The Stranger in Our Bed. Samantha Lee Howe

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      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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