The Perfect Happiness

by Santa Montefiore

  Joe and Isabel were delighted with their presents. Joe’s had been wrapped in red; Isabel’s in pale blue. Neither could understand how Father Christmas had known exactly what they wanted, but accepted that it was due to the letters they had written over half term and sent up the chimney at Candace’s house in Gloucestershire. Olivier lay half asleep in spite of the racket around him. He grunted every once in a while to prove he was awake and slipped his hand over his wife’s leg to give it a squeeze. Angelica couldn’t remember the last time they had lain in bed like that, all together. On weekends he usually slept in the spare room to get a lie-in. She smiled to herself and remembered Candace’s advice. She was absolutely right, of course. What she had was indeed precious—a fragile flame she should do everything in her power to nurture.

  Joe and Isabel ran off to get dressed. Angelica lay in her husband’s arms, savoring the warmth of his body and the comfort of that familiar place on his shoulder. There was no place for Jack there in the marital bed. At that moment she seriously considered canceling her trip to South Africa and deleting his number from her telephone. It had been fun, but not fun enough to risk destroying her marriage.

  After a while she got up and opened the curtains. The countryside was covered in a crisp coating of frost. The sky was a pale, watery blue, the rising sun shining weakly down on the frozen earth. Seagulls wheeled over the estuary beyond the gardens, their cries haunting the wide stretch of dirty sand where smaller birds pecked on debris left by the retreating tide. It was a lonely scene, but beautiful in its desolation, and Angelica stood a while watching it, longing to be able to describe it in her writing. She imagined small creatures emerging from the rocks, long slimy legs striding over the little rivers that ran down to the sea, round bellies as green as the weeds that lay carelessly over the sand, bulbous eyes scanning the expanse for trespassers. Troilers, she thought: greedy, nasty Troilers, and suddenly she had the beginnings of a story. The story she had been trying to write.

  With a rush of excitement she rummaged in her handbag to find a pen. While Olivier showered, she sat on the bed, scribbling furiously as the ideas came in quick succession. It was as if a dam had broken, allowing inspiration to flow freely once again.

  At breakfast, in a pair of J Brand jeans and a Phillip Lim blouse, she sipped coffee while the children played with their new toys, too excited to eat. Daisy watched her enviously. The lost weight gave her cheekbones definition and her eyes seemed bigger and brighter. Her clothes looked expensive, especially the Yves Saint Laurent coin necklace Olivier had bought her for her last birthday. Daisy scowled into her bowl of cereal. Denny and Angie were still in bed, having practically slept through five grandchildren opening stockings on top of them. “I bought most of their presents in the sales,” said Daisy. “There were great bargains because of the credit crunch.”

  “Clever you. Olivier would love me to be a little more economical,” Angelica replied.

  “I was rather extravagant before the divorce, but now that Ted is refusing to give me any money, I have to be really careful.”

  “He’ll have to settle in the end.”

  “If he has any money left.”

  “He can’t squirrel it all away.”

  “You’d be surprised. I always thought I’d make millions as a concert pianist. I thought you’d be the penniless writer. Funny how wrong one can be.”

  Angelica didn’t attempt to contain her impatience, even though it was Christmas. “You know, Daisy, if you stopped looking at your glass as half empty all the time, you’d find that you are incredibly blessed. You have three beautiful children and a roof over your head. A smile might attract a nice man, and who knows, if you’re fun to be with, he might even marry you.” She got up. “I’m going for a walk. I’m not going to apologize for being who I am. If you have a problem with me, it’s your problem. Don’t try to make it mine. I’ve only ever been kind to you. Olivier can look after the children for a change.”

  “I’ll look after them,” Daisy volunteered, not knowing how to react to her sister’s melodramatic outburst. Joe and Isabel were too busy playing with their cousins and their new toys to notice.

