The Stranger in Our Bed: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller that will keep you hooked

by Samantha Lee Howe

  ‘Charlotte?’ Isadora’s voice floated to me from the doorway of the ladies’ toilets.

  ‘I’m here,’ I said. Then I flushed the toilet and came out of the cubicle.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asked. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at me.

  ‘I’m fine. I just needed a moment.’

  ‘The auction is about to start. You need to make the introduction …’

  I looked at the ground. ‘Would you do it?’ I asked, knowing that she would.

  ‘All right. Are you coming back out now?’

  ‘I just need to wash my hands.’

  Isadora nodded and went out again. A moment later I heard the music stop and Isadora speaking on the microphone. The PA didn’t reach well into the bathroom and her voice was muffled but I wasn’t interested in hearing what she had to say anyway.

  I washed my hands and as I dried them I looked at myself once more. My eyes looked hollow, like someone haunted by some deep dark secret that is ruining their life. But there was no secret, and I had everything I could possibly want. Who needed more than a wonderful, handsome, massively wealthy husband who adored you?

  My phone made a subtle peep in my small clutch bag. I opened the bag and went to turn it off. Then I saw that it was a text message.

  It was from Ewan Daniels.

  How are you?

  I stared at the text for a long time.

  Shortly after losing the baby, Ewan had texted me asking the same thing. I hadn’t been in the best state of mind and so I’d merely replied I was fine. I’d been curt and I knew it. Trying to discourage any further contact. There had been no contact from Ewan since then. I had almost forgotten about him. So why was he now texting me out of the blue? I began to type a normal, non-committal response like the last time and then deleted it. Should I reply or just ignore the text?

  I lost the baby.

  I hit send and then instantly regretted it.

  OMG! I’m sorry to hear that. How are you feeling?

  I’m fine.

  Somehow I don’t believe that.

  Outside the auction was underway which meant that Isadora was too busy to come looking for me again for the time being. Would Tom even notice I wasn’t there, or that I had bailed on my duties, deferring once more to his mother?

  The truth is I’m not okay. I’m miserable. My life isn’t going how I wanted it to go.

  I felt bad admitting this to someone other than myself, but it was also cathartic.

  The mother-in-law still interfering?

  I didn’t reply. I stared at the screen wondering what to say. Was it just Isadora? Was it that deep down I was an emotional wreck after the miscarriage? Or was it something else? I just didn’t know what I needed, what I lacked in my life. What this awful undertone to a life of perfection was. How could I explain all of this in a simple text?

  You’re really not okay, are you?

  I read the text over and over.

  No.

  I guess it was a cry for help. Here was a friendly ear, willing to listen and totally nonjudgemental.

  Meet me at the coffee shop?

  My heart missed a beat. What was I doing?

  Tomorrow? 1 pm?

  I said ‘Yes’ before I could stop myself. Then I turned back to the mirror. The hollow, haunted expression had left my face and been replaced by a small smile.

  I heard the auction come to an end and realized how long I had been in the bathroom. I turned my mobile phone off and placed it back inside my bag. There was no need to ask which coffee shop.

  I left the bathroom and returned to my table just as Isadora finished giving out the auction prizes. Tom was on the stage with her, and so I was sure they had both been too busy to notice my absence.

  ‘That went well!’ I said as Tom finally returned to our table. His progress back had been impeded by the many guests who stopped him and shook his hand.

  ‘Yes. Mother is very good at working the crowd. The final tally is much better than we’d hoped.’

  ‘Charlotte dear,’ said Isadora coming up behind Tom. ‘You really must present the cheque at the end.’

  I met her eyes, knowing that she hoped I would bale again. But the depression that had hung over me earlier had suddenly lifted.

  ‘Of course!’ I said.

  That night Tom praised me for my help organizing the event.

  ‘You did so well on the presentation too, darling. I think you should take more responsibility and not be so shy about taking the lead. Mother doesn’t mind. She wants you to do more.’

  I didn’t correct him, though we both knew that Isadora loved the limelight and would not easily give it up.

