Читать книгу: «The Stranger in Our Bed»
The Stranger in Our Bed
SAMANTHA LEE HOWE
One More Chapter
an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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First published in Great Britain in ebook format by HarperCollinsPublishers 2020
Copyright © Samantha Lee Howe 2020
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020
Cover photograph © Shutterstock.com
Samantha Lee Howe asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © February 2020 ISBN: 9780008374570
Version: 2021-03-19
For Ayshea,
Friend, adviser and cheerleader.
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Based on a true story
About the Author
About the Publisher
Prologue
The rain fell in big fat droplets and poured down into my eyes. My hair was plastered to my head – blonde turned into dirty wet streaks that clung to my cheeks. I’d been here before, another time, another moment of betrayal and sadness. Déjà vu. Fear sank down into the pit of my stomach. I was drowning in the endless possibilities of ‘future’. What about my daughter? So small, so helpless, so alone.
Oh God! Melody. She was in the house …
I wanted to run, make sure Melody was all right, but I couldn’t move. My limbs were frozen, my whole body weak. I might have been suffering from shock – and no surprise.
I ran my hand over my face, clearing the water from my eyes. And then my fingers touched the sore sticky wound on my forehead and I found myself staring at the red stain on my palm. The rain eroded the blood, as though it could wash away the evidence of my crime.
I was standing on a precipice, swaying slightly. I closed my eyes, blocking out the sight of the hole in the ground at my feet. Nothing moved. I didn’t want to look down at the picture of death below, even though I was responsible for it, but the shape of the body crumpled in the void was still visible behind my eyes. I shook my head, trying to dispel the unwelcome thought along with the guilt I carried.
When did this all start? How had my life taken this terrible turn?
The shovel weighed heavy in my hand, a presence in its own right, further evidence of my guilt. Like the horror of my situation, the shovel’s weight was too much to bear; I dropped it down beside the makeshift grave.
Like a guilty child whose hand is caught in the cookie jar, I wiped my soiled palm on the leg of my sodden jeans.
There was nowhere to run, and no escape from the truth.
I jumped as I heard a distant, persistent wail. Sirens approached. The screeching grew louder.
I opened my eyes and lights came on in the big house behind me. The back door stood open. My only witness was framed in the glare of the kitchen light, blurred by the slicing rainstorm.
I turned to look beyond the house, facing the rain. It blinded me, as did the flashing blue light that pierced through the trees lining the long driveway.
The sirens dropped off, but lights still flickered above two police cars. In the house, I thought I heard Melody crying. And then, my legs began to work.
Unaware of the black shape slowly getting to its feet in the pit behind me, I started to walk towards the first police car.
Chapter One
Two Years Earlier
I woke early. My husband, Tom, was still sleeping. It was 5.30 a.m. and I usually slept through until Tom’s alarm went off at 7.30. I listened to the sounds of our home. There was nothing unusual, yet something had woken me. My mind was fully alert, like a light switch had been turned on. I lay on my side, watching Tom’s handsome face. He looked so young when he slept. It was hard to imagine him as the CEO of the conglomerate that was Carlisle Corp.
We’d met at university, ten years earlier. We’d both been studying law at Oxford. Tom was focusing on corporate law, already preparing for the day when he would take over the family business. I’d been studying corporate law too and I had ambitions for the future, but unlike Tom I’d had to work in a bar to help fund my education, and relied heavily on my student loans and any bursaries I could apply for.
I turned over and trying not to disturb Tom I got out of bed. But as I took my first step an overwhelming bout of nausea came over me. No longer trying to be quiet I ran into the bathroom, and vomited into the toilet bowl. When the sickness subsided, I brushed my teeth and looked at the yellow pallor of my skin in the mirror. I felt terrible. Perhaps I had come down with some bug?
‘Char?’ said Tom from the bedroom. ‘Are you all right?’
I couldn’t believe my luck when he asked me out for the first time. For a while I didn’t trust we could have a relationship, we were too different. But when we finished our education, Tom asked me to marry him, and the future I’d planned for myself changed.
Soon after our wedding, Tom’s father, Conrad Carlisle, succumbed to the cancer that had been eating away at him for years. Tom hadn’t expected me to work after that.
‘I need your support, Char,’ he’d said. ‘I’m going to be working long hours at first. If you take a job too, then we’ll never see each other. Besides, you don’t need to work. I’ll give you everything you need.’
It was an odd notion after all of my motivations and hard work, but the whirlwind of our life soon took away any thought of finding my own place in a law firm. I became a housewife instead.
‘Char?’ Tom called again.
