Also by Santa Montefiore
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Sea of Lost Love
The Gypsy Madonna
Last Voyage of the Valentina
The Perfect Happiness
SANTA MONTEFIORE
Touchstone
A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents
either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead,
is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2010 by Santa Montefiore
First published in Great Britain in 2010 by Hodder & Stoughton
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions
thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Touchstone
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First Touchstone trade paperback edition June 2010
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Manufactured in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Montefiore, Santa.
The perfect happiness / Santa Montefiore.
p. cm.
I. Title.
PR6113.O544P47 2010
823'.92—dc22 2010011937
ISBN 978-1-4391-8346-5
ISBN 978-1-4391-8347-2 (ebook)
To the girls:
Amanda, Jane, Julie, Trilbey, and Sam
Prologue
The human spirit is a kaleidoscope of millions of tiny mirrors, reflecting a whole spectrum of colors, depending on where the light falls. It is multifaceted and limitless in its potential. Yet within this intricate hall of mirrors, some surfaces never get a chance to shine but lie in darkness, ignored.
We may never completely realize our capacity to love. We may never flower to our full bloom. But sometimes, something happens in our lives to give us a glimpse of what we could become were we to allow that light to find those dark and secret surfaces of our soul. Then, we realize we have wings and always have done . . .
In Search of the Perfect Happiness
PART ONE
Desire
1
The happiness of your life depends on the quality of your
thoughts.
In Search of the Perfect Happiness
LONDON
September 2008
Angelica Lariviere pulled on a pair of Spanx and looked at herself from all angles in the luxurious bathroom designed especially for her by Smallbone of Devizes. Mirrors encased the bath on three sides and opposite, above the two basins where Dyptique candles burned and perfumes adorned pale marble surfaces in pretty glass bottles. Angelica loved beautiful things: sunlight shining through a dew-encrusted cobweb, mist over a mirrored lake, an antique glass chandelier, birds in the magnolia tree, stars, a pregnant moon, Paris, perfume, the melancholy tones of a cello, candlelight, the stirring bleakness of a winter heath, snow. More exquisite than reality was her imagination. As elaborate as an enchanted garden, her dreams spilled onto the pages of her fantasy children’s novels, where life had no limitations and beauty could be manifested at will. Most of all, Angelica loved love, for nothing was more beautiful than that.
As she mused on the swift passing of time, her thoughts lingered on that first kiss in Paris, beneath the streetlamp on the Place de la Madeleine. Olivier would never kiss her like that again, and she’d never feel the intoxicating sensation of a hundred tiny bees’ wings tickling the walls of her belly. Not that he didn’t kiss her—just that a husband’s kiss is different from a lover’s. A first encounter can never be repeated. Marriage, children, and domesticity had deepened their affection for each other but, at the same time, stolen something of their magic, leaving them as familiar as siblings. She felt a wave of nostalgia for that precious moment, and a little wistful that so intense a love would never be experienced again.
It was then that eight-year-old Joe wandered in, clean and flushed in his pajamas, and his eyes widened in horror at the sight of her. “Yuck!” he exclaimed, screwing up his face. “Not those again!”
Angelica picked up her wineglass and scrunched her tousled blond hair between her fingers.
“Sorry, sweetie, tonight I need my big pants,” she told him, taking a sip of chilled Sauvignon. “It’s Big Pants or Big Tummy, and I know which I prefer.”
“Daddy doesn’t like them, either.”
“That’s because Frenchmen appreciate beautiful underwear.” She thought of the drawer of exquisite Calvin Klein lingerie she never opened, preferring to wear simple cotton underwear from Marks & Spencer, and felt sad that after two children and a decade of marriage she had given up trying to be sexy. She slipped on her black Prada dress. “Better?” she asked, striking a pose and smiling at him coquettishly.
“Phew!” he sighed melodramatically. She crouched down to kiss him. “You smell nice,” he added.
“That’s better. Remember, if you want to be popular with the girls, only ever tell them they look beautiful. Good training to get a wife someday.”
“I’m never going to marry anyone.” He put his arms around her and rested his head on her shoulder.
“Oh, you’ll change your mind when you’re bigger.”
“No, I won’t. I want to be with you forever.”
Angelica’s eyes welled with emotion. “Oh, darling, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said.” Who needs magic when I have you! “Give me the Full Joe.” He pressed himself against her with a giggle. “That’s so nice!”
“Can I watch Ant Bully now?”
“Go on then.” She watched him grab the television control and climb into her bed. He shouted for his sister to join him, and Angelica heard six-year-old Isabel hurry across the landing.
