A Moral Dilemma: A Romantic Comedy Chick Lit Story (26 page)

I stepped into The Rose and Crown, still suffering from the shock of having just seen Abby and Sebastian, appreciative of the serene ambience, and feeling like a complete div for dressing so casually. For goodness’ sake! I mean, didn’t these women
know
that you are not supposed to get all dolled-up to go down the pub on a Thursday night? From their stylish outfits, designer heels and flawless make-up, I’m guessing maybe not.

“Rebecca!” Charles greeted me with a peck on both cheeks. I instantly felt both grow hotter. “I almost didn’t recognise you. You look amazing!” And he honestly looked at me as if he were seeing me for the first time. I guess in a way, he was.

“How are you?” I tried forcing a casual tone.

“Better now,” he winked at me, and I damn near expired! Was he flirting with me?! No. Of course not. He, being a gentleman, had most likely just invited me here to explain that he’s working things out with his wife…and that’s why he couldn’t see me again. All of a sudden, I felt quite choked up and lowered my eyes, feeling more than a little uncomfortable. “Let’s sit down,” he said softly, guiding me out through the open French doors, into a tranquil beer garden, overflowing with ivy, and delicate pink blossoms bursting from hanging baskets. We sat at a bench table toward the back where it was fairly deserted, and Charles sat next to, not opposite me, as I had expected. Being sat this close to him made me nervy for some idiotic reason, and I fiddled about in my bag, pretending to look for something, before having the courage to actually turn to face him. “What would you like to drink?” he asked happily, whilst motioning to a nearby waitress.

“Apple juice please,” I said mimicking his cheery tone.

Charles gave the waitress our order, and waited for her to leave before turning to face me. Then, he did the damnedest thing; he reached for my hand, and held it. I breathed in deeply and closed my eyes, savouring the touch of his hands enveloping mine, suddenly feeling more than a little overwhelmed. I lowered my head and kept my eyes, and the tears welling up behind them, tightly shut, feeling like a complete idiot. What the hell was wrong with me?! This guy was about to let me know that he
and his
wife
had worked things out. Were back together. Were in love! And there I was getting all emotional and my knickers in a twist, at the touch of his hand? “Rebecca darling,” he soothed, “I’m so sorry for not being in touch sooner. You’ve been constantly on my mind…I can hardly think of anything else. You’ve…
affected
me sweetheart.” Wait. Why wasn’t he getting to the part about getting back together with his wife? I looked up at him sheepishly. “I haven’t felt this way about a woman for such a long time, and it pained me to no end, knowing I couldn’t be with you.” My heart sank. He couldn’t be with me. “You deserved so much more than I, in my position, could have ever offered you. Which was why I said I couldn’t see you again.” OK. I get it. I inhaled and exhaled, in a futile attempt of keeping my mini-breakdown at bay. But the tears were welling up as if I’d just watched
Titanic
for the first time, and my chest started to heave spasmodically. Charles, most likely sensing the onslaught of tears, started talking a lot faster. “But, my darling, there’s been quite a turn of events most recently; the damnedest thing…my wife has left me!” My eyes snapped open like saucers, and I squeezed his hand, far too tightly, whilst still trying to digest his words. “She left me Rebecca,” he repeated happily. “She wants a divorce, and by George she can have one,” he grinned. Then, not quite so confidently, “So, I was wondering, now that my wife has left, and seeing as how I’m technically single, I was…just wondering if perhaps…we could spend more time together? I mean only if you want to of course…I don’t want you to feel…” I couldn’t even wait for him to finish the sentence, just flung myself into his arms, laughing, sobbing, and behaving very un-Audrey-Hepburn-like…but absolutely, deliriously happy. Charles laughed and held me tightly. “Oh Rebecca Hardy,” he sighed, “I am so very lucky to have met you.”

“So she’s actually moved out?” I finally managed, remembering just how amazing the Holland Park house was, and finding it difficult to imagine Isabella slumming it somewhere else.