  Angelica marched down to the estuary in a state of outrage, to that little bit of beach where her telephone would work. She wanted to call Candace and let off steam. She buttoned up her navy peacoat, buried her face in her cashmere scarf, and thrust her hands into a pair of gloves. A woolly hat kept her head warm, leaving her curly hair to bounce over her shoulders and down her back as she walked. The wind whipped against her cheeks, but it felt good. She inhaled the icy air and felt it burn the bottom of her lungs. The sun was a little stronger now, and she could feel it when the wind relented.

  Her booted feet crunched the frost as she strode down to the beach. Besides a few birds, the landscape was dead. It was hard to believe that bulbs slept beneath the frost and buds would later emerge from those lifeless branches. She loved winter. It was bleak and forlorn and somehow extremely beautiful.

  Daisy infuriated her. The way she made sneering little comments designed to cut her down to her size. The way she only ever saw the negative—what she didn’t have, couldn’t do, wouldn’t enjoy, instead of celebrating her good fortune.

  It was cold and damp in the enclave. She sat on a rock and pulled out her phone. At least she was out of the wind. An intrepid seagull approached in the hope of stealing something to eat, but Angelica had nothing to offer. She watched the gull with its long yellow beak and black eyes and thought of Jack. He’d know the name of every bird on the estuary. She found herself smiling as she scanned the sand and sky for others, envisaging Jack with his pair of binoculars and pockets full of crumbs.

  She could see her breath on the air as she scrolled to find Candace’s number, but before she could finish, the phone bleeped with a message. She knew it was from Jack. Happy Christmas, Beautiful. I miss you. Try to call me if you can. If I don’t answer, it’s because I can’t. My thoughts are with you all the time these days—can you feel them? I’m sending them straight into your heart. Yours always, DOP

  Moved by the lonely beauty of the beach and the longing that loneliness induced, she canceled Candace’s number and pressed the speed dial for Jack’s.

  With a thumping heart, knowing she was more than foolish, she listened to the ringing tone. A small part of her just wanted to hear his voice and leave a short message. That small part knew it would be wiser to call Candace instead. But the larger part wanted to speak to Jack and feel cherished on that dull, colorless day. I’m only going to wish him a Happy Christmas, she thought.

  At last he answered, and his voice, now as familiar as her favorite cashmere sweater, resonated with sunshine. “I was hoping you’d call.”

  “Happy Christmas, Dog on Porch,” she said, feeling warm all over.

  “Where are you? It sounds windy.”

  “Down on the bleakest beach in Norfolk. The only place my mobile works.”

  “I’m in the garden. It’s really hot. I’m glad you called. I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too.” And she meant it, the fire in her heart now rekindled. “You sound so close, like you’re right here with me.”

  “I am, in thought.”

  “If I close my eyes, I can feel you.”

  “I wish you were here. February is so far away.”

  “It’ll come quickly.”

  “It had better. I can’t wait too long.”

  “Why is it that time goes fast when you’re having fun and slow when you’re miserable?”

  “Because there is no such thing as time. It’s simply a way of measuring one moment to the next. It’s all in our minds.”

  “You’re turning into a philosopher.”

  “I’m morose these days, my darling. I need you here to make me laugh.” His voice sounded so flat, she felt her heart flood with compassion.

  “Don’t be morose. You’re in a beautiful place, with your lovely daughters. It’s Christmas.”

  “That’s
why I’m morose. Beauty often makes one melancholy. It’s all transient. Nothing lasts.”

  “There’s always the promise of something better around the corner.” He didn’t reply, so she continued, determined to make him happy. “Your daughters are growing up, but think of the pleasure in watching them blossom.”

  “Right now I’m dwelling on the past, not the future. The past is solid. It’s happened. No one can take it away from me.”

  “Focus on the present, Jack. The present is the only reality. Yesterday is gone, tomorrow doesn’t exist but in your imagination. Now is really here.”

  “No, I’m focusing on February and what I’m going to do to you when I see you.”

  “You are funny.”

  “I’ve embarrassed you,” he said brightly, and she smiled, knowing she had cheered him up.

  “Yes, you have.”

  “I’ve never made a secret of wanting to make love to you.”

  “Perhaps you should have.”