She turned back to the mirror and wiped away a smudge of mascara. That boy is going to break hearts one day, she thought. She stood back and appraised herself. Not bad, thanks to the Spanx. She actually looked quite slim. On a wave of enthusiasm, she hurried into the custom-made dressing room and reached for a vintage black belt with a pretty gold buckle in the shape of a butterfly she had found in the Portobello market. Back in front of the mirror she put it on, slipped into open-toed black stilettos, and admired the transformation.
Joe and Isabel chattered on the bed, their voices erupting into the uninhibited laughter exclusive to small children. The door opened and Olivier strode in with the insouciance of a man used to being the dominant power in the house.
“It smells like a bordello!” He turned up the lights. “The children should be in bed.”
“They are in bed—our bed.” She laughed. “Hello, darling.”
He scowled and blew out the candles, knowing that she would forget. “I see you’ve got a glass of wine. I could do with a drink myself.”
“Bad day?”
Olivier took off his tie. “It’s a difficult time. The mood in t
he City is very depressed.” He went into the dressing room and slipped his jacket onto a hanger. “Did you pick up my dry cleaning? I want to wear my Gucci jacket tonight.”
Angelica flushed. “I forgot. Sorry.”
“Merde! Sometimes I wonder what goes on in that cotton wool head of yours.”
“There’s a whole world in here, beyond the cotton wool, of course.” She tapped her temple, trying to be upbeat. “I get paid to imagine.”
“You remember the plots of those fantasy novels of yours, but you don’t remember to pick up my dry cleaning. You still haven’t collected my trousers from the tailor, and I asked you weeks ago. If you had my job, we’d be broke!”
“Which is why I don’t have your job. Look, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m obviously not a priority.”
“Darling, don’t be angry, please. We’re going out to dinner, it’ll be fun. You’ll forget about the City and your Gucci jacket.” She walked up behind him and put her arms around his waist. “You know you’re my priority.”
“Then be an angel and get me a drink—and put the children to bed. The summer holiday is too long. When do they go back?”
“Thursday.”
He sniffed irritably. “Not a moment too soon.” He stepped out of his trousers and hung them up carefully. Olivier was meticulously tidy. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“So, how do I look?”
Olivier glanced at her as he removed the gold-crested cuff links from his shirt. “Why the belt?”
“Fashion, darling!”
“Why would you want to emphasize the widest part of you?”
Angelica stared in astonishment. “The widest part of me?” He chuckled and kissed her neck. “You always look beautiful, Angelica.”
She watched him remove his shirt and toss the cuff links into the leather box on the trouser press. Though slightly built and not very tall, Olivier was an attractive man. He was athletic, playing regular games of tennis at Queen’s, or running off his excess energy around Hyde Park when one of his four couldn’t make it. He was typically Gallic, with thick brown hair swept off his face in waves and smooth olive skin that never paled, even in winter. His features were fine, his nose long and aristocratic, his eyes a startling cornflower blue against lustrous black lashes. It was his mouth that had first attracted her to him, the way it curled at one corner. Now it took a lot to make it curl at all. He wore his clothes with the panache of a true Parisian, paying special attention to his shoes, which were always polished, and his suits, which were always beautifully tailored. Appearances were important to Olivier, and he spared no expense at Turnbull & Asser and Gucci. He liked to look good and he liked her to look good, too.
With the help of Sunny, the housekeeper, Angelica put the children to bed and served her husband whiskey on the rocks as he came out of the shower smelling of sandalwood. He didn’t notice that she had removed the belt, replacing it in the drawer along with her joy. She no longer felt like going out to dinner, even though Scarlet was one of her closest friends. She felt like a sack of flour.
As she reached for her handbag, her mobile telephone bleeped with a message. Please come quickly. I need you. X Kate. Angelica’s heart lurched. Kate was in trouble, again! She looked at her watch. Kate lived in Thurloe Square, on the way to Scarlet’s house in Chelsea. If she was quick, she could jump in a cab and meet Olivier there.
Olivier’s reaction was predictable. He sighed grumpily and swore, clipping his words to emphasize his annoyance. “She is such a drama queen! And you run to her like a lady-in-waiting who cannot see that without her drama the queen is not a queen at all.”
“She’s fragile. She’s obviously in a state.”
“She spends her whole life in a state.”
“It’s not her fault that Pete is having an affair.”
“I sympathize. If I were married to her, I’d have an affair, too.”
“I hope that’s not a threat.”
“Not to you, my angel. The very fact that we are opposites is good for my soul. I am material, you are ethereal.” He laughed, pleased with his analysis. “Go on then, I’ll meet you there. But don’t be later than eight-thirty. I’ll let them know that you are dealing with a crisis. No doubt your fellow lady-in-waiting will understand!” he added, referring to Scarlet. “Though, I’m sure she won’t want you to be late for dinner.” As she left the room, he noticed her handbag, thrown carelessly on the bed with her lip gloss and compact. “Angel, you cannot pay the cab without your purse!” he called impatiently. She rushed back, gathered it all up, and hurried out again.