“She most certainly has. She’s moved into our Knightsbridge apartment…” He paused. Then sounding more sombre, “The only real concern, is that she’s taken my boys with her.”

I gently pulled away and looked at him. “
Taken them
?”

“I just don’t understand how she would think I’d ever allow her to keep the boys. She’s completely incapable. Oh I can hazard a guess as to
why
she wants them; she thinks she’ll get a heftier settlement, if she gets custody. But our pre-nuptial agreement states quite clearly that the adulterous party doesn’t get one cent. And does not get to keep the boys. So I’m a bit stumped as to why she seems so confident that she’ll get custody.” Then he kissed the frown lines on my forehead completely away, better than any facial exercise ever could. “But don’t you worry your pretty little head about it darling. One thing I am quite certain of; I’ll get the boys back.”

C
hapter Eighteen

“What do you mean; you can’t get them back?!” I held the mobile phone to my right ear with one hand, whilst covering the left with the other, in a futile attempt to block out the usual Kensington High Street racket, as I battled through the swarm of shoppers, desperately trying to hear Charles more clearly. “I thought you were certain you’d be able to!”

“Well I was!” he said furiously. “Our pre-nuptial agreement is iron clad! But somehow, my wife has
amazingly
managed to get her father,
who’s a Judge
, back on side!” I darted into a deserted alleyway, filled with the stench of rotten food and gawd knows what else, overspilling from large black house bins, ready for collection. The pong made me what to heave, but at least it was much quieter here, and I
needed
to hear exactly what Charles was saying. So I pinched my nostrils together with my fingertips and listened to him sounding like he was about to kill someone. “Her parents haven’t spoken to her in
years
! But she’s somehow, miraculously, managed to convince them that
SHE’S
the wronged party, and her father has pulled unbelievable strings, and has taken out all manner of injunctions out against me! Preventing me from seeing the boys, until a divorce settlement has been agreed! Which by the ridiculous amounts stated in her petition, could bloody well take years!” I gulped.

“What do you mean Charles;
the wronged party
?”

“Rebecca, the pre-nuptial agreement?! It states quite clearly that the ‘
wronged party
’,
aka NOT the person who’s committed adultery, gets every bloody thing!! All the assets, all the money and gets FULL custody of the boys!! And my
wife,
has claimed that she has
photographic evidence
of me cheating on her!!!” I slipped down to the floor and leaned back against one of the dirty, smelly, huge rank dustbins, feeling lower than its disgusting contents. Isabella had photographic evidence. Of me. And Charles. Passionately kissing. That’s what she was after all along. She had wanted to ruin him. And I had helped her to do it. “Rebecca, I’m sorry,” his voice a little softer. “I shouldn’t be shouting at you. You are the nicest, sweetest, most genuine girl I’ve ever met, and you’ve brought nothing but joy into my life. But darling, my boys are my world, and all I feel right now is pain and anger…and I don’t want you to ever be the recipient of that. I need to sort this out Rebecca, and I have no idea how long it will take, but I do know I won’t be much fun to be around whilst I’m going through all of this… So, I guess what I’m saying is, I don’t want you to wait for me Rebecca darling. You deserve so much more. And I want you to be happy. So take care of yourself, OK? Goodbye.” He hung up the phone, leaving me sobbing like a lunatic, rightfully positioned, amongst the rest of trash.

“What am I going to
do
?” I wailed down the phone to Abby, who I had reluctantly called in a desperate need to talk to someone, anyone, who wouldn’t judge me…too much. And with her own moral compass, seemingly completely off the fucking charts, Abby was the perfect person to ask advice.

Having quietly and dutifully listened to me recount the whole sorry tale, she eventually sighed and said, “Well, the first thing you’re going to do missy, is to drag your carcass up from wherever you are, and get yourself home!”

“What?! Did you even hear me Abby? I’ve ruined this man’s life! This good, honest, decent man,” I wailed so loudly, it scared the alley cats away. “I’ve ruined his life!”

