Rebecca
Hardy wasn’t a naturally deceptive person, though she took quite well to the
art of deception. Too well perhaps. She liked to think of it as helping someone
out. Female camaraderie and all that. But it had gone too far. She had gone too
far. She had, after all, ruined someone’s life. Hadn’t she?
Having
theatrically caught her boyfriend cheating, Rebecca, convinced she was born in
the wrong era, has had it with these modern day men. She has even less regard
for these immoral modern day women, (of which she highly suspects her best
female friend Abigail is one), who tend to prey on men in committed
relationships. What is wrong with them?! Don’t they care that they’re breaking
hearts and destroying lives?! Rebecca,
with her high morals and family values, would never even consider dating a
married man. Which is exactly why, it is
of no surprise her friends are at serious odds, when Rebecca finds herself
doing exactly that. Dating a married
man. Albeit, at the fervent request of
his wife; the notorious Isabella Coombs.
Isabella
Coombs is one of Pamper Moi’s most important clients, and Pamper Moi is the
elite Knightsbridge beauty salon, where Rebecca’s job as a therapist is hanging
by a very fine thread. Out of the goodness of her heart - and fear of losing
her job, Rebecca cautiously agrees to secretly help the highly emotional and
seemingly insecure - but also very prominent, Isabella Coombs, find out if her
husband Charles, would ever cheat on her.
But
what Rebecca doesn’t know is that Isabella Coombs is not so much emotional and
insecure, as she is a very good actress, with her own devious reasons for
having Rebecca date her unsuspecting, principled husband. Believing her clandestine role as a
human-man-trap is genuinely helping to prevent a fellow comrade from possible
future heart-ache, Rebecca finds herself falling further into a tangled web of
distorted emotion with Charles Coombs, where she alarmingly turns out to be the
immoral woman breaking hearts and destroying lives.
But
having ruined his life and won his heart, can Rebecca face the insolvable
dilemma, of saving his life but losing his heart? And still find a hat in time
for Ascot?
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Excerpt
CHAPTER ONE
I had to do it. He’d left me with no other conceivable
choice. He seemed intent on driving me crazy, turning me into a dithering,
pathetic, neurotic maniac. The lying toe-rag!!
“Becky, sweetie,” he
would gently croon, whenever I’d mention the distinct scent of Dior about him.
“It’s all in your imagination. You know you’re the only one for me.”
Then more vigorously, “What the bloody hell is wrong with you!” when
confronted with the unmistakable evidence of lippie on his shirt collar. “You
really are going stark raving mad.” And I thought I was. For a
while. His reverse psychology skills were second to none. So I made a decision
to either prove myself sane, or allow myself to be declared insane! I set about
achieving mission (according-to-him) impossible, and catch him in the act.
I’d always fancied myself as a bit of
an actress. I was still dancing around my bedroom at home, singing merrily into
the hairbrush when I was sixteen years old! Yes, Annie had definitely
left its mark on me. In fact, after watching that film, for the remainder of my
childhood, I had wanted to be Annie (without the ginger hair and freckles, of
course). I desperately wanted to be rescued by Mr Squillion Billion Dollar Man
and have a dog called Rufus. Needless to say I never got rescued – but I
definitely ended up with the dog. His name is Jeremy. And today I caught him
cheating. So tonight, I’m kicking his lying toe-rag arse out of our apartment.
OK, I say I caught him
cheating; well he wasn’t actually in the full throes of fornication or anything
like that. It was more of a…foreplay situation, which in my world still counts.
So how did I catch him? Well, like I said, I’ve always fancied myself as a bit
of an actress, so; black bobbed wig, reading glasses, camcorder – hired not
bought – even less make-up than usual, i.e. basically none, so as not to draw
attention to myself, and a shot of brandy (YUK) for Dutch courage.
Wheelers, was an average enough, discreet British pub, on an
average enough discreet City street, and was also Jeremy’s choice location for
a not so discreet illicit tryst.
“Look, would you be ordering
something or not lass?” the barman asked me with a slight Irish accent.
Shoo shoo shoo I had wanted to say, but for fear of
him drawing any more attention to me, and in light of the fact that he was
actually blocking my view of Jeremy and Miss Thingy, I quickly deduced that I
had in fact better order something. “Coke please,” I snapped off, throwing down
a fiver.
“Diet or regular?”
Oh for chrissakes, will you just
move! Aargh! “Regular!”
