A Moral Dilemma: A Romantic Comedy Chick Lit Story (27 page)

Chapter Nineteen

“Oooh, well
someone
looks very happy today,” Portia sang, as I breezed into the salon, abnormally on time, feeling just as wonderful as Audrey Hepburn looked, in
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
.

“Good morning ladies,” I sang back, tossing my hair, as though I were literally skipping through the meadows. I could feel both Lauren’s and Portia’s curious eyes, boring into me when I flopped back onto the forbidden chaise, as if I owned it.

“And just what the hell has got into you today Rebecca Hardy?” Portia smiled, standing with manicured hands on hips.

“The joys of spring,” I sighed breathlessly. Actually, the joys of spring had nothing at all to do with it. Especially, seeing as how it was miserable and wet outside.
Of course I was completely aware of how much of a dimwit I must’ve looked, with such a huge beam pasted permanently on my face. But I couldn’t help it. I honest to goodness just couldn’t stop smiling. All the damage I had caused, was well and truly, undone. Charles had woken me up at the crack of dawn this morning, deliriously happy, calling to say that his sons were back at home with him. He had re-hired the nanny Isabella had fired, and had set the divorce in full speed ahead motion. And then he had said the loveliest thing ever, which had made me damn near expire: “
Everything’s absolutely wonderful in my life now Rebecca. The only thing missing is you.
”

It was oddly ironic that my client today, was Mrs Dobson. Charles’ mother! I still couldn’t quite get my head around the fact the Charles was even related to her, much less her son. It did however, unbeknown to Mrs Dobson, somewhat change the dynamics between us. I mean, technically speaking; she was my future
boyfriend’s
mother. And I’m quite sure there must be some unspoken code of conduct when addressing ones
future boyfriend’s
mother. For example, all of a sudden, it just didn’t seem quite right to be giving Mrs Dobson,
Charles’ mother
, a Hollywood wax. And the thought of giving her a full body massage, seemed somewhat…incestuous. Hmm, I decided to start with the facial, and hope for the best.

“Aaah,” Mrs Dobson exhaled, as she reclined back onto the couch with the sumptuous white towel wrapped around her. “After the hellish week I’ve just endured, this day couldn’t come soon enough.” I almost blurted out:
Tell me about it!
Instead I just smiled even wider, giving her a very blank, noncommittal type of look, not at all wanting her to start divulging the details of her hellish week, which I’m quite certain had an awful lot to do with her son. Charles! “You don’t quite seem yourself today Rebecca darh-ling,” she said studying me curiously, as I turned up the sounds of Enya, wafting in the background.

“Oh I’m absolutely wonderful Mrs Dobson,” I answered in my best girlfriend-of-your-son’s kind of voice. “And it’s
so
lovely to see you again.” OK, maybe that sounded a bit fake.

Mrs Dobson raised her head up from the parlour bed, and looked pointedly at my beaming face, then smiled. “Darh-ling,” she started happily, in a very matter-of-fact sounding voice, “I know what it is that’s different about you now. You, my dear girl, are in love.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. And it wasn’t at all rude to ignore statements. Not even ones made by mother of future boyfriend. I quickly placed the cucumber slices over her eyes, and applied the thick green paste of the avocado face mask, all the time biting my lip to prevent myself from giggling out loud at Mrs Dobson’s, marvellous declaration, that I loved her son!

The soothing sounds of Enya, coupled with the soft delicate lavender essence, filled the candle-lit, tranquil, treatment room with a complete sense of serenity. I pottered around, putting things away, feeling entirely contented and happy with life, the world, and with Charles. I glanced over at Mrs Dobson whose deep methodical breathing, and wide-open mouth, showed me that she was also equally contented. Then from nowhere, like the sound of fingernails scraping deliberately across a chalkboard, I heard: “REBECCA BLOODY HARDY!! Come out here right now!!” I felt a sudden shot of terror, in a panic, dropped the glass tweezers dish directly on the floor, which promptly shattered, sending tweezers clanging deafeningly around the room. Mrs Dobson bolted upright as if someone had given her a double adrenalin shot, cucumbers still stuck to her eyes, mouth still wide open, but not quite so contented. “REBECCA HARDY!!” my heart started hammering a mile a dozen.

“I know that voice,” Mrs Dobson spat.

I swallowed. I knew it too. “Oh I’m sure it’s nothing,” I lied most unconvincingly, as I staggered toward the door. “I’ll just be one moment, Mrs Dobson,” and literally forced myself out.

Isabella was standing in the reception foyer looking like an Amazonian warrior; only she was dressed in Chanel and wearing five inch heels. Even from the hallway I could see the smoke coming from her nostrils and could hear poor Lauren flapping about.