  “And miss out on your embarrassment? I’d love to see you right now. I bet you’re blushing.”

  “I’m not telling.”

  “You’re lovely to kiss.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I bet you’re lovely to kiss all over.”

  “Really, Jack, stop!”

  “This is working. I’m feeling better already.”

  “So it’s true, the secret of happiness comes from one’s state of mind.”

  “I suppose it does. Before you called I felt so depressed. But now, with the simple thought of taking your clothes off, my misery has lifted and I’m in a better mood than I have been in in days.”

  “Don’t get too excited. You might get into trouble.”

  “Anna and the children have gone to church.”

  “Why aren’t you with them?”

  “I’m not feeling like snuggling up to God today.”

  “Okay. I’ve never heard that excuse before.”

  “Let’s just say He’s not in my good books at the moment.”

  “Now, why’s that?”

  “For a number of reasons. But I don’t want to ruin my mood by discussing His shortcomings. Let’s talk about making love again. Where was I? Oh yes, I was unwrapping you like a Christmas present . . .”

  After she had hung up, Angelica sat gazing out over the estuary. Her spirits had soared up there with the gulls, and she felt as if her heart would burst with happiness. Right now she loved who she was. She felt deliciously wicked, a femme fatale, capable of doing anything she wanted, as if the world turned for her and her alone. She took off her woolly hat and ran along the sand, arms outstretched like a bird. She relished the sensation of letting herself go. The wind swept in from the sea, cold against her skin, raking rough fingers through her hair. Laughter bubbled up from her belly, and she released it into the air with the furious squawking of seagulls, their breakfast interrupted. She didn’t feel guilty and she didn’t sense danger. She rode the wind without a care for those on the ground.

  18

  Move with the current, it is resisting the flow that causes problems.

  In Search of the Perfect Happiness

  Angelica and Olivier accompanied the family to church. Joe and Isabel mucked about with their cousins, giggling at the vicar’s booming voice, whispering loudly about the dandruff on the collar of the old man in front, until they had to be split up. Daisy smiled apologetically, aware that she was in God’s house, where resentment had no place, and Angelica smiled back, relieved that her outburst had caused her sister to be contrite.

  She dreaded lunch and present giving. Daisy would apologize for not being generous, then make Angelica feel guilty for spending so much. Her nephews and nieces would wait impatiently for her gifts, which were always more exciting than their mother’s: another gripe Daisy would add to her long list of resentments. Joe and Isabel were always given things they didn’t want and had to thank their aunt through gritted teeth, whining later to their mother, who always left hers and Olivier’s gifts until last, for that very reason.

  Later Olivier and Angelica would take the children for a walk with Daisy and her three. Once out of the house things would improve. The sea air would sweep away their irritation, the sight of the horizon draw them out of themselves, and at last they’d manage to discuss their parents, the shared horror being the only thing they really had in common. Sometimes Daisy and Angelica could laugh together at Angie and Denny’s expense, but more often they couldn’t. Daisy hadn’t escaped like Angelica had; like it or not, Daisy needed them.

  By the time Olivier packed up the car, the suitcases having been in the hall since breakfast, Angelica was desperate to leave. She was even looking forward to staying in Provence with Olivier’s ghastly mother and sisters. At least with them she could detach—they weren’t her family. Unlike Daisy, Marie-Louise and Marie-Celeste were extravagant and spoiled and grumpy in the way only the French can be. Olivier’s mother, Marie-Amalie, worshipped her son, treating him like a prodigal prince, elbowing Angelica out of the way as if she were an unwelcome appendage and not his wife. Olivier adored his mother, which blinded him to her faults, leaving Angelica alone with her gruff but delightful father-in-law, Leonard, which was where she was entirely happy to be.