“Yes darling. That does appear to be the case. Which is exactly why you now need to get your arse into gear, and undo the damage you’ve done Rebecca!”

“What?! How? Did you even hear me Abby? Her father is a Judge! A fucking Judge!”

“Yes darling, but you said he was also a devout Catholic, who hadn’t spoken to her in years? So no matter what kind of lies she’s told him to change his opinion of her, I’m certain
Judge
daddy
won’t be too impressed to find out exactly what his little girl has
really
been up to. And that’s why you Rebecca…have to go and tell him!”

“What?! Abby are you kidding me?! Go and tell him? What I did for Isabella?!”

“Rebecca,” Abby said simply, “do you want to help Charles get his sons back…or not?”

Not only did I not have the nerve to turn up at Isabella’s parents’ Hertfordshire country home by myself, I also wasn’t convinced that turning up there unannounced, if at all, was such a bright idea.

“Nonsense,” Abby had dismissed my concerns, as she sped along the country lanes, with me a complete and utter nervous wreck, flaked out in the passenger seat beside her, on our way to Hertfordshire. To see Isabella’s parents. “Desperate times call for desperate measures,” she had said flippantly. I felt somewhat hypocritical, yet grateful at the same time, toward Abby. I mean, despite the fact that I was knee deep in my own complicated and potentially heart-attack-inducing-shit, I still knew I ought to at least
ask
her about what she was doing out with Seb the other night. That’s what any real friend would do. And I was after all, not only a friend to Abby, but also to Julia, who I’m quite certain would want to know what Abby was doing canoodling in secret with her fiancé! Like I said, I knew I ought to ask her, but seeing as how right now she was doing me a ginormous favour, by coming with, and driving me to Isabella’s parents, I made an executive decision that now was neither the right time nor the right place to do so. We drove for the most part in silence, with me trying to psyche myself up, and with Abby smiling smugly to herself every time she read the text messages pinging their way through on her iPhone.

“You’ll get points on your licence for doing that,” I warned her as she steered the Audi at 60 miles per hour with her right hand, whilst texting a rather long message back to someone with the left.

“Darling, right now, points on my license is the least of my worries.” And as soon as she had pressed ‘send’, her phone pinged with a response. I watched Abby glow with delight as she read it, and couldn’t help wondering…if these delightful little texts…were from Seb. Like I said, not the right time, nor the right place.

Isabella’s parents, Mr and Mrs O’Sullivan, didn’t live so much in a countryside house, it was more of a countryside estate, with stables, horses, fields and staff quarters. As Abby drove slowly up the driveway, my heart started to lurch in my chest right about the same time as my stomach started somersaulting.

“Suppose Isabella’s inside?!” I grabbed Abby’s arm like a lunatic. “Suppose Charles is there?!”

“Rebecca can you bloody well let go of my arm! I’m driving for chrissakes!” And brushed me off. “It doesn’t matter if Isabella, Charles or the goddamn paparazzi are in there! All that matters, Rebecca Hardy, is that you got this man into this shit, and
you
have to get him out!” she snapped, screeching the car to an abrupt halt, directly outside the O’Sullivans’ imposing front door. For someone with such a skewed moral compass, she seemed to be, uncharacteristically, taking the moral high ground on this particular predicament. “They’re his sons Rebecca! His sons,” leaning across me, opening up my door, and literally shooing me out of the car.

“Aren’t you coming in with me?!” I asked in alarm.

“Good god no. I’ll wait out here…” then as I turned to walk with jelly-like legs, added, “…where it’s safe.”

I inhaled and exhaled quite dramatically, whilst shuffling slower than a snail sleepwalking, toward the door. I was
way
out of my depth here. What the hell was I going to say to them? I mean, you can’t just turn up at a Judge’s house and say: “
Oh hello, my name is Rebecca Hardy and I have some vital information about your daughter Isabella. Oh, and her husband Charles!
You can’t just turn up and say that! I stood on the doorstep for what seemed like ages, wondering what the hell to do, looking back at Abby who was mouthing: “
Knock on the fucking door!
” in the most unhelpful manner…when an unexpected loud scraping noise coming from behind the door, startled me. Then it opened.