“Mrs Coombs,
please
calm down,” Lauren implored, from behind the safety of the reception desk. “Rebecca’s with a client. She just cannot see you right now!”

“I don’t give a damn if she’s in there with the Queen!! Get her out of there now, or I’ll drag that little BITCH out myself!”

I felt faint.
Pull yourself together Rebecca. Pull yourself together
. “Is there a problem Isabella?” I asked defensively, folding my arms.

She spun around to face me like a bull seeing red. “You little tart! You think you can mess with me?! You think you can mess with my life?! You insignificant little tramp!” I opened my mouth to say something…but just ended up doing that goldfish trick again. “How
dare
you tell my parents anything about me?! Do you
realise
what you’ve done you stupid woman?!”

“I know exactly what I’ve done Isabella,” I said feigning calmness. “I’ve exposed you for the deranged, sick and twisted person that you are, and hopefully helped Charles in the process.”

“Helped Charles?! Do you really think Charles would even be remotely interested in a common little beautician like you if it wasn’t for me?!”

Portia appeared magically at my side, with manicured hands placed firmly on hips. “Actually,” she started, “I happen to know that Charles Coombs is very much interested in Rebecca and it has absolutely nothing to do with you,” she said in lofty tones, sticking her chin out at Isabella.

“Is that so?!” Isabella placed her own manicured hands firmly on her hips and stared at Portia, sizing her up.

“Yes. So!” Portia batted back. My knees started to knock. This was not good. They both looked as if they were about to start scraping manicured red fingernails in each other’s faces. They probably would have too, had Mrs Dobson not come rushing in, wrapped only in a sumptuous towel, with avocado face mask still intact, and cucumber slices slipping down her cheeks.

“Isabella O’Sullivan!” she chastised, but with her protecting her modesty behind a rather small towel, and with the avocado mask beginning to crack, it didn’t quite have the intended impact somehow.

Isabella narrowed her eyes at Mrs Dobson, and cocked her head to one side. “Mrs Dobson?”

“What the hell are you doing making such a racket?! Haven’t you caused enough trouble this week?!”

“Oh don’t you start, you old goat!” Isabella dismissed her.

“I
beg
your pardon?!” Mrs Dobson angrily snatched the cucumber slices off her face and threw them on the floor. “How
dare
you speak to me like that!” and stepping closer toward Isabella, promptly slipped up on the cucumber slices, landing face first, or rather: avocado mask first, onto the forbidden chaise. The thick gooey green paste spread nicely all over the cow-print design, as Mrs Dobson, staggered up from an unfortunate wide seated position, from which the towel could no longer protect her modesty. We all covered our eyes except Portia, who gave out an
Eewww
, at the sight of Mrs Dobson’s Hollywood wax. “Are you
eweing
me young lady?!” Mrs Dobson turned on Portia, who batted back some rude response, and the two of them were off, at each other’s throats within seconds.

Isabella turned her attention back toward me, “You’re even more stupid than I first imagined,” she spat at me. “Do you really think I’d let you get away with this?!” she yelled over Mrs Dobson’s and Portia’s voices. “When I finish with you…”

“Becky! What the hell is going on?!” Jeremy stood in the doorway, holding a sorry bunch of red roses, as we all paused from our quarrelling to face him. “…Becky, why haven’t you answered my calls,” he said sounding very unsure and really rather pathetic. “…I’ve missed you…”

Portia turned on him first: “Why don’t you just bog off Jeremy!” Then, continued yelling at Mrs Dobson, in very colourful language.

Then Isabella turned on him: “Oh
do
shut up!” Then turning back to me: “When I finish with you, you little tramp…!”

Jeremy stepped forward hesitantly, “Now hold on a second. You can’t speak to Becky like that…” sounding more like:
Can you?

I spun around to face him. Grabbed his sorry flowers, and started beating him about the chest with them. “Just piss off Jeremy! I don’t want your sorry flowers. And I don’t want you!”

“Becky, you’re not thinking straight!” he shouted over Portia and Mrs Dobson.

“I’ve met someone else Jeremy! Get it?!” Jeremy started shouting something back at me, but Isabella’s voice trumped him.

“Is that
MY
husband you’re talking about?!” she yelled incredulously.

Gwendolyn appeared in the doorway, slamming the door so hard, it momentarily stunned us all out of our frenzied state. We all heatedly, but silently, turned to face her as she furiously surveyed the room and the goo-stained, hand-made chaise.

