A Moral Dilemma: A Romantic Comedy Chick Lit Story (16 page)

“Yes!” Julia squealed. “Don’t they just! How wonderful.”

Abigail looked at Julia as though she were suffering from dementia. “No Julia. Not wonderful.” Then turning to me, “So, you didn’t tell him to hit the road then?”

“I did,” I groaned. “But he wouldn’t listen. He left…but he…thinks we’re taking it slow.”

Julia looked confused. “You and Jeremy saw each other?”

Abigail ignored her. “Look darling you have got to put him straight,” she instructed. “Don’t have him hanging on like this or you’ll never get shot of him!”

I slapped the palm of my hand across my forehead. “I’ve tried,” I moaned.

“Well try again! This time someplace neutral, where he won’t steam-roll you.”

“Oooh. I wish I hadn’t slept with him.”

Julia, the poor thing, looked even more flummoxed. “You slept with Jeremy?”

“Yep.”

“So you guys are back together?”

Abby and I both shouted, “NO!”

“But you
slept
with him Rebecca.”

“Juju, I know what I did. It was a mistake, OK. I’ll put it straight.” They both gave me that look that said:
Oh yeah? How?
I inhaled and exhaled deeply. “I’ll meet up with him…” Abby raised her eyebrow at me, “…in a
bar
some point this week, and I’ll tell him that the trust has been destroyed…so there’s no future for us…so it could never work…so it’s over. There. That’s what I’ll say.” They both gave me another look that said:
Good Luck with that!
“Oh, whatever,” I said dismissing them.

“And what are you going to do about Mr Charles Coombs?” Julia asked.

“What do you mean: ‘
do about
’?”

“Well, surely you’re not still planning on setting a man-trap for him?!”

“Juju, if by that you mean am I still going to help Isabella, the answer is yes.”

“But WHY?” she implored.

Abigail blew another ring of smoke up into the air. “Didn’t you hear darling,” she said to Julia, whilst watching Sebastian and Bradley play fight with amusement, “she’s paid her five grand.”

“So? Give it back! It’s dirty money.”

Now Abigail looked at Julia with amusement. Darling, did you just call it ‘
dirty money
’? Oh sweetie you really do need to get out more. What do you do in here all day anyway? Watch re-runs of
Dallas
?”

Julia pulled a face at Abigail and turned her attention back to me. “It’s wrong what you’re doing Rebecca. Morally wrong. And it’ll only end in tears. Trust me. I’ve got a nose for these things.”

“Since when?” Abby teased.

Julia ignored her. “If you ask me,” she said petulantly, “he sounds like a really nice man.” And then she shrieked with delight as Sebastian snuck up behind her, bent down and cuddled her around the waist. “Seb, don’t,” she giggled as he tickled her tummy.

“And who exactly,” he said teasingly, “is my future wife referring to as a ‘
really nice man
’?”

Both Abby and I shot Julia warning looks, which she promptly ignored and said defiantly: “Charles Coombs.”

“Not Charles Martin Coombs?” he asked, standing up and scrunching his eyes together.

“The very one. Why? Do you know him?”

“Well yes,” he said as Abby’s and my head shot up with interest. “Of course
I
know him. But how do you girls know him?” he asked sounding more than a little confused. I widened my eyes at Julia warning her with deadly intent not to dare mention how I knew him.

“Well, Becky met him at a bar the other night,” she said simply and I exhaled gratefully.

“Really?” he asked with great curiosity.

“Apparently he
rescued
Becky from some undesirable attention,” she smiled at me cheekily.

“Well,” Sebastian scratched his head, “that sounds about right for Charles Coombs.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” Julia asked. Abby and I sat in silence, both processing this new data.

“Well, he’s meant to be a really nice guy.”

“Oh
REALLY
?” Julia widened her eyes at me. “Oh darling,
please
tell us more.”

“I’ll ask Bradley to. He works for him.” He called Bradley over and as we waited for him, turned to me and said, “You do know that Charles Coombs is one of THE biggest cheeses in the city don’t you?” I shook my head no.

