In the kitchen I found a Post-it note from Tom listing today’s errands. One of which was to meet Isadora for lunch in Mayfair. I scanned the note. Tom’s words and phrases jumped out at me randomly and made no sense at all.
Look your best … buy new lingerie … the laundry needs doing …
Surely, we could not just behave as normal? My vision blurred, and I gripped the sink to steady myself. Was there some other charity thing I was supposed to attend? Or was this the moment when I would be told Tom would be putting me out on the streets with nothing?
I looked around the apartment for my suitcase, but found it open and empty in the guest bedroom. In the utility room I found some of the clothing that I had been planning to take with me in the washing basket, even though it wasn’t dirty. And in the bin, most of my underwear was shredded and thrown away.
Buy new lingerie …
I was numb, beyond caring.
I pulled the washing out of the basket and began to stuff it into the washer. Then I found Tom’s jogging trousers, mud-encrusted around the ankles, and a pair of trainers thick with muddy gunk. It was another sign of how stressed my husband was. He always went running when he was uptight and even the awful weather hadn’t stopped him.
I pulled my clothing back from the machine and put Tom’s in alone. Then I washed both joggers and trainers, but I wasn’t sure the trainers could be saved.
I procrastinated a while until time dictated that I couldn’t avoid it any longer.
The last thing I wanted to do was meet up with Isadora. I was mentally and emotionally drained. Exhaustion clung to me like stale sweat. Even so, I went back to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, showered and then pulled on the smart, CEO-wife clothing that Isadora would expect me to wear for our lunch date.
I carefully applied my make-up, trying to hide the gauntness of my cheeks and the dark circles under my eyes. Then I picked up my handbag, checked that my purse and cards were inside, and left the apartment to head to Mayfair.
It never occurred to me to refuse to go.
‘Are you ready to go shopping now?’ said Stefan as I left the apartment reception to find him and the limo waiting for me. ‘Mr Carlisle said I was to escort you …’
I considered telling Stefan I didn’t need him, but I had no energy to stand up for myself: I needed all of my strength to face Isadora. I let him drive me to the store, and he dutifully waited outside while I shopped for new underwear. I didn’t buy sexy lingerie; it was all cotton normal-day things. Part of me didn’t want to invite Tom’s attention and to buy such undergarments would suggest I wanted him.
I was mentally and physically sore. Every bone in my body hurt just from the exertion of daily functioning.
When I left the store, Stefan took my bags and placed them in the back of the car. Then without me asking he drove me to the restaurant in Mayfair to meet my mother-in-law.
It was raining when we reached the restaurant. I picked up my bag and gathered it in front of me like armour. It was all bravado though: I had no fight left in me. Isadora could do and say what she wanted; I deserved it.
Stefan opened the door and held an umbrella over my head as he walked me to the restaurant door, as though he expected me to try to make a run for it.
‘I’ll be here when you’re ready to go home, Mrs Carlisle,’ he said.
I met his eyes. ‘Am I going home?’ I said.
Stefan nodded, his eyes sympathetic. ‘Yes. Mr Carlisle told me to make sure you’re safe.’
A peculiar gratitude overwhelmed me.
I went inside and saw Isadora waiting at our table. I hesitated, almost turning around and then she saw me and waved. I made my way across the room as though walking to the gallows.
A waiter pulled out my chair for me and as I sat Isadora held out a drink to me.
‘G and T. Strong. Thought you’d need it. Leave us to think for a while will you, Marcus?’ she said to the waiter.
I placed my handbag on the floor and looked at her.
‘Well. This guy did a number on you,’ Isadora said, direct as ever. ‘You’ve been very fortunate.’
‘Fortunate?’
‘My dear, he could have been a serial killer or something. How did you meet him?’
‘Is this why I’m here?’ I asked. ‘An interrogation?’
‘Charlotte you’re here because I understand completely what you’ve been going through. You’ll get over it. And you and Tom will be stronger in the end.’