“Ice?”
“No!” rolling my eyes. He actually
seemed to be enjoying this little exchange. Maybe he knew Jeremy and knew what
both he and I were up to?! No. Not possible.
“Lemon?”
“Look, can you get me a coke or not?”
I hissed.
“OK, OK, keep yer knickers on,” he
said smiling cheekily and finally turned to go get me a drink. I quickly
realigned myself to get a better view over the bar and through the window to
the courtyard where Jeremy, the bastard, and Thingy were sitting extremely
close to each other and laughing easily at this point. Still not incriminating
evidence, but the night was young. I saw Jeremy lean into her and started
talking into her ear. I would’ve said ‘whispering’ but he didn’t know how to
whisper sweet nothings at the best of times let alone after he’d had a few,
which by the way his face was flushed and his tie, usually perfectly positioned,
was loosened and off centre, he obviously had.
“There you go now. Coke and change,”
said the barman. I ignored him and continued fidgeting with my camcorder,
hidden behind by handbag, whilst still keeping a sharp eye on the fornicators.
“Pity you don’t get to catch the conversation with those things from a
distance.”
“Excuse me?!”
“You need to get up real close to
them to record conversation.”
“I haven’t the foggiest idea what
you’re talking about,” I said turning beetroot, and started to scuffle about with
the camcorder, desperately trying to stuff it back into my bag.
“Oh,” he leaned back comfortably
against the bar, folded up his arms and nodded toward Jeremy and Thingy. “I
thought for a sec you were spying on that pair.”
“I beg your pardon?!” trying
my best to sound alarmed but at the same time careful not to draw any attention
to myself…
“Oh, it’s no skin off my nose either
way,” he said, “but let’s assume you were spying on that pair.”
“Which I am most definitely not!” I
said furiously, whilst still trying to shove my camcorder back into my bag, but
what, with my current state of panic and the fact that every time my head bent
down my wig was starting to slip forward, I couldn’t quite manage it.
“Ah, but, if you were, you’d
be doing it all wrong.” I looked up at him from under the fringe of my wig.
“You’re too far away to even know what’s going on.”
“As I’ve already told you, I am not
spying on anyone. But IF I were, I am able to see quite clearly exactly
what’s going on.”
“Ah jaysus, you can’t tell a thing
from what you see. They could just be having a great crack, with nothin’ in it
at all.”
“Oh he’s having a crack all right.” I
slumped on the bar, completely fed up, with the camcorder sticking out
recklessly from my bag. I’d given up trying to tuck it away, just as I’d given
up trying to film them. He was right of course. The barman. The footage I’d so
painstakingly gathered proved nothing at all. Jeremy would be able to talk his
way out of this one in a nano-second, and I knew that I’d believe whatever he
would tell me, as per usual, because although I had doubts, many, many doubts,
I never ever had any real concrete evidence of any disloyalty. We watched them
silently for a few seconds, but when Jeremy slipped his hand up Miss Thingy’s
skirt and started talking into her ear again, I just squeezed my eyes shut so I
wouldn’t have to see, and so the barman couldn’t see the tears of humiliation
that were starting to well up.
“Look, just pass it here,” he said
reaching out his hand to me.
“What?”
“The camcorder. I’ll get up close and
record what they’re saying for yer.” I gave an incredulous stare and opened my
mouth to say something, then as if on autopilot, I handed him the camcorder.
“Ah, you can thank me later,” he said with a wink. And was off. Headed in their
direction with the camcorder hidden underneath a bar towel on a tray. My heart
started hammering against my ribcage and I wanted to dive under the bar and
hide as he got to their table and started hovering, collecting glasses, wiping,
and re-placing ashtrays. I half expected Jeremy to look up and wave at me but
he didn’t even notice the barman floating around. Too engrossed in impressing
Miss Thingy, which by the way she was giggling and batting her false eye lashes
at each word he uttered, seemed easy enough to do. I looked at her. She was the
complete opposite to me in every sense. Blonde, curvaceous, overly made up. She
looked around twenty-eight but was probably twenty-four, whereas I may look
twenty-four but am actually twenty-eight. She wasn’t so special. Fake hair,
fake tits, fake tan. She was exactly the kind of girl that Jeremy would
frequently refer to as “just a bit of fluff”. He would never betray me
with just a bit of fluff… Would he? All of a sudden I knew that I did
not want to know the answer to that question. I realised that I have never ever
really wanted to know. I could live with my doubts. We had a good life
together. He did love me, (albeit in his own bizarre way), and never
made me feel anything other than number one…at least whilst he was in my
presence. But that was OK. I could deal with that. What, I suddenly realised, I
could not deal with, and more importantly did not want to deal with, was the
actual factual knowledge that Jeremy, the man with whom I have built a wonderful
life with and am expecting to grow graciously old with, would cheat on me.
