “People come here to work-out. Not to be sociable.”

Abigail prodded me with her foot. “What’s wrong with you today you miserable cow?!” I ignored her.

Julia looked at me. “Are you alright Becky?”

“Oooh,” I droned, “I’m fine. I’ve just had a very…hectic few days.” Then desperate to change the subject, I put on my best ‘up-beat’ tone and asked: “So, how are the wedding plans going?”

“Great,” Julia answered a little too evenly.

Abigail sat up straight and looked at Julia accusingly. “Well you don’t sound anything at all like an
excited
bride-to-be!” I sipped my water and looked at Julia from the corner of my eye, thinking the exact same thing.

“Don’t worry,” Julia laughed, “I am not cancelling this wedding, OK!”

Abby looked relieved and curled back up comfortably on the couch. “So what’s the problem? Why are you not dragging us around fabric shops and begging us to be bridesmaids again?” I gave Abby a look as if to say:
I cannot believe you mentioned the ‘B’ word!

“Well,” Julia teased, “I didn’t know you two wanted to be bridesmaids so much.”

“We don’t!” we almost shouted in unison.

“I mean,” I added quickly, not wanting to upset Juju, “…unless you
really
want us to.”

“Huh?” Abby chipped in, “Speak for yourself!” I rolled my eyes and shook my head at her.

Julia smiled. “It’s OK. We’re going to keep the wedding party very small. Just Seb and I in fact.”

“Really?”

“Uh uh. The whole wedding’s going to be very simple. We just don’t need the fanfare,” she said sensibly.

“So why are you not skipping through the meadows?” Abby asked.

“I
am
happy,” Julia sighed logically. “It’s just…”

“Just what?!” Abby snapped impatiently.

“…It’s just, so final isn’t it. Forever and ever and all that.”

I looked at Julia curiously. “Well that is the general idea Juju.”

“Well,” she said quietly, “how do you know it’s going to last?”

“You don’t,” I said softly, detecting some pre-nuptial nerves surfacing. “No one ever knows.” I placed my hand over hers and smiled. “I guess you just trust your heart and hope for the best.”

She smiled back. “Better to have loved…”

“Exactly!” I said patting her hand.

“Of course,” Abigail started with a hint of mischief in her voice, “…if you really want to find out if it will last…you can always hire Becky here to try and catch Seb out!” and collapsed in laughter. I cut my eyes at her, snatched my hand back from Julia’s and retreated back into myself, feeling like exposed bitch of the century. “I’m only joking Becks, for chrissakes! Why is everyone so touchy today!”

The three of us sat there in silence for a few minutes, trapped in our own thoughts, until eventually I said: “I think I’ve made a dreadful mistake.”

“What have you done now?” Abigail said looking at me disappointed. “You haven’t taken bloody Jeremy back have you?”

“Abigail!” Julia reprimanded her. “That wouldn’t be so dreadful.”

“Oh yes it bloody well would!”

Julia opened her mouth with some quick retort no doubt, but I cut in before the two of them started one of their infamous squabbles.

“No. I haven’t taken Jeremy back. In fact it’s nothing to do with Jeremy.”

“Well thank gawd for that!” Abigail said sounding relieved. “So? What is it?”

“I really don’t think I should’ve agreed to help Isabella Coombs.”

Julia, suddenly looking very pleased with herself said, “Well I’ve been telling you not to do it from the very beginning Rebecca!” Then, looking suddenly concerned, “Anyway, why do you say that now? What’s happened?”

“Nothing, really. It’s just…it’s just getting all so confusing,” Julia looked at me as though she wasn’t buying it, “…and the outfits Isabella chooses are getting far more suggestive.”

“Rightly so!” Abigail hoorayed. “How on earth do you expect to tempt the man dressed like a tomboy?”

“But I don’t WANT to TEMPT him!” they both gave me a very strange look. I inhaled and exhaled deeply. “This whole thing wasn’t supposed to be about me…
leading him astray
.”

“But I thought you wanted to help her?”

“I did want to. But…this is all too much.” I massaged my temples with my fingers, focusing on the runners pounding the treadmills. “Plus, I really don’t think Charles Coombs is the cheating kind. He seems…really…
nice
. Decent even. He’s not at all rehearsed, or smooth. In fact he’s always a little nervous to be truthful…and very
very
sweet.” I slumped back further into my seat and saw Abigail and Julia exchange odd looks.

“Becky, sweetheart,” Julia said softly, “he sounds lovely. And his
wife
is a very lucky woman.” I gulped when she said the word ‘wife’ and for some bizarre reason, my eyes started to sting. I blinked quickly. “Perhaps you should call the whole thing off?”

“I think I will,” I whispered. I looked up at Abby to see if she had any alternative advice to give but she just looked back at me with big eyes and her mouth forming an ‘O’ as if to say:
Oh. My. God!

“Bitches and hoes, bitches and hoes,” an annoyingly familiar voice came grating from behind us as the Gustard bopped around the sofa in front of us, waving his hands about in two-finger gestures, “dats how it goes wid bitches and hoes!”

Julia huffed. “Look Gustard,” she said, “I really do take offence to you singing that song around us!”

“Well darlin’,” he said pulling his jeans even further down his boxer shorts, “if de cap fits.”

“Good gawd,” Abby said sounding disgusted. “Just look at you.”

“Yes, feast your eyes upon de ‘G’,” he said moving his hands smarmily over his body and resting lewdly on his crotch, which he shoved out toward Abby.”

She ignored him. “Do you really think everyone in this gym wants to see your next week’s laundry?” referring to the fact that with his trousers pulled halfway down his thighs, his boxer shorts were getting too much of a viewing.