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 chose 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.
&n
bsp; 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.
Chapter Six
It is difficult to say when the real resentment began. But looking back I can remember individual moments of annoyance, that later became anger. Anger at Isadora, anger at Tom for not defending me with her and most of all anger at myself for being so weak. But I didn’t feel weak anymore. So as the charity evening approached and I fine-tuned and tweaked all of the arrangements, I was a little surprised that Isadora didn’t check on my progress. It was as though she had taken a back seat after all.
I began to relax, believing that she was finally trusting me. I even bought a dress for the night that neither she nor Tom had seen and approved. It was purple velvet, sleek, and it followed the curves of my gym-toned body.
On the day of the event I did the mandatory trip to the salon. My hair was put up at the front but left down at the back in cascading curls. The hairdresser used a few purple-coloured clip-in extensions and I had diamond gems scattered in my hair.
Tom wasn’t coming home before the event – he would shower and change into his tuxedo at the office and so planned to meet me there. I was relieved because my new look would be as much of a surprise to him as to Isadora. I hoped he would like it too.
As I returned to the apartment I found a dress bag lying on the bed. I unzipped it to discover a ball gown inside. It had a pink satin strapless bodice with diamantes and a fairytale tulle wide skirt.
Wear this tonight. It will look perfect with the decor and centre pieces.
Isadora
A feeling of dread hit the pit of my stomach. Did she know that I had changed everything?
I put on my purple dress and ignored the pink satin and tulle ball gown. Then I looked at myself in the mirror and I saw for the first time my own style and taste. Not the girly style that Isadora always made me wear, but the mature, grown-up I wanted to be: a woman in charge of her own life and destiny.
I left the other dress on the bed and pulled on a long black pashmina. Picking up a silver clutch bag that matched my shoes, I left the apartment and went outside to hail a taxi.
Tom’s limo was parked by the kerb, with Stefan standing beside it.
‘I thought you were collecting Mrs Carlisle tonight?’ I said.
Stefan didn’t answer, he merely opened the back door. Isadora was sitting in the back seat wearing dark pink, with a pale pink fur stole wrapped around her shoulders.
‘What on earth have you done to yourself?’ she said. ‘Oh, Charlotte. This will never do!’
‘Thank you for the dress, but I had already picked one,’ I said.
I slipped in beside her.
Isadora climbed out of the back of the limo and went to talk to Stefan. He disappeared inside and, a few moments later, returned holding the bulky dress carrier – with the pale pink dress inside. He placed it carefully in the back of the boot and then we set off for the event. Isadora didn’t speak to me at all until we reached the venue. But I was pleased that she had accepted my decision to wear the purple velvet. She could just return the pink ball gown anyway.
‘I have a surprise for you,’ I said as the car pulled up outside the Victoria and Albert Museum, the interior of which had been transformed for the evening for the event. ‘You’ll see why my dress is perfect for tonight.’
Isadora said nothing and walked to the entrance, early enough to check that everything was in place before the arrival of the many celebrities and executives who would be attending. I walked in behind her and saw Gillian, Tom’s PA, had already arrived. There were also two other women that I didn’t recognize, but who knew Isadora and she hurried to them and began a quiet discussion near the doors to the banquet room.
‘Everything is ready,’ said Gillian.
I thanked her, but I was surprised that she had arrived early. I hadn’t asked her to.
The doors opened and we walked in. I took a breath, excited to see my colour scheme, but it turned into a gasp.
The room was filled with pink and white, the centre pieces were pale pink and white roses, with pale pink ribbons the exact colour of the dress Isadora had sent me.
‘I had a feeling that you were going off the rails,’ Isadora said. ‘But don’t worry, I’ve fixed everything.’
I think my jaw dropped open because Isadora told me to close it and ‘straighten’ my face.
‘Now, I brought my hairdresser along. Those awful purple extensions will have to come out but the rest is salvageable. Susan will take you into the cloakroom where you’ll change into the pink ball gown. You’ll be the belle of the evening as always my dear, so don’t worry.’
Although I was deeply offended by her altering my changes, I let her bulldoze me again. I was foiled and there was nothing I could do about it. The evening would be a disaster if I rebelled further, and I didn’t want Tom to know that Isadora and I had almost had a major falling out. It would ruin his evening.
‘I like my purple dress. I like my hair,’ I said, even though I knew it was useless to argue.
‘Don’t be petulant. One day you’ll thank me for this,’ Isadora said. ‘Tom doesn’t like change. You know that.’
That sinking feeling was in my stomach again. I glanced at Isadora, wondering if Tom had told her about the purple satin bedding. I looked down at my sexy velvet dress – purple. Then I remembered the purple satin ribbons and flowers I had planned for the centre pieces. The banners and ribbons of purple and silver. Decadent and sexy – not really appropriate for a charity evening. Perhaps Isadora was right; maybe I was ‘going off the rails’. And, if she hadn’t stepped in, how would Tom have reacted?
I let Susan lead me away to the ladies’ cloakroom, and there I was preened and groomed, all signs of my rebellion removed. The pink satin ball gown fit like a glove and I was ready just in time to greet the guests as they arrived.
‘There you are!’ said Tom as I came out of the cloakroom. ‘You look amazing!’
He kissed me on the cheek and held my hands looking down a
t me with shining eyes as though seeing me for the first time.
‘You look beautiful. So unspoilt … So pure,’ he said.
It was an effort to force a smile onto my face. I was angry with Isadora for gazumping my plans. In fact, I don’t think I’d ever felt such rage in my life. But as we met Isadora by the door, and stood beside her to smile and shake hands with everyone who came in, Tom’s words came back to me in a wave that made my stomach cramp again with this unnameable fear. So unspoilt. So pure. What an unusual thing to say.
Before the speeches and the raffle, but after the meal, I went to the ladies’ room and stared at myself in the mirror for a few minutes. I looked like a fairytale princess. My other dress and my hair extensions had been bagged up and hung in the ladies’ cloakroom waiting for me to collect at the end of the evening. The pink dress was me, but not me. It was an image of me that Isadora encouraged and cultivated. It was an image that Tom had come to expect, and Isadora was right, he didn’t care for change.
So far the evening was a triumph. The guests were smiling and happy. The free champagne was flowing and soon they would be promising all kinds of donations to the cause.
I couldn’t even remember what the cause was.
This was a night like many others I’d had for the past ten years and they all melted into one. Nausea rolled around in my stomach and blended with the expensive Nuevo Cuisine. It wasn’t the food; it was my mood.
I’d effectively hidden my anger, behaving normally with Isadora – I’d developed good skills over the years in covering up my true feelings. That evening, I told myself, was no different. It was all an act.
I’m trapped, I thought and a rising panic made the nausea feel more immediate. I turned and hurried to one of the toilet cubicles and then dry heaved for a moment into the bowl. Nothing came up. I wasn’t physically sick, just emotionally upset. The thing was, I wanted freedom but was scared to insist on it.
The Stranger in Our Bed: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller that will keep you hooked Page 3