My strength wasn’t there, but neither was my patience. I had somehow lost the ability to be what Isadora expected.
‘I’m sorry, but I’m having trouble processing this. You understand? And Tom and I will be okay? Are you insane?’
‘No. I’m not insane and neither are you. You’re broken right now and understandably. What’s happened is horrific,’ she paused, then, and glanced around the room. ‘I have to tell you something. A truth that I thought I’d never need to tell you. I’m a Carlisle wife and it hasn’t been easy for me. I went through a … period, shall we say, of looking for other men’s attention. I had several affairs, Charlotte, not just one. And Tom’s father turned a blind eye. You know why? Because he loved the company more than he loved me. He didn’t mind what happened after I gave him the child he wanted to be his heir.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘I wanted you to know that life, our life, isn’t always as straight forward as it seems. Being the wife of the CEO of Carlisle Corp is a job. It isn’t an easy life though it has its financial benefits. And it can be incredibly lonely. You were an average girl when Tom met you, albeit a very intelligent one. I’m asking you to use that intelligence now and not to ruin what could still be a good thing for you. Tom still wants you and what he wants I want.’
‘You and Tom say we can go back to normal, but I don’t see how. I can’t get over—’
The tears leaked from the corner of my eyes, and Isadora held out an embroidered pure-white handkerchief. It reminded me of the one Ewan gave me on our first visit to the coffee shop. I took the handkerchief and blotted my eyes.
‘You’ve had your heart broken. I know,’ she said, but her voice was cold. ‘And I think the outcome of this little adventure is … worse than anyone could have foreseen. We will all have to recover. But it was an adventure and now it’s time to face reality: it’s over, Charlotte, and your lover isn’t coming back.’
I shook my head and dabbed my eyes again, staining the white cotton with black mascara.
‘None of this is your fault,’ Isadora said. She reached over the table and took my hand. It shocked me so much that I let her hold it, even though my instinct was to pull away.
‘Of course it’s my fault …’
‘We play this game of tug of war, but I want you to take up the mantle and be the support Tom needs. And everything I’ve ever said to you has been to help you, to guide you. Even though I think at times I may have seemed overbearing. Always my aim has been to guide you. Tom isn’t like his father; he does love you. He tells me he can forgive you and I’m … knowing my son, I know this can happen.’
I took in her words, not really understanding what she was saying. It was as though she were Dame Vera Lynn trying to rally the troops to go out and fight for King and Country. Only the king was Tom and the country Carlisle Corp. But I knew this was the sincerest Isadora had ever been. And her revelations about her multiple affairs were not lost on me, even though it was difficult to imagine this prim and proper lady ever behaving that way. Would I ever become a serial adulteress? I doubted it. I couldn’t imagine trusting any man again.
Isadora waved her hand and the waiter came over. I let her order for me as I sipped the gin and tonic.
‘You can always talk to me,’ she said when the waiter had gone. ‘I know you haven’t always trusted me. But Charlotte, I can help you and Tom get through this.’
I drank the gin and tonic down and another one appeared without me asking. Followed by a small calamari salad. These
were favourite foods of mine, and Isadora was showing me she had been taking notice. By the end of the meal I had come to a new understanding with her, as if her hard shell had been peeled back and I was only now seeing a glimpse of her true self. I no longer felt that she was just Tom’s annoying mother, but someone that perhaps I could confide in after all. How much of that I would do though, was still not certain.
When we finished she walked me to the door, where Stefan immediately jumped out of the car and came to greet me. Even though the rain had virtually stopped and the sun was trying to push aside the clouds overhead, Stefan still brought the umbrella.
‘Everything will be all right,’ Isadora said kissing me on the cheek. ‘I promise to look out for you. I’m so sorry.’
‘I should be the one apologizing.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ she said again. ‘You couldn’t help it.’
Even though her words were strange I was a little less uptight as I got into the back of the car. Maybe the three gin and tonics had something to do with it.