A crushing sense of gratitude warmed my stomach. Had the upset from the previous night affected me so much that it had made me sick? Tom sounded like his usual caring self. I was relieved to hear that love and warmth back in his voice. The argument had been so ridiculous. So … unnecessary.
‘I’m fine. Maybe got a bug,’ I said.
‘Bug my arse,’ Tom said, coming into the bathroom.
‘What?’ I was immediately on the defensive.
‘When was your period?’ he smiled.
‘Period? No … just because I was sick doesn’t mean …’
‘Reckon we did the job on our anniversary trip …’ he said. ‘I’d hoped at least! But looks like we did.’
‘Well it’s probably too early to know. That was only …’ It was then I realized that more than a month had passed, and my period was late. By about two weeks.
‘I’ll ring Mother. She’ll be so happy!’ Tom said.
‘Darling, can’t we wait a bit? Just to be sure,’ I said.
‘Don’t be silly! We don’t have to keep this a secret from Mother.’
***
Isadora Carlisle arrived an hour later with a small pharmacy package, which she passed to me.
‘Tom called on his way to work. Let’s see if he’s right, shall we?’ Isadora said. ‘You need to hold it under the flow of your pee.’
As usual she was treating me as though I didn’t have the intelligence to read instructions for myself.
I went into the bathroom, closing the door behind me, then unpacked the pregnancy test and read the instructions.
‘I’m sure it’s way too early to tell,’ I said.
‘No. These days they can tell even if you’re just a few days along,’ Isadora said from the hallway. ‘So useful!’
She was right, of course; the test said it could work up to six days before your period was even due.
After peeing on the wand, I stared at the indicator. The test said one blue line meant ‘no’, two blue lines was ‘yes’.
‘Let me in,’ said Isadora.
I opened the bathroom door and held out the test. ‘It says …’
‘Pregnant!’ Isadora grew very quiet and thoughtful. She didn’t throw her arms around me, or start to congratulate me, she merely smiled. A kind of satisfied expression. As though she was just getting the answer she had expected all along.
‘That’s very good then,’ she said.
I half-smiled, but then my mood plummeted. Was I really ready for motherhood? The thought was terrifying.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Isadora said. ‘You see, Charlotte dear, you remind me a lot of myself at your age.’
I sat down on the edge of the bed and stared back at her with the blankest expression I could muster. There was nothing similar about us at all. She was happy about the prospect of a future grandchild and I was a mixture of unexplainable emotions. Perhaps this self-doubt, the fear, the slight tingle of excitement was perfectly normal, I didn’t know, but they were also accompanied by a consuming loss of control. And something else at the back of my mind, a name I had told myself to forget: Ewan Daniels.
‘This will settle things permanently for you both,’ Isadora said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s just … it’s a final commitment. Having a baby …’
‘Isadora, we are committed. We’re married.’
‘Oh, yes. I know. But you know what I mean … you’ll be a family now. Not just a couple. This is grown-up. This is, well, it’s the future CEO of Carlisle Corp you have in there. Isn’t it?’
And then she peered at me intently as though she expected me to say otherwise. I was confused by this silent enquiry.
‘I hadn’t thought of it that way …’
‘Well, I’ll get on to finding you the best doctor and private midwife service. And of course the best hospital.’
‘That’s usually decided by your local GP,’ I said.
‘Not for people like us, dear. We have to have the best.’
And then it really sank in. I was growing tired of not being listened to. The only trouble was, I couldn’t blame Isadora or Tom for any of it. I had caused this by not standing up for myself when it was too easy to just accept another person’s decision.
Like the bedding I’d bought months ago that had caused such a row the night before. I couldn’t make any sense of Tom’s angry outburst. It was so over the top and out of character. Tom was usually so calm.
I asked Isadora to leave me, explaining that I didn’t feel too well. She was sympathetic, but still took it upon herself to call Tom and confirm his suspicions. I couldn’t hear everything he said to her on her mobile phone, but I heard the pleasure and excitement in his voice.
‘We’re so happy,’ Isadora said before leaving. ‘Rest up, Charlotte dear. The morning sickness won’t last long. I’ll get you booked in with a private doctor as soon as possible.’
‘Thanks,’ I said.
She let herself out and I went back to bed and lay, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. They would control every decision that needed to be made as they always had.
***
By the afternoon, the initial sickness abated and I got up, dressed and went out. I was sick of being predictable. I thought I ought to at least start to put things into place that I wanted to happen. This child might be a Carlisle but it was also my child and I would have a say. I don’t know what came over me.
I found a note on the kitchen notice board from Tom, reminding me to return the purple satin bedding that he’d disliked so much. At least that would give me something to do. I folded the bed linen neatly, squeezing them back into the original packaging. There was no need to search out the receipt, my account would show the purchase, and so I placed all of the items into a large canvas bag.