  We went to bed, both tired from the long day.

  ‘I think maybe it’s time for you to come off the pill again,’ Tom said, as we lay in the dark.

  I didn’t answer, feigning sleep and so Tom turned over and I heard his soft breathing deepen into a faint snore.

  I had trouble sleeping. A range of emotions were playing through my mind. I was excited, but anxious about seeing Ewan again. I rationalized it by telling myself that this was only coffee. That it meant nothing and the man was really someone I could talk to about my frustrations. But underneath all of these silent justifications was the overwhelming guilt that deep down I was very attracted to Ewan. And just by realizing that, I was betraying Tom.

  Chapter Seven

  It was raining as I came out of the tube station and headed towards the coffee shop. I was wearing jeans and a tee shirt with a lightweight hooded jacket that I pulled up to cover my head. The curls from the night before had been brushed out and my hair lay in waves over my shoulders. I was a little blue under the eyes from the lack of sleep, but I had smeared concealer there and covered it with subtle day make-up to hide my tiredness. I passed Harrods and caught a glimpse of myself, looking like a normal woman, not the wife of the CEO of Carlisle Corp.

  It was good to be anonymous.

  Ewan was already in the coffee shop when I arrived. He had somehow managed to procure the same table by the window that we’d shared the last time I saw him there.

  He stood when he saw me. It was an old-fashioned and gentlemanly thing to do. Then we exchanged an awkward hug and air kissed each other’s cheek.

  ‘I was going to order for you, but that seemed presumptuous,’ he said.

  I smiled as he called the waitress over to us.

  ‘A vanilla latte please,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry about the woeful texts last night,’ I told him when the waitress left. ‘I was feeling sorry for myself.’

  ‘You have nothing to apologize for. It’s strange; I just had this feeling that I should contact you.’

  ‘That’s odd. We hardly know each other.’

  ‘I know. But I have thought about you a lot since we last spoke.’

  ‘Have you?’ I blushed. ‘I was in an accident after I left here.’

  ‘My god! What happened?’

  I explained my fall, the bus, the later loss of the child that I hadn’t really been ready for.

  ‘I was jostled. Perhaps I even tripped over someone’s feet. It’s all a bit of a blur. But I guess it’s why I feel so bad now. I wasn’t ready for motherhood and it was all over before it even started.’

  ‘And are you any readier now?’ he asked.

  I lifted my latte to my lips and drank to give me a moment to think. ‘I don’t think so. I don’t know what it is. It’s like I have everything but really I feel empty. I shouldn’t be telling you this.’

  ‘There’s a reason why you are, Charlotte. I hope that’s because we aren’t strangers anymore, but friends. I know you’re married, and I shouldn’t say this to you, but I hope that one day … we can be more than friends.’

  It was inevitable that I went back with him to his apartment. He lived over in Hammersmith and the place was stunning, expensive, and I knew then that Ewan was someone of substance, though probably not equal to Tom.

  We didn’t waste time on talkin
g. He kissed me as soon as he closed the apartment door and then he led me into his bedroom. The bed was made up in the purple satin bedding that he’d bought in Harrods the day we met. The thought of lying on those sheets aroused me; I didn’t understand why. Maybe it was because I always knew from that very first meeting that we’d end up here.

  As he stripped I noted that Ewan’s body was lovely, not as perfect as Tom’s and it didn’t matter – his imperfections were beautiful to me.

  After my final orgasm, when Ewan’s sweat clung to my body and mingled with mine, I revelled in those purple satin sheets – this was the passion that they deserved. They were beautiful and decadent. They were everything that I wanted to be. In Ewan’s arms that became possible.

  Ewan got up and left the room. A few moments later he returned with two mugs of herbal tea.

  ‘This is the moment when we should both spark up a cigarette and drink a shot of whiskey, isn’t it?’ I smiled.

  ‘I don’t smoke, and I bet you don’t either,’ he laughed.

  I took the steaming tea from his hands and looked at the time on his bedside clock.