“I don’t care what this is about,” she managed through gritted teeth, “but it stops now,” giving Isabella a look. “This is
my
salon,” she said firmly. “My. Salon. And
this
…this commotion…will not be tolerated!” Mrs Dobson pulled her towel more tightly around her, as if she had not been part of
any
commotion, and had no idea what Gwendolyn was talking about. Portia ran her fingers innocently through her hair, whilst Lauren pretended to sort through files on the reception desk. Isabella snatched her handbag off the chaise, started toward the door…then stopped.

“
Oh
,” she said delightedly, as Charles stepped into the salon. “I thought you weren’t going to make it darling.” My heart. Literally. Stopped. “Come in,” she said happily. “Come in darling.”

Charles shot me a confused look, then noticed Mrs Dobson, wrapped in very small towel and smudged avocado mask. “Is that you mother?” He peered at her. Mrs Dobson pursed her lips.

“Yes darling,” Isabella laughed lightly. “We’re all here.”

“What do you want Isabella?” he snapped at her. “Why did you call me down here?”

Isabella reached into her handbag and pulled out a pile of photographs. “Oh I
do
wish I had time to explain it to you in more detail darling,” she said sweetly, “but pictures, as they say, speak a
thousand
words,” handing him the pile of photos, “and as it seems I won’t be able to use these in court anymore, you may as well have them.” Charles flicked through a few photos, looking more thunderous with each one. Mrs Dobson edged beside him, looking over his shoulder, at the photos. She looked across at me with confusion. Not quite connecting the dots. Charles looked across at me…with heartbreak. Isabella didn’t miss the look. “Oh yes, you remember Rebecca Hardy, don’t you darling?” Paused, then added…” Lovely girl. You
do
know I was paying her to see you?”

C
hapter Twenty

“As lovely as Kensington Gardens are darling,” Abby began cautiously, “you don’t plan on hiding away in here forever? Do you?” We were sitting on a marble bench in the mainly deserted Italian Gardens. I found the sound of the water fountains calming and the cool touch of Carrara marble statues, urns and basins, quite soothing. Every now and then someone would jog past, or you’d see a young mother or nanny, pushing a pram, but for the most part, this was a fairly deserted and peaceful area in Kensington Gardens. You could sit here for hours, days even, on end, without being disturbed. Which was precisely why I loved it.

“How did you find me?” I asked moodily.

“It wasn’t hard,” she smiled. “You’re amazingly predictable Rebecca. If you’re not at home, you’re either at the salon, gym…or you’re here. Anyway, how did you manage to wrangle yourself out of work for two whole weeks?”

I gave Abbey a look. Gwendolyn was
there
remember. I told her I was feeling a bit under the weather. It was she who suggested two weeks.”

“Do you think you’ll have a job to go back to?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” And I really didn’t care. The advance from my facial exercise DVD deal was enough to keep me for a while. Until I found something else.

We sat in silence for a few moments, and then she asked hesitantly: “Has he called you?”

I exhaled, and said simply: “No.” It had been almost two whole weeks. With not one word from him. I didn’t really expect to hear from Charles, but I would’ve liked the opportunity to have at least explained. I tried calling his mobile phone a few times, only to discover that my number had been blocked. And when I called him at his office, his secretary, as soon as she heard my name, told me in an extremely frosty tone, that he was in a ‘
meeting
’. Yeah right, one of those never-ending ones, I guessed. “I don’t expect to hear from him again.” Abby opened her mouth to say something, but I cut her off. “And I don’t want to talk about it.” We sat in silence for a few more moments, listening to the gush of water from the falls around us, and then Abby, scrambling for a way to change the dreary mood, turned to me in delight.

“So, just three more weeks for Ascot?!” she said excitedly. “Have you bought a hat yet?”

“I’m not going,” I said miserably.

“Oh don’t be silly Becky. Of course you’re coming,” and gave me a hug.

“I’m not in the mood for Ascot this year,” I sulked.

“Which is
precisely
why, you have to come! We only get the chance to get dressed up to the hilt, completely sloshed, wearing a ridiculous hat
once a year
. There’s no way you can miss it. It doesn’t matter if you’re not in the mood now. Once you get your Bo Peep bonnet on, you’ll soon change your mind,” she winked at me.

I smiled. “I don’t have a hat,” I whined, “…and all the nice ones would’ve been sold out by now.”

“You can borrow one of mine darling. I couldn’t decide which one I liked best, so I bought several.”

“As you do,” I said light-heartedly.

“Exactly.” Abby stretched her long legs out in front of her, leaned her head lazily back into the sunshine, closed her eyes, and said casually “Have you heard about Julia and Seb?”