Chapter Nineteen
I returned home and placed my new underwear neatly in my top drawer. It was 3 p.m. Out of habit I checked my phone for messages from Ewan. My heart sank. I put the phone down on top of the dresser and stared at it. Every day for months I had read and replied to several texts and spoken to him at least once a day on the phone. I had spent my life waiting to hear from him. Now there would be no more calls, texts and elicit meetings in Hammersmith. My phone had died as surely as his was disconnected.
Despite Tom’s words and Isadora’s promise of support, I couldn’t imagine the future without Ewan. I wanted to cry but the thought of it exhausted me.
I began to make excuses for Ewan again. Maybe there had been an accident: perhaps he lay in a hospital seriously injured. I picked up my phone again and pressed redial on his number. I hung up when I heard the generic recorded message:
Please redial.
I paced the room and thought about ways to find him. Even if it was to make him tell me the truth, to find out why he had ruined my life.
For the first time in a while I went into Tom’s home office and started his laptop. I used it on occasion to look up information or to buy things online. But I hadn’t wanted to go near it after Tom had shown me that awful Facebook group.
Now, I sat down and looked at the screen as it came to life. Then I went into the search engine and typed in Ewan’s name.
The search threw up several men with similar names on Facebook. None of them were him.
I looked in images and all that came up were pictures of an actor called Ewan McGregor. I switched Ewan’s name around and searched again and tried different spellings. Of course, it was obvious that he had lied about everything, including his name. I already knew this but still had to torture myself.
I had heard about software that could search pictures to find who they belonged to, but Ewan and I had never taken any together or of each other. It had always been too risky. That had played perfectly into his hands, I now saw. No pictures, a telephone number that was disconnected and an address that he had apparently never lived at – how he’d managed that one I didn’t know. The girl who owned it had to be lying.
I considered getting a taxi back to Hammersmith to demand the girl tell me the truth. But what was the point? Ewan didn’t want to be found, that was obvious, and no amount of me trying to track him down would make the slightest difference. If I did stumble on something that led me to him, what could I achieve other than bringing myself more pain?
I cleared the history on the laptop and shut it down. Then I went into the bedroom and lay on top of the bed, staring at the ceiling.
I must have dosed off because when I woke I found Tom in the room looking at me. As I opened my eyes I thought I saw a deep frown flicker across his face.
‘What’s for dinner?’ he said.
I sat up, shocked that the room was in semi-darkness.
‘I’m sorry, I fell asleep.’
‘You must be pretty wrung out’. His voice was flat and the tone brought back all of my guilt in a rush.
‘I’m sorry—’
‘Get up.’
Tom turned away and left the room while I pulled myself off the bed.
A wave of dizziness hit me as I stood and I swayed, catching hold of the bedside cabinet for support. When it passed, I followed Tom out of the bedroom, down the corridor and into the kitchen.
He was pouring himself a glass of wine.
‘There’s salmon in the fridge,’ I said. ‘And salad.’
‘Sounds good …’
He left me to prepare the food and took his drink into the living room. I heard music coming from the stereo. Ambient, relaxing but fairly generic stuff. Sometimes he put this on to help him unwind after a difficult day.
I made the salad and laid the table, while the salmon was under the grill. Tom came in and sat down at the table. This was the first evening when we were trying to be normal again. It felt unnatural – like we were in a play and I had forgotten my lines.
We sat opposite each other. Tom had a bottle of wine beside his glass and he refilled it regularly but didn’t offer me any.
‘How did your lunch go?’ he asked, as he pushed his empty plate aside.
‘Fine. She was kind to me.’
‘Mmm.’
‘Tom, I—’
‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘I’m not ready to talk about it.’
‘Okay.’
I stood and began to clear the table.
‘Leave that.’ He took another sip of his wine. ‘Come to bed,’ he said.
I stared at him for a long moment, not knowing what to say. Did he want sex or was he just tired?
