“Is that wise?”
“That’s irrelevant. If we were always wise we’d never enjoy making mistakes.”
“I don’t know, Jack.”
“I’m only asking for one more morning. Don’t pretend you’re doing any writing at the moment.” His grin was persuasive—and she did want to be persuaded. “Aren’t you feeling inspired?”
“Yes, you’re very inspiring—for a different genre altogether.”
“Then write something different. Follow your instincts.”
“I don’t dare.”
“Why?”
“Because Olivier will know.”
“No, he won’t. He’ll think it’s your imagination—if he reads it.”
“Sod’s law, this will be the first book of mine he reads.”
“It’ll be the best book you’ve ever written.”
“So I suppose you want a dedication?”
He chuckled, but she thought she saw sorrow in his eyes. “No, I just want to see you again before I leave.”
“You’ll be coming back, won’t you?”
He shrugged. “Who knows where life will take us? I don’t want to take any chances. Please, Angelica. I won’t pounce, I swear it.”
“Maybe.”
He grinned in that roguish way of his, and Angelica wondered whether she had imagined the sorrow.
They parted in the street. He hailed a cab, and she watched him wave through the back window until he was swallowed by traffic. She turned and set off towards Kensington, the scent of his cologne still fresh on her skin.
Gray clouds now moved across the sky, driven by a chilly wind that whipped through the trees, causing the orange leaves to fall to the pavement like rain. Their morning together seemed nothing now but a sunny dream. It must have drizzled while they were in the café, for the tarmac glistened and the air was damp. Autumn had snatched the magic that had been theirs so briefly. Now that they had parted, she longed for him with every fiber in her body. She regretted her reluctance to see him one last time before he left for South Africa and wanted to text him to reassure him that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. But as she approached the school, she remembered once again who she was and where she belonged.
She met her friends with a heavy heart, knowing that she was unable to share her predicament. Candace noticed it at once. “Are you all right, Angelica?”
“I’m fine,” she replied, shrugging it off. “I went out last night, so I’m a bit tired.”
“You don’t look tired.”
“Makeup.”
She wasn’t convinced. “I didn’t see you at Pilates this morning.”
“God, I totally forgot!”
“You were missed.”
“I’m going mad.”
Candace looked at her friend suspiciously. “So what were you doing?”
“Trying to write my book.”
“How’s it going?”
“I’ve begun at least. A meager plot that seemed good at the time, but now, on reflection, is rather old hat.”
“Well, at least you’ve started. It’s more important to write than work out.”
“I know.”
Candace raised her eyes to see Jenna striding towards them. “Oh Lord, it’s a gaucho. Doesn’t that girl ever take off her sunglasses?”
“Hi!” Jenna gave a little wave. “Isn’t it cold all of a sudden?” She didn’t look in the slightest bit cold in her cowboy hat, cashmere poncho, and riding boots.
“It was lovely this morning,” said Angelica.
“I’ve already begun,” said Jenna with a triumphant smile.
“Begun what?” asked Candace.
“My novel. Didn’t Angelica tell you? I’m writing a novel based on my life.”
“Wow! Best seller,” said Candace flatly.
“I didn’t realize how easy it is to write a book. I always thought of you toiling away, Angelica, fighting to get it done before your deadline. It’s a piece of cake.” She gave a little sniff. “At least for me.”
“Well, you’re not quite Tolstoy,” said Candace, her jaw tensing with irritation.
“No, it’s more like a modern Edith Wharton.”
“I can’t wait to read it,” said Angelica, trying to keep a straight face.
“You will read it, then you can put me in touch with that delicious publisher of yours . . . what was he called? Leighton something.”
“Leighton,” said Angelica with a blush. She couldn’t remember what he had said his last name was. “Jenna met him when we were having lunch at Daphne’s,” she said to Candace, whose bewildered expression was replaced by a knowing smile.
“Oh, him,” she said. “He is delicious. Such a shame he’s gay.”
“Gay?” Jenna was appalled.
“Yes. He breaks hearts all over the world. Only a man can win him.”
“God, I would never have guessed!” Jenna had gone pale.
“Good luck with the book,” said Candace, tapping her arm. “We could all do with a little Edith Wharton.”
The big doors opened and one by one the children were handed over to their mothers or nannies. Jenna pushed her way to the front of the queue.
“I don’t think we’ll ever see that book of hers,” said Candace. “Shame!”
“I forgot to tell you I’d bumped into her!”
“What else did you forget to tell me, Angelica?” Candace looked at her sternly. “Are you seeing him?”
“No!”
“It was just lunch?”
“Yes. I told you, it was just lunch. I’m sad, that’s all. Life is a little less bright without his e-mails to keep me going—and I really liked him.”
“It’s for the best, though, Angelica. You have a nice life.” Candace was now satisfied. “You’ll get over him.”
“Of course. But I can’t tell you how much I’d like to see him again.” That, at least, was true.
12
You can’t control what happens to you in your life but you can control how you react.