I didn’t feel like travelling on the tube with all of these things just in case the sickness returned, so I took a cab to Harrods.
‘Morning Mrs Carlisle,’ the store doorman said. ‘Let me get someone to help you with that …’
A few moments later two shop assistants arrived and took the bag from me.
‘I’m afraid I have to return this,’ I told the first assistant, a different girl to the one who had originally served me. ‘My husband … doesn’t like it.’
She processed the refund without protest. I was a good customer in the store, and so was my mother-in-law. As I waited for the refund receipt, I felt the hairs prickle on the back of my neck. I turned around with a feeling of déjà vu. A tall man stood behind me, so close I could reach out and touch him. It was Ewan Daniels. A shiver of something like excitement ran along my spine, as if I had been waiting for him to appear.
‘Charlotte,’ he said, as though my presence there surprised him. ‘I thought I might never see you again …’
That was the third time I’d met Ewan by accident; it appeared it was becoming a habit.
Chapter Two
We went for coffee in a local café.
Ewan looked well, but I was sure I didn’t look very good at all. I hadn’t bothered with make-up or made the usual effort I made whenever I went shopping – just in case I bumped into one of the other wives, or Isadora’s friends.
‘I’ve often thought of you since our meal out,’ Ewan said.
I smiled but didn’t admit that I had thought about him too. More often than I should have. He was not as handsome as Tom, but Ewan had a boyish charm that was attractive. There was something very unassuming and modest about the man. His colouring was the opposite of Tom’s; Ewan had sandy blond hair and blue eyes, and Tom was dark-haired with brown eyes. They couldn’t have been more different in looks and personality. But I found myself liking Ewan, far more than a married woman should like another man.
For that reason, I still held a residual guilt about our previous meeting.
‘How are you doing?’ Ewan asked. ‘Was the rest of your trip successful?’
Successful, for a holiday, was an odd thing to say but I caught his meaning.
‘Yes. We had fun,’ I said. ‘The northern lights were lovely.’
Ewan nodded. ‘And your husband enjoyed it too?’
‘I think so. Tom … finds it difficult to switch off sometimes. From work I mean. But yes, he enjoyed the trip.’
Ewan smiled. ‘That’s good then.’
I sipped my coffee to hide a moment of awkwardness at discussing Tom with Ewan.
‘I’m glad I was able to keep you company before he arrived that day,’ Ewan said.
At his words I had a flash of memory about our previous meetings.
Ewan had been in Harrods the day I found the purple satin bedding. We’d struck up a conversation and he’d bought the same bedding. A few days later I found myself in his company in Reykjavik. I’d let him take me to dinner because Tom had been delayed by a problem at work and had yet to join me in Iceland.
I’d thought it quite a coincidence meeting the man again, but he had been kind, and his behaviour offered friendship and nothing more and so I’d agreed.
I took a sip of coffee now with a shaking hand. As I caught his eye I found myself talking, my words falling out in a rush. At that moment I understood just how much I needed a friend. ‘It was very nice of you,’ I said. ‘I was quite … lonely.’
I burst into tears then. I couldn’t believe I had admitted to a virtual stranger that I felt this way. It was unfathomable and embarrassing. Ewan, far from being surprised or shocked, took my hand and held it. He handed me a linen handkerchief from his pocket, and I mopped up the flow of tears with a sigh of utter exhaustion.
‘Would you like to talk about it?’ he asked when I finally fell quiet.
‘It’s silly. Probably hormones. You see, I just found out that I’m pregnant.’
‘And this is a surprise?’
‘It shouldn’t be. We were, sort of, trying. But I didn’t think it would happen so soon. I mean, it seems to take other people months.’
‘That’s usually the way when you aren’t ready,’ Ewan said.
For the first time I began to wonder about Ewan’s age. He appeared to be only a few years my senior, yet spoke so wisely, more than his thirty-something years might suggest. He was right, of course, I didn’t feel ready to be a mother. And, despite my protestations that this was probably just hormones, I was often lonely. I had everything I could possibly want, and yet I lacked something.
As we sat and talked, I felt happier than I had done in years. He talked to me as if I was his equal, someone whose opinions were important. A feeling I didn’t always have in my marriage. The afternoon passed by too quickly and I realized that I needed time to get home to make dinner for Tom. He would possibly want to celebrate with champagne – though I couldn’t have any now – and some form of romantic, robust dinner.
‘I have to go,’ I said to Ewan, ‘but thank you for being so kind.’
‘Take my number,’ he said. ‘That way, if you need a friend to talk to who isn’t judgemental, you’ll have one.’