“May I help you?” Mr O’Sullivan asked. He looked to be about ten feet tall (or was that just me shrinking?), with a deep bellowing voice. (OK, maybe not quite bellowing…but it
was
deep!) I looked up at him and raised my eyebrows, as if I couldn’t understand English.

“Is everything alright dear?” Mrs O’Sullivan appeared dutifully at his side, an older but equally immaculate, version of Isabella. I swallowed.

“Oh hello, my name is Rebecca Hardy and I have some vital information about your daughter Isabella. Oh, and her husband Charles,” and started smiling, like the village fool, whilst trying to stop my left leg from unceremoniously kicking my right!

The O’Sullivans exchanged looks. Then Mr O’Sullivan cleared his throat. “Well, in that case you had better come in.”

I sat perched on the edge of the vintage, leather, Chesterfield sofa, in the O’Sullivans’ wooden-panelled study, mouth as dry as the Sahara, having just talked for half an hour straight, wondering how the hell I should conclude my shaky presentation, and if the O’Sullivans had even believed a word of it. It was difficult to tell, as they both wore excellent poker faces; hers most likely due to Botox, and his most likely due to the tiny little fact…that he was a JUDGE! A fucking Judge! I’m sitting here, in HIS house, trying to convince a
Judge
, that he’s made a
mistake
in believing his daughter, and preventing Charles from seeing his sons! Right on cue, the room started to somersault.
Stay focused Rebecca. Stay focused!
…
I inhaled deeply…
I am a woman of peace and tranquillity
…
And exhaled. “So you see, Charles has been completely faithful to Isabella. He takes his marriage vows entirely seriously. If I hadn’t pursued him quite so hard…
at Isabella’s insistence
, he would never ever have given me a second look.” I sat wringing my hands in my lap, waiting for a reaction. For them to say something. Anything! Just speak!

“Well,” Mr O’Sullivan sighed after some time. “That is quite a story young lady.” I literally deflated. They didn’t believe me.

“Oh darling, stop it!” Mrs O’Sullivan snapped. “You know very well it’s true! This whole unfortunate circumstance has Isabella’s name written all over it, for Pete’s sake,” crossing and uncrossing her legs, in annoyance.

“Hmm,” Mr O’Sullivan offered, thoughtfully stroking his chin.

“I never believed Charles could’ve done such a thing! Not in a million years. That poor dear man. With all the stress Isabella has put him through over the years, it’s a miracle he hasn’t just gone and keeled right over.”

“Well, now darling, we don’t know for certain that…”

“Oh shush! Is it
you
that has to look after those two poor boys? No, it’s not! It’s not even Isabella! It’s me! I’m the one she just
dumps
them off on, as if they were…chattel! Those poor dear boys need their father! And that is that!” She folded her arms in defiance.

“You make a good point my dear. You do make a good point,” sounding as if he had made a decision on the matter, then turned to me. “And you young lady, you seem quite measured, what on earth were you thinking accepting such an immoral proposition?”

I opened and closed my mouth like a drowning goldfish, desperately thinking up something clever to say, and desperately failing. “…I…I…honestly just wanted to help Isabella.”

“Well, considering that lives have now been torn apart, two of those being my grandsons’, perhaps in future you could try not being quite so
helpful
.” And stood up. “Thank you for coming Rebecca. I will contact Charles immediately.” I stumbled to my feet and floated to the front door as if in a dream…no, as if in a nightmare. At the door I turned to face both their gravely disappointed faces…

“I know I have no right to ask anything of you…but Isabella…could speak to my boss and…”

“We won’t tell Isabella or Charles that you’ve been,” he said brusquely, opening up the door for me as if he just wanted to shove me out of it.

“Oh. OK then…thank you. Goodbye.”