Читать книгу The Stranger in Our Bed - Samantha Lee Howe - Страница 11

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.