Because unlike a doubt which I can quite simply cast away to the back of my
mind and allow it to gather cobwebs, a ‘fact’ would be a different matter
altogether. A ‘fact’, a real life evidential fact, would most definitely need
to be addressed. I felt a sudden stab of horror at that realisation; and
started flapping my hands about like a maniac trying to catch the barman’s
attention.
“Come Back! Come Back!” I mouthed in
animation, but he just ignored me and moved to the other side of the table so
he was standing right beside Jeremy as he moved in for another close-up with
Miss Thingy. I watched the barman, wondering if he could hear what they were
saying, and I swear I practically expired when I saw him shake a heavy head in
disbelief.
The barman looked at me with an
unfortunately sombre face as he came back to the bar. “Er, look lass, it’s none
of my business…but is he your fella?”
“Yes. He is my boyfriend,” I said
indignantly, and as he looked down with tight lips, I added with upturned chin,
“Of several years in fact.”
“Right. Well…maybe you don’t really
want to be listening to what’s on here then.” He tapped the camcorder and gave
me a sympathetic look that knocked the wind out of me. He felt sorry for me.
And he felt sorry for me because of what he’d heard Jeremy say to Miss Thingy?
I inhaled deeply and stared at him defiantly, though I’m not sure why, as it
really wasn’t his fault my boyfriend was a lying cheating toe-rag.
“It’s my camcorder and I shall bloody
well listen to it if I so choose.” I feigned calmness as I placed the
evidential camcorder into my bag and hopped down off the bar stool.
“You might want to have a…friend…come
sit with you as you watch it though.” I swallowed hard and tried blinking
really fast, but it was already too late. One must always be grateful for
the small mercies in life, I said to myself, thinking at least I wouldn’t
end up with panda eyes as there was no mascara to smudge. I nodded my thanks to
the barman and turned to leave, but not before taking one last look at the
joyful Jeremy, now nestling into Thingy’s neck. Jeremy. Humph. The love of my
life.
About the Author
Luckily Zara Kingsley was born and raised in a City she
loves living in: London, UK. And it’s just as well, as she can barely afford to
go on a camping holiday much less move. She has an adorable 9yr old daughter,
and is a single mom, who likes to think of herself as a bit of a yummy mummy,
when in reality she’s still working on shifting a tonne of cellulite of her
ass. She does actually make it into the gym from time to time, but admits that
such visits are mainly to appreciate the…ahem …view 
So what kind of stuff does she write?
Well, she writes what she loves reading: Romantic Comedy and
the original kind of British Chick Lit. She doesn’t do vampires, werewolves, or
horror. So if you like Bridget Jones or Shopaholic, then you might dig her
stuff.
Zara Kingsley’s heroines are women in their late twenties /
early thirties. Her heroes are hot, cute and not too hunky. Her stories are
about life, love and friendship, with a few twists and turns and tons of fun.
They’re not particularly deep, nor meaningful, they’re a light-hearted, easy
read, that go well with a glass of wine and a few chocs, and just might make
you laugh out loud.
Author Links
Overall
giveaway on tour is 1 x ecopy of A Moral
Dilemma plus Amazon GC $35/£20.
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My Review
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My Review
This is a light-hearted romantic comedy ideal for reading in the garden or on the beach. I particularly enjoyed getting to know Rebecca and the dilemma she finds herself in. Some of the minor characters had me laughing out loud, namely the Gustard. I wonder if he is based on anyone that the author met on her visits to the gym? He certainly struck a chord at any rate. There are some fantastic characters too at Pamper Moi, the Knightsbidge beauty salon where Rebecca works. Her boss is quite formidable and I loved to see how the balance of power kept changing. Dealing with the Sloaney set and their Sunday pot-fuelled afternoons is a mile away from my milieu yet somehow Zara Kingsley draws the reader into their world. Now I just have to get my head around a dress worth £10,000!
My rating
4/5