Angelica wrapped her pashmina around her shoulders and hailed a cab on Kensington Church Street. It was a chilly night for September. Gray clouds filled the sky like porridge, and the evenings were now setting in early. Some trees were even beginning to turn orange. The streets were bustling with people having returned from their summer holidays for the start of the school term. The traffic was heavier, too, slowing down to near gridlock opposite Kensington Palace. She was grateful to be going in the opposite direction.
The cabbie interrupted her thoughts with glum comments on the lack of sunshine, the misery of yet another wet summer. “Global warming,” he said gloomily. “Still, Boris is mayor and Cameron will sweep Brown down the proverbial drain. It’s not all bad.”
He dropped her off outside Kate’s white terraced house where two bay trees stood on either side of the shiny pink door like sentinels. She rang the bell. From inside came the sound track of Mamma Mia and voices. She tried to peep in, but the curtains were drawn. Maybe the text message was old and she was interrupting a dinner party.
Finally, the door opened, and Kate appeared in a cashmere dressing gown, a bottle of Chardonnay in one hand, cigarette in the other. Her face was tearstained, mascara smeared over blotchy skin, her spiky brown hair pulled off her face with an Hermès scarf. She looked like a little girl in her wretchedness.
“Oh, Angelica, thank you for coming. You’re a real friend.”
She wasn’t the only real friend. There in the sitting room sat Letizia and Candace, apparently as bewildered as she was.
“What’s going on?” Angelica hissed as Letizia enveloped her in a cloud of Fracas.
“Not sure, darling,” she replied, her Italian accent curling seductively around her words like a soft cat’s tail. “Your guess is as good as mine!”
“Where are the children?”
“With her mother.”
“And Pete?”
“In Moscow.”
“Lucky.”
“Esatto, darling. No man likes to see a woman in tears, especially if they are shed for him.”
“Let me get you a drink,” said Kate, wandering unsteadily out of the room.
Angelica sank into a chair. “If I’d known you two were here, I wouldn’t have bothered. Olivier will be furious if I’m late for dinner.”
“You think that’s bad?” said Candace, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “I’m meant to be at the theater.”
“You’re so good to her,” said Letizia.
“No, I’m a schmuck!” A born-and-bred New Yorker, Candace never minced her words. “I’ve texted Harry that I’ll meet him in the interval. He’s so mad, he hasn’t replied. If I continue like this, he’ll divorce me.”
“She looks so thin,” said Letizia, sliding her green eyes towards the hall. “Like she hasn’t eaten a carbohydrate in weeks. I’m a little jealous, actually.”
“Misery,” quipped Candace. “They should sell it by the bottle.”
“Has Pete left her, do you think?” Angelica asked.
“Of course not. They’re addicted to each other. They make each other equally miserable.” Candace glanced impatiently at her pretty pink nails. “What’s she doing in there, treading the grapes?”
“This is going to be a long night; I just know it,” sighed Letizia.
At last Kate returned with the bottle of wine. “Couldn’t find the bottle open
er,” she said with a drunken giggle, dragging on her cigarette. “You’re probably wondering why you’re all here.”
“It’s your birthday and we’ve all forgotten!”
Letizia shot Candace a look. “What’s happened?” she asked kindly, patting the sofa. Kate sat down with a sigh.
Candace took the bottle from her and twisted off the cap. “I think I need a little fortification.”
“I’m late,” Kate stated darkly.
“Honey, we’re all late,” said Candace.
“Not for the theater. Late late.” She gave a meaningful look.
“Oh, that kind of late. Well, that’s a surprise!” Candace continued. “I thought you two were at each other’s throats, not in each other’s pants!”
“Have you done a test?” Angelica asked.
“No, that’s why I invited you all around. I need the moral support to do it.”
“You haven’t done a test?” Angelica was annoyed. If it turned out to be negative, what was the point of dragging them all out tonight?
“So, you have another child, what’s so bad about that?” asked Candace, pouring herself some wine.
“Yes, another child will bond you back together again. There’s nothing more romantic, darling,” Letizia purred encouragingly.
Kate shook her head, her eyes welling with tears. “Not in this case.” She bit her bottom lip. “If I’m pregnant, I don’t know whose it is.”
“Have I missed something?” asked Candace, stunned.
“You’re not the only one,” said Angelica. All three women looked at Kate.
“I had a one-night stand. It was a mistake. Pete was with The Haggis, and I was in despair. I’m an idiot. Now look at me. I’m a wreck. To think I’m a model. No one will employ me now except those ugly agencies.”
The Perfect Happiness Page 1