In Search of the Perfect Happiness
Angelica took the children for a playdate at Letizia’s house. She sat in the airy green sitting room drinking tea with her friend while the children played upstairs. Letizia looked glamorous in a pair of gray flannel trousers and a dove-gray cashmere top, a few inches taller thanks to Tod’s pumps.
“I love the idea of the manny,” she told Angelica, playing with the array of Van Cleef gold necklaces that hung down to her navel. “I mean, Maria is a nightmare! She’s got to go. I cannot cope with that sour face at the breakfast table every morning, and I know she thinks I’m a tyrant.”
“You are a tyrant, Letizia,” said Angelica with a grin. “But it’s not her place to judge you. You pay her to do a job; she should at least do it with a smile.”
“I’ve spoiled her, darling; that’s the trouble. At the beginning I gave her every goodie bag from every party I went to, and I bought her a really generous birthday present from Links. Now she thinks I owe her a living.”
“They all have a sell-by date.”
“Well, she’s well past hers; she’s beginning to smell!” She waved a hand under her nose. “Schifosa! I feel unwelcome in my own home.”
“See what this manny of Scarlet’s is like. If you like him and Scarlet’s not employing him over Christmas, take him skiing with you.”
“It’s such a great idea, especially for Alessandro. He’s too old to have a nanny now, but a boy who can teach him football sounds ideal.”
Angelica’s mobile rang with a message. She knew instinctively that it was from Jack. While Letizia continued talking, she pulled it out and read: I’m pining for you, Sage. When can I call you? DWOP She bit her bottom lip, wondering what DWOP stood for. Letizia didn’t notice the color in her cheeks. “And what about Kate’s wedding?” Letizia continued. “I’m so excited. It’s wonderful that they’re patching it up. Although I wouldn’t trust Pete as far as I could throw him. I mean, it’s shocking. He’s ma
rried to one of the loveliest girls in London, and he has to skulk around having affairs. It’s disgusting and disrespectful.”
Angelica wanted to repeat what Olivier had said: that in spite of Kate’s beauty, she was neurotic and flaky and probably very hard to live with. But she held her tongue. Letizia was fiercely loyal about her friends. The only one with whom Angelica could really speak her mind was Candace.
“Let’s hope that’s all over,” she said instead.
“Do leopards change their spots?”
“Some do.”
“I’m not sure Pete’s one of those. Still, it will be a great wedding. We’re all going to stay in the Saint Géran . . .”
“. . . and waft about in white linen.”
“Yes.” She laughed. “With shells in our hair! Madonna!”
When she got home, Angelica perched on the loo seat while the children played in the bath. She read his text again, ignoring Joe, who threw one of his big dinosaurs to the bath mat with a loud clunk. She tapped in her reply: Don’t pine. I hate to think of you sad. Call me at 8, if you like. X Sage. Another dinosaur landed on the mat, covered in foam. “Do you want to watch TV before bed?” she snapped.
“Yes, but . . .”
“No buts, Joe. Stop throwing things out of the bath, or you’ll go straight to bed.” She knelt down to wash their hair, now on a mission to get them both into bed by eight.
Joe got to watch Scooby-Doo. Isabel sat at her pink dressing table while Angelica dried her long brown hair. She opened her drawer and played with the tray of makeup she had collected from her mother’s old lipsticks and eye shadows. Angelica watched her daughter’s reflection fondly, determined that she would never do anything to jeopardize her secure little world.
At last they were in bed. She had read them a couple of chapters of Despereaux, which she had enjoyed almost more than they did, then lovingly kissed their foreheads. A Full Joe from her son had completed the bedtime ritual before she had turned off their lights. With a sigh of relief she walked back into her bedroom and lay on the bed, her mobile in hand, awaiting his call.
At five minutes past eight it rang. She could see from the DOP in the display screen that it was Jack. Her belly lurched with guilty pleasure. “Hello,” she said in a soft voice.
“I miss you,” he replied with a sigh.
“I miss you, too.”
“That makes me feel a lot better.”
“What does DWOP stand for?”
He chuckled. “Dog Well off Porch.”
“Dog Soon to Be Back on Porch,” she replied wryly.
“I don’t like to think of going home without you.”
“I’m a little big for your suitcase.”
“I’d buy one big enough if you said you’d come.”
“It’s not going to happen, Jack.”
“I’d love to show you Rosenbosch. It’s so beautiful at this time of year. It’s spring. Everything’s so fresh and new. I’d take you riding across the veld, into the mist on the hills, and we’d sit at the top, and, once the mist had lifted, I’d show you the whole valley. It would take your breath away.”
“It already has.”
“Do you ride?”
“I grew up in the country and was obsessed with ponies.”
“Good. Then I have just the horse for you. A chestnut so sweet natured you could gallop at full speed and never fear falling off or being run away with.”
“I’d love that. I haven’t felt the wind in my hair for years.”
“Then let me. Make up an excuse. I’ll organize your ticket.”
“How would you explain that to your wife?”
“You’re my friend.”
“She’d be a fool if she believed that, and I don’t think she is a fool.”
“She’s not, but she’s tolerant.”
“She really wouldn’t mind if I pitched up to stay?”