  During that week Angelica called Jack more frequently than ever. The texts flew back and forth, giving her a vital lifeline to hold on to while Olivier sat chatting to his mother, and his sisters bitched about their friends beside the fire in the coldly elegant drawing room. Sharing her stories with Jack enabled her to see the funny side of her situation. She enjoyed hearing him laugh down the line as she imitated Marie-Louise snorting disapproval and Marie-Amalie chastising her for writing books when she should be seeing to her husband’s needs. “It is not right for a woman to work when she has a husband to look after,” she said. “And anyway, who reads them?”

  Jack’s laugh was satisfyingly loud. “I do,” he said. “I’ve just finished The Silk Serpent and loved it. Even better than The Caves of Cold Konard. Tell her that!”

  “I think you’re my biggest fan.”

  “You know I’m your biggest fan! I think you need rescuing, darling.”

  “It’ll be over soon, and life will go back to normal.”

  “I think you should take a stand. No more in-laws. You didn’t marry them when you married Olivier.”

  “You want to bet?”

  “Don’t be afraid to speak your mind. At worst you’ll just offend them; at best you’ll offend them so much you won’t ever have to see them again.”

  “I love my father-in-law—he makes it bearable.”

  “Don’t let them walk all over you, Angelica. You’re far too nice.”

  “I’m learning to be nasty.”

  “Just keep your boundaries strong. Don’t let them break through. And smile as if you know something they don’t. It always works. A little secretive smile always does the trick!”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because my mother has that look on her face all the time, and it drives me mad!”

  It was a relief when the children went back to school for the Easter term and Angelica found herself once again reunited with her four friends, at the center table in Le Caprice. Jesus, the charming Bolivian manager, sent them a round of Bellinis on the house, and Angelica savored the sensation of being back in civilization after what had been an extremely uncivilized Christmas.

  “Thank God that’s over for another year,” she said, raising her glass to Candace, Scarlet, Kate, and Letizia.

  “You think yours was bad? Do you want to know what Pete gave me?”

  “No, let me guess,” said Candace, narrowing her pale eyes. “An ironing board.”

  “No, he gave me a boob job.”

  “What?”

  “He said I might need one after having the baby. Either that or a tummy tuck.”

  “Did you give him a penis extension?” said Candace scornfully.

  “Or a good clip arou
nd the ear,” Scarlet added for good measure.

  “I hope you told him where he can stick his vows?” said Angelica.

  Kate grinned mischievously “No, the ceremony is still on. You think I’m going to let him worm his way out of my big day by starting a fight?”

  “I’m curious, darling. What did you say?” Letizia asked.

  “That my body is a temple carrying his precious child.”

  “Or someone else’s precious child . . .” Candace added wryly.

  “No, it’s definitely Pete’s. No question. Don’t know why I ever doubted it.”

  “A teeny weeny insignificant thing like a date?”

  “I’m not a total idiot. So, it could possibly be Mr. X’s baby. Possibly. But right now I’m not prepared to go there. I want to have a serene pregnancy. Look what happened when I had Phoebe? Pete and I fought all the time, and she came out in a right state, poor thing. She’s still very temperamental. So I meditate daily and take deep breaths through the nose, like this.” She placed a hand on her belly, closed her eyes, and inhaled through flared nostrils.

  “Oh God, it’s the Virgin Mary.” Scarlet laughed.

  “Nothing immaculate about this conception,” Candace interjected.

  “You’re not going to tell us, are you?” asked Angelica.

  “No,” Kate replied firmly. “Look, I’d happily tell you, but I have to think of his feelings. My New Year’s resolution is to put others before myself.”

  Candace arched an eyebrow. “It’s going to be a tough year.”

  “You’d be surprised how altruistic I’ve become.”

  “Go on, surprise us,” said Candace.

  “I’ve already turned a blind eye to a text Pete received from The Haggis.”

  “You cannot be serious!” gasped Letizia.

  “She’s still hanging around?” Candace was astonished. “I thought she was well past her sell-by date.”

  “So did I!”

  “How did you manage to see it?” Angelica asked.

  “Did you sneak a peek?” Candace added.

  “I wouldn’t dare!” Letizia interrupted. “My marriage exists on trust. If I mistrusted Gaitano for a second, the whole thing would unravel.”