Abby cleared her throat. “Well just how big a ‘
cheese
’ are we talking about?”

Seb shook his head. “They don’t come much bigger. This man literally owns Canada Square.” And as that one flew over our heads, he tried to simplify it further. “The buildings? Connolly’s bar?” I gulped. Abby looked at me.

“He owns Connolly’s?”

“Er,
yeah
,” he said with mock sarcasm. “But trust me, Connolly’s is peanuts compared to the rest of this guy’s assets.” Then, he said with such admiration, I had to ask myself whether Sebastian had got Charles bloody Coombs mixed up with someone else: “He, is the sole owner of Charles Coombs Asset Management,” and looked at us, expecting we would join in with his awe. When met with our blank expressions, he just shook his head at our ignorance and slapped Bradley, who had materialised beside him, on his back. “Bradley,” he announced.

“What’s up man?” Bradley asked, giving the three of us the once over. I noticed as he did so that his eyes rested on Abigail a few seconds longer than a casual ‘once over’ usually warranted. I looked at Abigail and saw that she was, albeit very discreetly, without a doubt, checking Bradley out.

“Charles Coombs,” Seb said, resting an arm around Bradley’s shoulder, “what do we know about him?”

“Top man,” Bradley stated simply. Abigail rolled her eyes and Bradley looked bemused when he caught her doing so. But he ignored her protest and continued. “Never heard anyone say a bad word about him.
Real decent bloke.”

Julia piped up, “
Decent
is he?” widening her eyes at me yet again. I sipped my juice.

“Yeah. Real decent. He even fired one of our top traders last week because apparently he caught him roughing up some drunk tart at Connolly’s.” I spurted out my juice and almost choked. Abby laughed and started tapping my back so lightly she may as well not have bothered.

“
Drunk
was she?” Julia mused.

“Legless apparently.” I sat there fuming, desperately wanting to shout: I WAS NOT DRUNK!! And I am NOT a TART!! Abigail howled with laughter. Bradley smiled curiously at her.

“So who was she?” Julia teased, desperate to get as much mileage out of this as possible. “Why did he help her?”

“Ah, she was probably some ‘Trader groupie’ out on the pull. You know the type,” he winked at Seb playfully. I felt my entire body flush crimson. Abigail howled again and started wiping tears of laughter away from her eyes. I threw her such a filthy look in an attempt at sobering her up. It didn’t work. “Hey, is she OK?” Bradley asked nodding his head at Abby who was trying her best to suppress her chuckling.

“Oh don’t worry about her,” Julia dismissed. “She’s on medication.” Abby sobered up quick time and smiled thinly, wagging a finger at Julia. “So, Charles Coombs is a decent man,” she stated, as though just for the record.

“Yeah,” Bradley said suspicious of Julia’s tone. “I’ve worked for him for six years and let me tell you, he’s a great boss.” Then punching Seb playfully in the ribs, “Generous with the bonio too man.
You know it’s all about the bonio
,” he sang. Then hazarding a guess at our unexplained interest in Charles Coombs added: “He’s married though girls,” looking at Abby. “The wife’s meant to be a real bitch, but still married,” and winked at Abby as if to say:
Tough luck babe. Better luck next time.
Abby dropped her jaw and looked at me as if to say:
Did you see that!

“How rude!” Abby snapped once Bradley and Seb were well out of earshot. “How dare he imply that I’m some common ‘
Trader Groupie
’.”

“He never actually said that,” I offered sulkily, stewing for reasons of my own.

“Well he may as bloody well have!”

“So,” said Julia, refusing to let me off the hook, “you were drunk?”

“I was NOT drunk!!” I snapped. “That’s just a rotten assumption made by that obnoxious bastard Charles bloody Coombs.”

“Here here!” agreed Abby.

Julia looked at us both in amazement. “But you just heard what Bradley said. Charles Coombs is a decent man!”