No. I hadn’t heard anything about Julia and Seb. In fact, last time I even saw Seb, he was canoodling with
Abby
, in secret! I looked at her relaxed face trying to gauge a hint of the fact that she’d managed to split Julia and Seb up. I braced myself for the news. There wasn’t much more that could go wrong in my life. “No,” I said carefully. “What about them?”

“Apparently, they’re going to elope the week after Ascot,” as if it were nothing.

“What?!” I grabbed her arm and shook her eyes open. “Elope?! How do
you
know?”

“Calm down sweetie,” she laughed, rearranging herself. “Seb told me. Apparently they’re all loved up again, and want to tie the knot before either of them get cold feet for the umpteenth time.”

I looked at Abby. Wondering if she was really hurting over this, but trying to hide it. “Are you upset about it?” I asked gently.

“What?? Good god no! What do I care?”

I squinted at her. “But Abby…I saw you and…” her mobile phone started ringing, she looked at the caller ID and positively beamed.

“Hello darling,” she cooed, “…are you here yet? I’m in the Italian Gardens sweetie. OK. See you in a jiffy,” she sang, and hung up. Then she turned to face me with that oh so familiar beam plastered permanently across her face. “Sorry Becky. What were you saying?”

“Nothing,” I murmured in confusion. Then I looked past her and could see that guy from Juju’s. The Denzel Washington lookalike. “Isn’t that…”

Abby turned around and saw him. “I’m coming darling!” she called out to him happily. “Bradley,” she said turning back to me. “That’s Bradley.”

I gave her a look. “And he’s here to meet you?”

She clasped my hands and laughed. “Yes darling!”
I grinned, giving her a confused look. “Seb fixed us up!” she gushed excitedly.

“Seb?!”

“Yes,” she laughed. “At first the three of us would all meet up at Wheelers together. But then…well, Bradley and I…well, Bradley and I
get
each other. Oh, and I made Seb
swear
not to tell Julia about us meeting up. I don’t want her going around for the next fifty years thinking she fixed us up!” She got up and waved over at Bradley.

“The next fifty years? You think it’ll last fifty years?!”

“Who knows,” she beamed with a shrug. She gave me a hug and literally ran over to Bradley, who lifted her off the ground spinning her around, before giving her a kiss. A very passionate kiss. I watched the two of them walk off together, hand-in-hand, into Kensington Gardens, and could hear Abby’s easy laughter, long after they disappeared. I stood in the middle of the Italian Gardens by myself, smiling after them. I had the most complicated and strangest friends in the world. But I loved them dearly. I exhaled deeply, and decided to go home. And then I decided that I would go to Ascot.

“I remember you distinctly saying, that we were
not
going in coaches this year!” Abigail snapped at Seb, whilst trying to arrange the huge silk flowers on her wide brimmed hat. “It’s completely ruined!” she huffed holding her hat in her hands. The coach journey to Royal Ascot had been quite chaotic to say the least. Seb had ordered two coaches as usual, one for the boys and one for the girls. But the coach company had double booked, and had sent us only one very tatty looking coach, which we all had to squeeze into. There was no space to sit, let alone spread out our extremely extravagant hats. Seb had told us to put our hats in the luggage hold, but Abby had told him in no uncertain terms, that she was not putting her 2K hat in the smelly luggage hold. No, Seb could “
bloody well sod off
!” So she’d placed her 2K hat on the one free seat available, at the front of the coach, next to Deborah, and her sizable girth. When Abby had placed the hat beside her, it was new out of its Philip Treacy box. When we arrived at Ascot, it was as flat as a pancake! Abby spotted Deborah heaving her way off the coach. “Did you sit on it?!” she snapped at her, holding up the hat. “You’ve completely flattened my bloody hat!”

“Abby!” Julia intervened. “You don’t know for sure that Deborah did that!”

“Of course she bloody well did!” she fumed.

Seb, with one arm around Bradley, and the other clutching an open bottle of champagne, both dressed respectfully in morning suits and top hats, sidled up to Abby, and slurred, “Have a swig of this babe.”

“Fuck off Sebastian! This is all your fault!” Seb and Bradley, already well and truly under the influence, roared at Abby’s response, and swayed off to join the huddle of guys filing off the coach.

Julia sighed. “It’s not that bad. Pass it here.” And twiddled and fiddled with it, until it looked as good as new. “There you go,” she said, passing the hat back to Abby.

Abby inspected it. “Humph,” she said and placed the hat on her head. “Now where have they gone with that bottle of champagne?!” And turned on her designer heels, to go join Seb and Bradley. Without so much of a word of thanks to Julia. Julia looked at me and rolled her eyes.

