A Moral Dilemma: A Romantic Comedy Chick Lit Story by Zara Kingsley

agreement, then – suddenly – her eyes literally lit up, as though…well…as though the light bulb had finally gone off. She positively shivered with excitement as she beamed happily at me and said: “Let’s have some tea.” I was absolutely amazed at how such a simple procedure as having tea could so thrill someone who has almost everything money can buy. In that moment I made up my mind about two things. Isabella Coombs definitely needed to get out more. And, I really did like her.
    A few minutes later, a rather humbled and hardly recognisable subservient Helga came in with a tray of tea and oatmeal biscuits. As she placed the tray on the table I saw her look of shock as she noticed my feet upon the sofa. I stretched them out further and wriggled my toes as her face, momentarily hidden from Isabella, twisted with rage. I so desperately wanted to catch her eye, just so I could smile smugly, but she avoided eye contact with both Isabella and me, almost bowing her head in servitude as she walked out backwards! I thought this quite odd and unnecessary behaviour of her, as Isabella was so lovely and caring, hardly the type that would demand such subjugation. It must be the husband I decided, glancing at the ginormous purple diamond – that thing had to be at least eight carat – on Isabella’s ring finger.
    She noticed me looking at it and held out her hand for my inspection. “Do you like it?” she asked absent-mindedly. “My husband,” she explained softly. “He likes to give me…little trinkets of his affection,” she sighed looking really sad as though she too had been hurt. My heart instantly went out to her and she smiled at the obvious concern in my face. “ My problem is Rebecca, I love too much. I simply adore him. And unfortunately because of that, he has the advantage.” She sniffed quietly, wiping something… a tear?... from her eye and looked so pained my heart was breaking for her. The bloody husband was obviously to blame! He probably didn’t appreciate her. Most likely took her for granted. What a rotten old so and so. I didn’t even know the man but I knew that he ought to be bloody well lucky to have such a beautiful, elegant and utterly charming wife. I stole a studious glance at Isabella. She looked to be in her early forties but very well preserved. She was tall and slim with great taut skin and I wondered if she did any facial exercises. Wondered if she’d want to. Then suddenly remembered that I wasn’t allowed to mention it! Humph.
    “Are you OK Isabella,” I asked her as she wiped her eye again.
    “Oh, I’ll be fine Rebecca,” she sighed. “I just wish…” she looked up at me, almost as if she were making sure she had my full attention, “…I just wish I could know for certain, one way or the other, whether Charles would ever actually cheat on me. I don’t think he ever has…actually cheated…but he’s been so indifferent toward me for a while now and …although I’d never leave him…I just wish I could know. At least then I could control my emotions. Close my heart off toward him and learn to accept his indifference rather than constantly trying to get through to him.” She exhaled, rather sensationally I thought, then turned to me and barely managed to whisper through her obvious pain: “It’s just driving me completely mad. Not knowing.” I gave her the best sympathetic look I could muster as I really didn’t think it was my place to let Isabella Coombs know that there was in fact no way of her ever knowing what her husband may or may not do at any given point in the future. What she wanted was perhaps the one thing that money could not in fact buy. “Anyway,” she sighed, getting up from the couch and indicating the end of our enlightening therapeutic session.
    Helga was aghast when Isabella insisted on showing me down herself and as we chatted happily in the lift I had a sudden brainwave. Isabella definitely needed to get out more and I definitely