“And who the hell is Bradley to give an objective opinion? The man’s his boss for chrissakes.”

“Exactly!” I encored. “And what was that he said; ‘
it’s all about the bonio
’,” I mimicked.

“My point exactly darling. Just because he pays good bonuses does not make him a decent man. No, he’s a lying cheating bastard, if you ask me. And Becky here will find him out.”

“Here, here!” I agreed. Though, not quite feeling the same conviction. And feeling even less so, when I spotted Jeremy, a confirmed lying cheating bastard, fixing himself a drink at the bar, chatting easily with Dianna, Julia’s neighbour. Jeremy had a natural easy way with women, so one could almost understand how someone like him could so easily cross that deceptive line. But Charles Coombs…Charles Coombs is moody and insolent. He can’t just be being that way with
me
…he probably doesn’t even like any woman! I watched Jeremy effortlessly making Dianna laugh, and wondered why on earth Isabella would suspect her husband of ever being the cheating kind.

“Earth to Becky,” Abigail said, having caught me hypnotically watching Jeremy. She must’ve mistook my pensive look as longing and added, ignoring Julia’s protests: “He’ll never change darling. You really do have to cut him loose.”

“I will,” I said still deep in thought. “I will.”

I said I would. I knew I had to. And I wanted to do it as quickly as possible. Three days of living like a squatter in my own apartment; having to screen all my calls and peep silently through the spy-hole whenever anyone buzzed, for fear that it was Jeremy, was enough to remind me that I really did have to ‘cut him loose’. In his defence, he had only called three times and popped around once – uninvited – and was easy enough to get rid of with the promise:
We’ll fix something up soon, OK?
But knowing Jeremy’s interpretation of the word ‘
soon
’ was ‘
immediately
’, and knowing how much Gwendolyn would not appreciate my ex-boyfriend turning up at work, which was probably his next move, I decided to take matters firmly in hand and gave him a call this morning. He was pleased, too pleased, to hear from me. And even more thrilled when I suggested I met up with him in the City somewhere after he finished work.

“Pumpkin,” he said, “you don’t need to come all the way down here. Now don’t you worry your pretty little head about meeting me in the City. I’ll tell you what. I will pick
you
up from work and we can go and have dinner at The Oriental,
and
,” he said sounding like:
If you’re a really good girl
, “…if you bring an overnight with you…I’ll book a room at the Ritz.” I could imagine him smiling, feeling extremely pleased with himself. I almost felt sorry for him and resolved to be gentle.

“No Jeremy,” I said softly. “
I
want to meet
you
from work.”

“Hmm,” he pondered, not sounding too comfortable with this present role-reversal but probably not wanting to say or do anything that would make me change my mind added: “OK sweetie. That’ll be lovely,” and grasping back the reigns of control, added, “…there’s an amazing sexy new brassiere, Finnegan’s, on Wood Street. I can meet you there at…let’s say 7pm?” I closed my eyes and sighed silently. I was going to ‘
cut him loose
’
and ‘
an amazing sexy new brassiere
’, just because it satisfied his insatiable need for control, did not at all seem like the ideal environment in which to do that. But I felt guilty enough at what I was planning to do, that allowing him the reigns one last time didn’t seem such a big deal. 

“Sure,” I said. “Sounds great. See you then.”

Finnegan’s turned out to be a far more upscale venue than I had imagined it would. Jeremy had a tendency to lean toward hip, trendy, chic (sometimes downright trashy, perfect-for-a-tryst) kind of places, but Finnegan’s, despite its name, was surprisingly none of those things. With its cream-coloured leather chairs, sleek Italian marble floors and grand white piano, Finnegan’s had such a distinctive air of sophistication that it made me wonder if Jeremy had actually ever been here before. I sat waiting for him in the reception area, appraising the immaculately dressed women as they walked past, thankful that I had decided to make some effort and wear one of my many new stylish outfits, courtesy of Isabella Coombs.