I was about to refuse, but his warm smile – and his genuine compassion – made me pause. I found myself pulling my mobile out of my handbag. There was something so appealing about his offer of unconditional friendship and the way he looked at me, with an honest and open expression, which made me consider he probably was the only one in the world I could talk to. The guilt came again. I shouldn’t think this about anyone other than Tom. What was wrong with me?
‘Okay, what’s the number?’
I sent him a text so that he could store my number as well.
‘I really have to go …’
‘Goodbye for now, Charlotte,’ he said. He stood as I did, and then gave me a hug and a soft kiss on the cheek.
I was a little shy about the contact, but thanked him again to cover any awkwardness, then I left the coffee shop and hurried out into the busy London streets.
It was rush hour and therefore the worst time of day to find a taxi or to travel quickly by tube. Even so, I hurried towards the nearest tube station just as it started to rain. A real summer downpour. I didn’t have an umbrella with me, and my hair was soaked in seconds. The water dripped down into my eyes. I faltered a little as I joined a large group of tourists waiting for the traffic lights to change. Thoughts of Ewan leaning closer and kissing me, the warmth of his smile, all brought a shiver to my spine. The pavement was too crowded, and most of the people, as is always the case in London city centre, appeared to be in a massive hurry.
As soon as the lights changed the crowd surged forwards. The first wave of people rushed across the road.
I don’t know what happened. One minute I was about to step off the pavement the next I was being jostled. I lost my footing, stumbled, and time seemed to slow down. I saw a bird fly overhead, a pigeon wheeling in the sky as though it were about to dive in a suicidal swoop towards the ground. Horns blared. I heard a female voice cry out. And then – a hand pressed into my back. As though someone had reached out to stop me, or perhaps also lost their footing, and then I fell forwards, unable to stop myself – right into the bus lane.
Chapter Three
‘Charlotte?’
A rush of sound filled my ears, like air whipping through the branches of a tree. A screech of brakes. Then I heard Tom’s angry voice, ‘What the fuck is this, Char?’
I opened my eyes and looked up into Isadora’s concerned face.
‘Tom! Quickly! She’s awake!’
Tom’s face came into blurred view. He had a deep frown on his normally smooth brow.
‘Char. Darling …’
‘Where am I?’ I croaked.
I felt as though I’d been in a serious battle with a heavyweight boxer. I had another flash – a memory – of Tom’s flustered, angry face as he had stared at the sheets in my hands. I don’t understand why you’re so cross. It’s just new bedding!
‘Have some water,’ Isadora offered, and before I could agree or refuse a straw was pushed into my mouth. ‘You’re in A & E.’
I sipped the water and it did ease my throat.
‘What happened?’ I asked.
I was in some kind of booth with a curtain drawn around us.
‘You were … you had an accident,’ Tom said. ‘You fell. In front of a bus.’
I had another flashback then, of the double-decker tourist bus, brakes screeching, as it careered towards me. I shuddered. I didn’t remember the vehicle hitting me or anything else after that moment. Just this sense of freefalling as I fell onto the road. I remember getting back up off the ground seconds before the bus hit me. I was thrown aside, cracking my head on the kerb.
‘You were lucky,’ said Isadora.
‘Lucky?’ said Tom. ‘What on earth were you doing crossing the road like that?’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘A witness said you just ran out. Without looking,’ Tom said.
‘No. That isn’t what happened. I walked out, with a group of people. One of them … jostled me. Or maybe they tripped and pushed me …’
‘You’re saying someone pushed you?’ asked Tom, and there was something about his expression that made me go quiet for a moment. I thought it through and decided I couldn’t be sure what had actually happened and so it was best not to commit.
‘No … It was raining. I slipped, stupid high heels I guess. Then, I got up and the bus—’
‘It’s okay, dear,’ said Isadora. ‘Rest up.’
‘Am I … injured?’ I asked.
‘The doctor says you have concussion. You’ll have to stay in overnight,’ Tom said.
‘But … the baby?’
‘That’s all okay, dear,’ Isadora said.
I closed my eyes tight. Tears leaked out of the corners anyway.
‘There, there. It’s all going to be okay. But you’ll have to be careful for a few days,’ Isadora cooed.
I drifted back to sleep as their voices floated down with me.
‘You see,’ said Isadora. ‘What a silly thing to assume she did it on purpose.’
‘Yes, Mother. It’s just … a witness told the police.’
I awoke in a white room, disorientated and scared. And then I realized I must have been moved from the A & E department. I looked to my left, saw the mandatory monitors. I wasn’t hooked up to anything though. I raised my hand to my face; I had the headache of all headaches.