He hesitated a moment. “I really don’t think she would. Look, I would behave myself. I respect her a great deal. I just want you near.”
“There would have to be a very good reason for Olivier to let me go. There are practicalities you haven’t even considered. I don’t have a nanny. Who’d pick up the children every day? It’s not as easy for me to leave as it is for you. My children have homework every evening, and, unless Olivier gets sacked, which I hope he doesn’t, I’d have to hire someone to cover for me, and Olivier hates having strangers in the house.”
“Then it’s really impossible.” His voice sounded so low she felt a stab of pity.
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.” There was a pause. She could hear his breathing down the line. Then his tone lifted. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”
“Kate’s giving her friend Art a birthday party.”
“You have to go?”
“Yes, I do.”
“You can’t cancel?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Tell them you’re sick and come and have dinner with me.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Which part couldn’t you do?”
“Both, Jack. I couldn’t lie to my friends, and I couldn’t have dinner with you. It would be folly.”
There was a pause while he devised a plan. “Then let’s meet after the party.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“Look, I leave on Friday.”
“It’s too dangerous.”
“What about Friday morning? We can walk around the park again.”
“We got away with it once. I can’t do it again.”
“I have to see you, Sage. What’s the harm in two friends meeting for the last time?”
At that moment she heard the front door slam. She sat up with a start. “Oh Lord, I think Olivier’s home.”
“Text me. I’ll meet you tomorrow night. You can leave the party early. We can go someplace, a bar . . .”
“It’s risky.”
“I know.”
“If I get caught . . .”
“London’s a big city.”
“You’d be surprised.” She heard Olivier’s footsteps on the stairs. “Got to go,” she hissed urgently. She heard him hang up without saying good-bye, and said loudly for Olivier’s benefit, “Better go, Mum, Olivier’s home.”
He came in looking moody, tossed his jacket onto a chair, and loosened his tie. She got off the bed.
“What’s for supper?” he asked.
“I thought we could order in something. What would you like?”
“A Chinese. Ring Mr. Wing now, I’m ravenous.”
“Fancy a glass of wine? I do.”
“Yes, be an angel and bring it up here, will you? I’ve had one hell of a day. It’s very tough.” He sighed heavily. “I hope you’re writing your book, Angelica. We might need your earnings if I’m laid off.”
“You think you might be?”
“Nothing is certain.”
“God, Olivier. That’s terrible.”
“I know. Things are really bad.”
“But you’re going to be okay, surely?”
“Didn’t you hear what I just said?” he snapped impatiently.
“Yes, I’m just being optimistic.”
“Well, now isn’t the time to be optimistic. If I’m laid off, we’ll be in trouble. Your earnings will be important.”
“My new book comes out in the spring.”
“Good. Let’s hope it sells well.”
Angelica went downstairs to order the food and pour the wine, seething with resentment. She didn’t imagine Jack would come home in such a foul mood and demand that she order the food and pour the wine. He admired her books, he had even read one, which was more than Olivier had ever done. Now he had the cheek to tell her that what he considered a small home industry might actually be important. Well, she knew it was important. Her fans all over the world knew it was important. Jack knew it was important. If Olivier bothered to read her royalty statements, he’d realize just how important it was. But compared with his va
st banker’s salary, her earnings were as raindrops in a lake—inconsequential.
Furiously, she ordered the dinner then sat in silence as they ate it at the kitchen table.
“Thank God we’re not going out tonight. I’m shattered.”
He didn’t notice that she hadn’t laid the table or lit a candle. She no longer felt guilty about fancying Jack. In fact, she felt she deserved a flirtation. If her husband wasn’t going to cherish her, Jack would—and if he really pushed her, she’d find a way to get to South Africa. In the gloom of Olivier’s bad mood the thought of riding across the veld was extremely enticing.
“Are you going to talk to me, or are you just going to sit there sulking?” Olivier asked.
“You don’t need to get at me just because you’ve had a bad day.”
“Haven’t you read the papers? It’s not just a bad day. Things are really going sour. We’re careering headlong into a recession. Probably the worst we’ve had in one hundred years. I need your support, not your condemnation.”
“I’m not condemning you, Olivier. I just don’t like your implying that my books are some kind of last resort if we hit bad times.”
“I’m grateful for them. We might need them.” He spread plum sauce onto his pancake, then piled it up with duck and onion slices.
“But your implication is that they can be brushed aside. I might as well be knitting bootees for the local children’s shop by the tone of your voice.”
He put his hand on hers and sighed resignedly. “I would never imply that what you do has no value. It has tremendous value not only to you spiritually but to us financially. All I’m saying is that they might become our only source of income.”
She withdrew her hand. “You’ve never read one.”
“No, it’s true. I haven’t.” He took a large bite and began to chew. As he did so, his hostility lifted and he smiled. “I will.”
“Don’t bother. You’re busy.” She no longer cared whether or not he read one. In fact, she rather wished he wouldn’t so that she could continue to hold the grudge, justifying her seeking consolation from Jack.
The Perfect Happiness Page 13