  ‘I’ll have to go soon,’ I said.

  Then I glanced at him sideways trying to see if his expression showed relief.

  ‘And if I asked you to stay?’ he said.

  ‘You know I can’t.’

  He looked disappointed. Sad even.

  ‘Can I use your shower?’ I said, placing the hot tea down on the bedside table.

  He showed me the way to the bathroom. Inside it was extremely tidy. There was no sign of another woman’s presence. Just basic male stuff and I concluded that Ewan liked his home minimalist. He was not as metro sexual as my husband and it was another aspect I liked about him.

  I dressed in the bathroom after removing all traces of his scent from my body. Though I hoped something remained from his towel as I used it to dry my body. I looked at my face in the mirror and saw my old self staring back, someone I hadn’t seen for what felt like years. My hair was tousled and my lips red and a little sore from all of the kissing, but I looked as though a huge burden had been lifted from my shoulders. Was it obvious that I had just had sex with a man who wasn’t my husband?

  I sighed, preparing myself mentally to say goodbye to Ewan. This probably wouldn’t happen again … Ewan had had what he wanted, and this would be the end of it. I wasn’t the type of woman who had affairs. One slip. It can’t happen again.

  I opened the bathroom door, and Ewan was standing there. He had put his clothes back on: he too looked flustered.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

  I nodded. ‘Don’t worry. I think I understand how this goes. We can’t see each other again …’

  ‘Charlotte … Do you think you’re just a one-night stand to me?’

  My eyes brimmed with tears. I wasn’t really as brave as I made out I was.

  ‘I want to see you again,’ he said. ‘I know you’re married … but I can’t help how I feel …’

  I was speechless but it didn’t matter because Ewan pulled me to him and kissed me again.

  ‘I hope you feel the same. Please say yes,’ he said, holding me close.

  I had once heard about another CEO’s wife who had begun an affair. She fell in love and lost everything. I didn’t want to be that woman. I had a lot to lose. But it was as though someone had unlocked a door and now I had seen through it; I didn’t want to go back. This whole day had given me a new sense of freedom and, no matter what, I knew I had to meet Ewan again, maybe even have a full-on affair. For that was all it was and could ever be. But this intoxicating secret made me feel powerful, independent, rebellious. It would be a part of me that no one in our perfect world knew about. It was an element of my personality that I could have, that no one could moderate or change. There was a growing excitement in the pit of my stomach.

  I rubbed my cheek against his chest and breathed in his scent. I held him close. He was as priceless to me as any perfect jewel could be to the richest of women.

  ‘Meet me again then?’ he murmured against my hair.

  I didn’t have to say the words: Ewan knew he had me.

  Chapter Eight

  I arrived home with my heart beating faster than it should. I was late and I wasn’t sure what excuse for my absence I could give to Tom. As the lift opened on our floor, I took a deep breath and tried to quell my nervousness and guilt. I rushed along the corridor as the lift closed behind me and began to descend. I typed in the passcode to our front door with a shaking hand and hurried inside, closing it behind me.

  ‘Hi darling,’ I called, pulling off my jacket, and my voice sounded too loud in the silence. ‘Did you have a good day?’

  There was no response, which was not necessarily a good thing.

  ‘Tom?’ I said, wandering into the living room and then towards the door of his office. ‘Tom?’

  Tom’s office was empty. Glancing at the clock I realized Tom was due home in a few minutes. He was a good time keeper, and always let me know if he was delayed, so that I could hold dinner back for him.

  I left the study, walked across the living room and passed into the dining room. Confirming once and for all I was alone, I went into the kitchen and began to pull out pans and plates. I put a pan of salted water on the gas range and left it to boil. Then I dressed the dining table with cutlery and wine glasses and decanted a bottle of Tom’s favourite red. It wouldn’t have breathed enough by the time he poured it, but I hoped he wouldn’t notice.

  Usually I cook in a leisurely way, but this time I chopped and prepped the salad in a hurry and tossed it into a bowl, mixing it up with a splash of olive oil. Then I placed the bowl on the table.