I’d hit the floor on this side and my arm had borne the brunt of my weight: it was a mass of bruises. Yes, I’d been lucky. This could have been so much worse. At least I hadn’t broken anything. I put my hand on my stomach. Was the baby really okay?
I tried to sit up, but the headache brought on a bout of nausea. I looked around for a receptacle of any kind; instead I found the nurse’s call button. I pressed it, swallowing back bile and gagging on it.
A nurse hurried in; she reached for a paper bowl, helped me sit and held it under my chin. I vomited until my stomach wrenched.
When the nausea passed, I flopped back down on the bed.
‘It’s normal in your condition,’ said the nurse. ‘Plus with a head injury like that …’
My throat seized up and I couldn’t talk.
‘Don’t worry. You’re in safe hands. Your husband moved you here to recuperate. Got to look after your precious cargo after all!’
I learnt that I had been moved to a private hospital. It seemed impossible that I had been so unconscious that I hadn’t realized, but it had happened and now I was being looked after with the best possible attention.
The doctor came in.
‘All is well, Mrs Carlisle, with your pregnancy. But that head injury was quite severe. Hence why we are looking after you for a few days.’
‘A few days?’ I queried. ‘The A & E doctor said I only needed an overnight stay.’
‘Well, I’m a specialist in this area. I feel we need to monitor you longer.’
Like the other controlling elements in my life, the doctor shot me down with his better knowledge.
I woke up three days later and opened the window to look out on the grounds. I was stronger today, ready to return home and escape the watchful eyes of the nurse. I had barely been permitted to walk to the en suite bathroom without a nurse beside me over the past few days. But gradually the head injury had improved. I was eating better now and even the morning sickness had subsided.
The nurse had told me to eat something in the mornings before I got out of bed and it had helped.
When the doctor entered my room, I was waiting for him. ‘I’m ready to go home today,’ I said.
He wouldn’t meet my eye. ‘No,’ he replied.
I frowned. ‘Why? I’m perfectly well enough. The scan on my head was clear—’
‘Your husband and mother-in-law would like you to remain. To make sure—’
‘To make sure of what?’ I asked.
The doctor smiled. ‘Soon, Mrs Carlisle. We have to make sure that there have been no adverse effects on the baby.’
***
Five days had passed since my arrival and I was beginning to feel paranoid and suspicious. After breakfast I was alone in my room reading, wondering what Tom was doing with his day. He and Isadora had visited me regularly, but I felt distant from them. It was probably a hangover from the head injury. I resented them both, and their decision-making that never took what I wanted into consideration. I still hadn’t got a sensible answer from the doctor about my condition. He often said, ‘I’ll explain this to your husband,’ or, ‘your mother-in-law would like you to rest.’ It was as though I was being held prisoner – maybe until my baby was delivered safely. A ridiculous thought, but one I couldn’t ignore. As I turned to the next page of the book I couldn’t remember the previous pages I’d read: my mind unable to focus on the words. I put the paperback down beside me on a small table by the chair. I was frustrated and bored. I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever leave this place when there was a sharp knock at my door and the nurse entered.
‘Your husband is collecting you today,’ she said with a smile. ‘I expect you’ll be glad to go home.’
I felt a rush of relief as my phobia abated. I stood up, bumping the table and the book fell to the floor. I bent to retrieve it. My palms felt suddenly sticky, as another odd feeling took over, something akin to agoraphobia. The hospital room had become a buffer to my ordinary life. Now I’d have to return to it, and to Tom and especially to Isadora.
‘Perhaps I should stay on another day …’ I said with a shaky laugh.
‘Yes,’ she laughed too, but it sounded forced. ‘It’s a bit like living in a five-star hotel this place, isn’t it?’
I wasn’t sure I agreed, but knew that this hospital had every luxury a private hospital could have.
Tom arrived with his chauffeur, Stefan, and I was pushed out to the limo in a wheelchair, even though I told them I was fine to walk.
‘Stop being stubborn,’ Tom said. ‘We’re looking after you. You deserve it.’
The idea of further argument exhausted me and I fell silent and let them help me into the back of the car as if I was an invalid.
‘How’s your head feeling?’ Tom asked once we were both in the limo.
‘I’m fine. Really. Please don’t worry.’
He took my hand and kissed my fingers. ‘I’m so glad we can finally take you home. I’ve been so worried about you.’
Isadora had hired a home help, a young Polish girl to help clean and do all of the cooking for me. I was not to do anything until I was fully recovered.
‘And anyway,’ she said, ‘I never understood why you wanted to clean your own house. It ruins your fingernails and spoils your hands.’
‘I like cleaning,’ I said. ‘It’s part of my fitness regime.’