‘You go. I’ll tidy up first,’ I said.
‘I said leave it.’
‘Tom, I don’t want—’
He took my hand roughly and pulled me out of the dining room and into the corridor. I stopped talking and didn’t resist – his demeanour intimidated me.
***
Afterwards, Tom got back out of bed and went to his office. He left the bedroom door ajar and I could hear him opening and closing the file cabinet drawers.
When he came back and got in bed beside me, he said, ‘Char?’
‘Yes?’
‘You’re mine,’ he said.
My heart lurched in my chest. I glanced over at Tom wondering what he meant. His possessive and assertive words, simple as they were, terrified me. I saw the future wide open again before me. I had always been Tom’s possession, but after what I’d done, my future was sealed.
He turned in the bed to face me, leaning on his elbow, and stared at my face. The illumination from a street light bled around the curtains and gave just enough light for me to be able to see the stubborn set of his jaw. I couldn’t see his eyes.
‘Tell me,’ he said.
‘Tell you what?’
‘Say that you’re mine …’
‘Tom, please.’
He reached over and pulled the covers back exposing my naked skin to the cool air of the room.
‘Say it.’
I started trembling when he leaned closer.
‘You’re mine,’ he said. ‘I’m never letting you go.’
Chapter Twenty
Life didn’t return to normal, but became a new ordinary. My will had been broken, and in my misery, I did everything that was asked of me. I took up my role again as a Carlisle wife, though I can’t say it was with much enthusiasm at first. I went to lunches with Isadora and other wives. I worked out regularly. I went to beauty appointments and I looked after myself. I did my duty as a wife in every way without complaint.
Tom was harsh and cold with me. But my self-esteem was so low I convinced myself that I deserved it.
Every evening he came home, ate and then took me to bed. It was torturously regular and sterile. I lay under him without protest, without pleasure. There wasn’t even any disgust. Tom didn’t hurt me. It was just his way
of dealing with my betrayal but, every time it happened, I imagined myself getting up and packing my bags in protest. Even when my mind screamed at me to leave, my limbs wouldn’t move, because an inner voice said, where would you go?
Oh, I knew that deep down I could sue for divorce and I wouldn’t come away from it too badly, though Tom’s lawyers would tie mine in knots for years. Tom would name me as adulteress, but was that any worse than this awful existence? Our marriage wasn’t just broken, we were as smashed as Humpty Dumpty and all of the king’s horses and all of the king’s men couldn’t put us back together again.
The future gaped like a bottomless pit and I hung on a threadbare wire, waiting for the line to snap. Sometimes I wished it would. But wasn’t it the urge for freedom and change that had made me vulnerable in the first place? Whatever I had, I wanted something else. I was everything that Tom must think of me: selfish, hateful, disgusting. And I knew for sure that the proverbial grass was not greener.
How could anyone, even Ewan, ever love someone like me?
Then, one morning, when I thought the despair couldn’t get any worse, I realized that I hadn’t checked my phone at all for a few days. The pathetic habit had finally been broken. It shocked me to realize that I hadn’t even thought about Ewan.
I was healing despite everything. Perhaps things would work out after all. And when my mood lifted, I was amazed at how much better I was. Depression had hung on me – unsurprising I suppose – but I hadn’t recognized what it was because I had always been a naturally upbeat person.
Isadora came around to the apartment that day and I bustled about the kitchen prepping a beef Wellington as she drank a latte. The radio was on and I found myself humming to the tune that played.
‘You look better, Charlotte dear,’ said Isadora. ‘How are things with Tom?’
‘Fine,’ I said.
‘You don’t need to pretend with me,’ she said. ‘He’s been a total brute the last six weeks, hasn’t he?’
‘I was feeling a little happier until you said that,’ I pointed out with a forced smile.
‘Things will improve. It’s a male ego thing. He has to assert that he owns you and you won’t stray again.’
The Stranger in Our Bed: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller that will keep you hooked Page 9