What I loved most about Ladies Day at Royal Ascot, apart from the electric atmosphere, was the fact that guys and girls could get dressed up to the nines, in their best dresses, hats and morning suits and have a jolly good time, all in the presence of our very own Queen! I mean, of course she sits in the Royal Enclosure, and us
common folk, never actually get to see her, but still. She’s here! I loved the fact that women from all over the world came to Royal Ascot to show off and flaunt their personal style and fashions. Some women always tried to outdo each other, by turning up in the most extravagant outfit or hat. Over the years I’ve seen hats resembling skyscrapers, doves kissing, and a whole rose bush! I always preferred to dress more subtly, as if going to a wedding, rather than parading in a Parisian hat show.

I chatted with the rest of the girls, whilst the guys flapped about in a drunken stupor, trying their best to keep on their top hats, as they set up the canopy, ground sheeting, and folding chairs, for our picnic lunch. Then they lugged huge hampers and wine coolers from the coach, and collapsed in a champagne popping heap, whilst the girls took over sorting out the lunch. As usual for Ascot, there was quite a spread. We had a selection of salads, pickles, smoked salmon and lemon chicken, a massive selection of red and white wine, cucumber sandwiches and of course, clotted cream with strawberries.

“I couldn’t eat another morsel,” Julia slurred happily, stretching out on the blanket.

Abby stretched out beside her and hiccupped, “Oh,” she sighed, “neither could I.” We hadn’t even reached the Grandstands yet, and already most of the group were pissed. “Becky darling,” Abby said eyeing me wearily, “do get off that chair and have another glass, no, make that a
bottle
of wine. You are far too sober darling. You’re making me feel quite self-conscious.”

“No thank you,” I smiled down at her, “the day hasn’t even started yet and you’re all already knocked out.”

“Sweetie, the day started when we left home this morning!” I laughed. Then thought I was imagining things when a familiar annoying voice came grating through the air.

“Ladeeeeez,” the Gustard, looking like a teenager dressed in his dad’s top hat and tails, grabbing his chin and holding his crotch in shock at seeing us. “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh. Is my bitches innit,” he explained to the straight-laced looking guy beside him.

“What the fuck are you doing here Gustard?!” Abby bolted upright. “And who the bloody hell are you calling your bitches exactly?”

Gustard laughed, holding onto his friend for support. “Dis one is well rude,” he nodded toward Abby. “She wants me thou, innit.” His friend peered over the rim of his glasses at Abby, as though he couldn’t quite be sure whether she indeed ‘wanted Gus’ or not.

Bradley came up to Gustard and reached for him. I thought he was going to knock him out, but he hugged him of all things! “Gee! My man! You never said you were coming to Ascot?! You should have travelled down with us!”

“Nah man,” Gustard held out a fist to Bradley, who touched it with his own. “I don’t do the whole coach ting. I come by limo, innit?”

Abby’s mouth fell open. She turned to Bradley. “You know this joker?”

Bradley laughed. “I’ve known him for years babe. He’s one of our top traders!” Julia and I gawped at Abby.

“Top trader?” she asked incredulously. “Are you sure?” Bradley laughed. Gustard winked lewdly at Abby and grabbed his crotch. Seb came over and greeted Gustard with an equally warm hug, and the three of them and Gustard’s straight-laced friend, started chatting loudly, discussing bets and horses, and just how much champagne they had drunk.

Abby rolled her eyes at them and announced to me and Julia: “Loo break girls.” We followed Abby across the turf, weaving through the crowds, all the way past the Grandstands. Of course there were lavatories very close to our picnic area, but Abby always preferred to use the ones closest to the Royal Enclosure, as that’s where all the paparazzi hung out, and she had a better chance of getting into one of the socialite magazines. So we tottered across the turf in our five inch heels, amidst the roar of crowds cheering their horses on, and the laughter of ladies who were there for anything but the horses, giggling to ourselves about Gustard being a City trader.

“Well, as the three of them are such best friends,” Abby teased, “We could all go out on a threesome date…and you could be with Gus Becky darling.” We all burst out laughing at the thought, and I was literally laughing tears imaging Gustard taking me out on a date, and grabbing his crotch the whole evening. The tears made my vision bleary. So bleary, that when he walked up to me, looking quite regal in his top hat and tails, I hardly recognised him.

“Hello Rebecca,” Charles Coombs said quietly. All the noise in the background seemed to have abruptly faded away. I could see people’s mouths cheering and laughing, and I was aware of Julia dragging Abby briskly away from me, but I couldn’t actually hear anything. It seems I couldn’t speak either. “You look…lovely,” he sighed.