‘Well, there’s none of that nonsense for now,’ said Isadora. ‘After the baby comes … well there will be plenty of time to get back into shape. I’ll find you a trainer when the time is right.’
She didn’t see me roll my eyes.
Chapter Four
I was dreaming of swimming, gliding serenely through a warm lake. The shore ahead, the aqua blue sky reflected above. Then I felt that first fatal cramp. The pain struck so deeply through my core – a white hot pain. Sheer agony, as the dream faded and changed. I was drowning now, my limbs like lead, holding me down as I sank like a heavy rock to the bottom of the ocean.
‘Char … Char, wake up!’
I opened my eyes. Tom was staring into my face with a look of concern.
‘It was just a nightmare,’ I said.
‘You were crying out.’
He sat up, moved away, and I pulled myself into a sitting position. Then, thinking I needed the bathroom, I pushed back the covers. The white sheets glared red. The whole lower half of my body was covered in blood. I tried to calm my breathing, but the room began to spin as I realized what this macabre sight might mean.
‘Oh my god!’ Tom said.
I was vaguely aware of him rushing across the room and picking up his phone. Swearing as he pressed three numbers.
‘I need an ambulance,’ he said.
***
I was bundled onto a trolley after they mopped up the mess. I knew without looking that the mattress had to be ruined, just as the white bedding most certainly was. Just as my life was. It crossed my mind that the purple satin set wouldn’t have shown the damage so boldly. And then it occurred to me that this was a strange moment to think of that bedding. I should instead have been thinking about my baby.
Much to the excitement of our neighbours, I was wheeled into the back of the ambulance.
‘I’ll follow in my car,’ said Tom, as they hooked me up to an IV and placed monitors on my heart.
When they closed the doors on him, to continue their work in peace, one of the paramedics, a woman with kind eyes, said, ‘It’s already too late. I’m afraid the baby is gone. Normally we wouldn’t take you in for that. But your husband is very concerned about you due to your accident.’
I closed my eyes and felt tears running down my face. I didn’t know why. Was it sadness for the loss of this tiny, yet unformed thing inside me? Or was it relief?
‘The pregnancy may not have been viable to begin with,’ the doctor said. ‘It happens sometimes with a first one. Like a trial run.’
‘But the accident?’ Tom said.
Why oh why did he keep labouring this? Didn’t he realize I felt bad enough?
‘I doubt it was responsible, but it’s possible. Most pregnancies are robust. They can withstand all sorts of trauma. That’s how the human race has survived through the worst periods of our history. Your wife will be fine. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t have another healthy pregnancy in a few months’ time. But for now, I think she needs rest.’
I lay in the bed, Isadora holding my hand, as these two men talked about me as though I wasn’t present, or capable of understanding anything. But it was only later, when I realized things had to change or else I would lose my sanity, that I looked back and remembered all of this with clarity.
Chapter Five
Tom and I had been married ten years and for most of that time I couldn’t imagine my life turning out any better. I’d been orphaned when I was sixteen. It had been hard for me financially and emotionally. I’d had to be independent and strong, but all I’d ever wanted was to be safe and secure. Tom gave that to me. I was grateful, and I felt privileged too. I never wanted this amazing life he offered to change me. But it did despite my best efforts.
We never discussed the fact that I had, effectively, squandered the amazing opportunity I’d had in getting into Oxford. Nor that I had gained a first – and Tom a 2:1. For Tom, such a privilege was a given and he could have worked harder, he just didn’t need to. But that wasn’t the way he was with the firm. No, that was his real obsession. His life – above all else, even me – was about running the company. As for me, I didn’t mind someone taking care of me for a change. Tom gave me more security than I’d had in years and it was a relief to no longer worry that I might not be able to pay the rent, or buy food that week.
You can only appreciate having money when you’ve truly had none. For years I’d been completely broke. And, when you’ve seen life from both ends of the spectrum, you also know which side your bread is buttered.
You see, I knew my life wasn’t perfect, but I accepted it.
Sometimes I was bored. Oh, I didn’t mean to be ungrateful, but at times I had to recognize how my intelligence had been wasted. It frustrated me. I tried to do what the other wives did: lunches, charity benefits, hair and beauty appointments and the obligatory gym membership. We, as the wives of men such as Tom, had to keep our figures and looks regardless of anything else.
I had friends of course. Some I genuinely liked, but none had carried over from the old days. When I took my certificate on graduation day and then didn’t accept that all-important job offer, I dropped off everyone’s radar. Instead Tom and I went on a cruise. Looking back on it now, I realized that my life was mapped out from the day I met him.
I had been lucky in many ways. The Carlisles were snobs, and they valued my education as much as my looks, thankfully, and this, I suppose, allowed them to ignore my humble beginnings. Isadora groomed me. Smoothing away any final rough edges, teaching me the ways of the corporate wife and all the duties it entailed. It was like marrying into royalty, only marginally less public.