  I heard the keypad sing as Tom entered his code and then, as the door opened, I dropped a packet of fresh pasta into the now-boiling water. I put another pan on the range and melted some butter in it, then I took some raw king prawns from the fridge and dropped them in. I sprinkled in some chilli flakes and cooked the prawns in the chilly infused butter.

  ‘Char?’ called Tom. ‘I’m home …’

  ‘In the kitchen,’ I said. ‘Dinner is almost ready.’

  The pasta was done and so I drained it and added it back to the pan where I swirled in some red pesto. Then I put some on each plate and added the prawns to the top.

  I turned off the gas and picked up our plates and took them into the dining room just as Tom poured the wine into both of our glasses.

  ‘Slaving over a hot stove?’ Tom said as he glanced at me.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘You look flustered.’

  I gave a half-hearted laugh and placed his dinner plate down on the table as Tom took his usual seat.

  He looked down at his plate and smiled. ‘Looks nice, darling.’

  Then Tom sipped his wine. I was awkward: he was natural. I sat down and gulped a mouthful of wine.

  ‘So how was your day?’ I asked.

  ‘The usual. How was yours. What did you do today?’

  I sipped my wine forcing myself to appear unflustered and calm.

  ‘Not much,’ I said. ‘Bathed in the glory of last night’s fundraiser …’

  Tom picked up his fork and took a mouthful of food. He chewed and swallowed and then said, ‘I don’t know how you do it, darling. This is delicious. You must have spent ages prepping dinner tonight.’

  I wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic. I took a breath, glanced up at him with a smile, then looked back down at my own food. If he could tell this was a rushed meal he gave no sign of it. He ate the pasta and prawns as though it was the best meal I had ever given him. I hardly touched my food.

  The evening passed with another bottle of wine being opened. I refilled Tom’s glass several times, and he didn’t stop me like he usually did. Instead he seemed to savour the wine and sat in his favourite chair watching the news while I bustled around clearing the table. I spent longer in the kitchen than usual. I straightened up the room and filled the dishwasher un
til I was standing around looking for something else to do.

  ‘What’s your plan tomorrow?’ Tom asked when I finally sat down beside him.

  ‘I don’t have any at the moment,’ I said.

  Tom’s phone beeped in his pocket. He took it out and looked at the email that had just arrived. He frowned. His eyes bore into me for a long moment.

  ‘Work?’ I said, breaking the silence.

  Tom said nothing.

  ‘Let’s go to bed,’ I suggested. ‘I’m really tired.’

  Tom put down his half-empty wine glass then looked back down at the email message, scrolling through the page.

  ‘You go,’ he said.

  I was relieved to end this very awkward evening. I said goodnight and stood, forcing myself not to rush but to walk normally to the bedroom.

  ‘Darling?’ Tom said.

  I stopped and turned around to look at him.

  ‘Have you forgotten something?’

  I stared at him blankly for a moment, then realized what he meant. I walked towards him and placed a small kiss on his lips.

  ‘Goodnight,’ I said.

  In the en suite bathroom I looked at myself in the mirror as I brushed my teeth. I could see the guilt in my eyes and was convinced that Tom could too.

  But it’s not guilt, I thought. It’s fear. I didn’t regret what had taken place that day at all. No matter what happened afterwards I did not, and would not, regret those moments I’d spent with Ewan. But I was afraid of discovery. I explored this feeling: was it fear of Tom’s reaction, or that discovery would mean that I could never see Ewan again?

  I put away my toothbrush and then removed my clothing, tossing them all into the wash basket. Then I put on a simple shift nightgown and went to bed.

  I heard Tom opening the door of his office and closed my eyes. I wanted to be asleep before he came to bed. With any luck he would be in there for hours: we’d had many evenings like this. I imagined him typing a rapid reply to whoever was still working late at his office. Then he would browse his other emails unable to relax. In the past I had drifted off to sleep only to wake an hour or two later to discover that he was still at his desk. When that happened, I would go in search of him and encourage him to come to bed and sleep.