Our wedding was featured in a top business magazine and was full of embellishments about Tom’s business acumen – all important for the shareholders to see. My only embellishment was the most expensive designer dress Isadora could find. And my looks. My looks were, I think, the most important of all. The wedding took place at Isadora and Conrad’s manor house in Surrey. A beautiful old and huge building that sat in several acres of land and had been passed down through generations of Carlisles.
Of course, I didn’t mind Isadora’s detailed planning of our special day, down to who would be bridesmaids – wives of important people in their world, because I had no sisters or cousins to fit the bill. I’d been an only child, long since orphaned, and Isadora’s attentions pleased me at first. She became my surrogate mother, even though I was fully aware that everything she did was not for my sake, but for Tom’s.
After the wedding, Isadora started to ask about grandchildren. We avoided it for the first few years, telling her we had to find our feet, that Tom’s long working hours would mean he’d have no time for me, let alone a new baby.
When I turned 30 we ran out of excuses.
‘Everyone else in your peer group has children, Charlotte dear,’ Isadora had said. ‘Don’t you think it’s time?’
She always called me ‘Charlotte dear’ when she wanted to manipulate me in some way. I knew what she was doing but didn’t really mind. I’d learnt early on that Isadora always got her way and it sometimes wasn’t worth the argument.
‘It’s not easy when Tom works so hard, comes back home late and tired,’ I had said. ‘But, I’ll talk to him on our anniversary trip. Who knows, we may well start there!’
Isadora had been pleased that we were ‘potentially’ on the way to parenthood and I had effectively appeased my mother-in-law again. I don’t know what it was, but I wasn’t that concerned about having children. I enjoyed our life as it was – maybe that was selfish of me. But we had everything that money could buy and I loved to travel. I knew that babies would limit our freedom, perhaps even change our relationship. I’d seen that happen too many times with some of the other corporate wives.
‘I hope you’re feeling frisky. Your mother wants grandkids!’ I had told Tom.
Tom had laughed, but never took it too seriously: he only wanted me to come home to and had no immediate desire to be a father. That was why it had surprised me when he told me to stop taking my contraceptives before our trip to Iceland.
I guessed, in the end, Isadora had applied enough pressure on him too.
Two months after the miscarriage my life resumed its normal pattern. Even the wives of Tom’s colleagues stopped asking me how I felt. I was able now to meet them for lunch and I had resumed my gym sessions, carefully, after six weeks.
To avoid a pregnancy too soon, I had restarted my contraceptives. Tom and I fell back into our life as if nothing had happened. I didn’t fall back into my usual pattern with Isadora though. I felt different about her. Perhaps I even blamed her for my current unhappiness. Our regular lunch dates stopped and I only met up with her when I had to.
Even so, I wasn’t feeling myself. I couldn’t put my finger on the problem, but a lot of what Isadora said or did irritated me more than usual. I had less patience and I found myself feeling sad a lot – not a usual thing for me at all. Life was boring me a little too. The days dragged on and I had no inclination to return to the way things were before. I began to feel that I couldn’t really talk to Tom about my feelings. I thought he’d misunderstand, or think I was ungrateful when he had given me such a lovely life. These thoughts and feelings wouldn’t shift; they continued to mutate and grow until the only thing I knew for sure was that I was lonely.
I suppose I was beginning to feel dissatisfied, despite what I had.
‘Perhaps you should see someone,’ Tom said one evening, observing my low mood.
‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘I’m just tired.’
‘If it’s the loss of the baby,’ he said, ‘I’m still feeling sad too.’
‘I know. I’m sorry. But, I’m fine, darling. Really,’ I lied.
Then I distracted him by changing the subject to his day.
While he was talking, I considered my situation. Was I sad because of the baby? No. Was I happy in my marriage. Mostly. Why did I have this overwhelming sense of isolation that made me somehow dread the future?
I nodded and smiled at Tom as he talked about Carlisle Corp, but my mind wandered.
Later when we went to bed, I let him make love to me, but my mind was still elsewhere. I found myself thinking about Ewan Daniels, wondering what he was doing. I hadn’t seen him since the day of the accident and it hadn’t even occurred to me to contact him.
Tom grunted and came inside me. As he rolled away, I turned over and lay with my back to him. I didn’t want him to see the expression on my face – even though the light was off and the room was dark.
Unable to avoid her any longer, I met Isadora at her favourite restaurant in Mayfair. I arrived early, as she had asked, before the charity committee members and other wives joined us.
‘I wanted to show you the menu I’ve selected for the benefit,’ she said. ‘That way you’ll be informed when we discuss it.’
We sat in the bar, a glass of slimline tonic water each. She didn’t ask me how I was or why I’d been unavailable the last few weeks. Instead Isadora presented me with a beautifully printed menu of fine cuisine. I read through it, finding a lot of it pretentious, but said nothing. What was the point? She would only shoot me down with her better knowledge and experience of these things. Over the years I’d learnt that my silence was the best way of keeping the peace between us.
Just then the others began to arrive.
‘Charlotte, this is Clarissa May, the director of the charity, and her assistant, Barbara. Ah and here is the lovely Gillian to take notes for Carlisle Corp. She’s Tom’s PA and we have her on loan today.’
I’d met Gillian several times before then. Even so, I didn’t enlighten Isadora. I shook hands with them all and more women arrived – all dressed to kill.
We sat at a large round table and were served beautiful food at the cost of Carlisle Corp.
‘Emelia,’ Isadora asked. ‘You have a meeting with the florist today, don’t you? You’re still okay with the centre pieces?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Emelia and then her phone rang. ‘Sorry. Must take this.’
Emelia left the table then returned a few moments later, her face pale.
‘I’m so sorry. I’ll have to leave and cancel the florist,’ Emelia looked flustered.
‘What’s happened?’ asked Isadora.
‘That was my son’s school. He’s taken ill and the nanny is off today.’
‘Of course you must go,’ I said. ‘And please don’t worry. I’ll go to the florists and pick out the centre pieces. After all, I’m running this benefit, aren’t I?’
I glanced at Isadora and smiled.
‘Well … of course,’ said Isadora. ‘If you’re feeling up to—’
‘I’m fine. I’ll walk out with Emelia and get the florist appointment details.’
‘She’s not just like you in looks …’ said one of the women behind me.
‘What do you mean, “in looks”?’ Isadora asked.
‘Well. Look at her. She could be your real daughter. She’s a younger you for certain.’
I glanced back over my shoulder to see, for the first time, a very shocked expression on Isadora’s face. We had often been taken for mother and daughter, and I put it down to the fact that we both had blonde hair and blue eyes.
When I returned and sat down, Isadora leaned in to me and said, ‘I’ll go to the florists. I know what I’m looking for.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ I said. ‘You do quite enough already. Besides, Emelia told me what was needed.’
Isadora frowned with annoyance.
Did she think I was too stupid to even choose flowers without assistance?
‘Okay,’ she said finally. ‘But call me if you’re uncertain of anything.’
‘I can order some flowers without messing it up,’ I said.
‘Of course, you can, Charlotte dear,’ said Isadora. Then she patted my hand in a placating, but patronizing way.
After lunch, I went to the florist and picked out some centre pieces.
‘This is the display that Mrs Carlisle said to show you,’ said the girl at the florists.
It was pale pink and white roses.
I stood still and stared at the display. I frowned to show my absolute displeasure, taking on the same unhappy expression Isadora had worn earlier.
‘I’ve decided to change the colour scheme.’
‘But—’
‘I’m organizing the event, not Mrs Carlisle,’ I said.
I chose purple satin ribbons and purple and white freesias: I don’t know why. Perhaps it was because the brief for the centre pieces that Isadora had given wasn’t to my personal taste and I’ve always thought pale pink to be very wishy-washy.
As I left the florist my heart was pounding. I realized I’d have to tinker with the brief for the room decor now too. It was a minor rebellion, but it was huge in my mind. I wanted some control in my life, even if I had to claw it from my mother-in-law’s clutches.
I paused in front of the shop, thinking about the enormity of what I’d done. Then I saw a man loitering nearby. He met my eyes briefly then hurriedly looked away. I try not to be a snob, but he wasn’t the sort to buy in this exclusive street and I wondered if he was up to no good. I was just about to return to the shop, to point him out to the assistant, when a car pulled up beside me.
It was Stefan, Tom’s chauffeur. He got out and came around to open the back door for me.
‘Mrs Carlisle,’ he said. ‘Mr Carlisle sent me to fetch you …’
‘Oh, that was kind of him!’ I said and my voice sounded strange to my ears. Tom never sent the car to fetch me, unless we’d prearranged it.
‘The other Mrs Carlisle wanted to know if everything went okay in the florists?’
‘Yes, Stefan. It did.’
I got into the back seat of the car and then remembered the man I’d seen earlier. I started to look for him again, but he was gone. Who was he? What had he been doing near the shop? I found myself staring into the florist and saw the girl who’d helped me standing by the window looking out at me. She was talking rapidly into a mobile phone pressed to her ear. I swallowed, and my throat felt suddenly dry.
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