“A love story?”
“No.”
“Murder mystery?”
“No.”
“Erotica?”
She laughed throatily. “Not yet.”
“I’m determined to find out. I’m a Scorpio: once I set my heart on something, there’s no stopping me.” His gaze was too intense: she had to look away.
“I’m not even sure how I’m going to do it, if at all. Olivier thinks it’s too ambitious.”
“That’s not very supportive.”
“But it’s honest. Olivier is very honest.” She looked down at her belt and sucked in her stomach.
“He must be proud of your writing, though.”
“Of course he is,” she replied, but even she could detect the lie in her voice. Olivier didn’t think there was much of a challenge in writing for children; she rather hoped she’d prove him wrong with her new idea.
“Is he the good-looking Frenchman over there?” He nodded in Olivier’s direction.
“That’s the one.”
“Does that dog stay on the porch?”
“I think so. He does a lot of barking, though.”
“Dogs need to bark, makes us feel butch.”
“Give them long leads and they generally don’t stray farther than the edge of the porch. If it’s a big porch, which Olivier’s is.”
“Lucky Olivier.”
“I know. It’s the biggest porch in London.”
He frowned. “No, he’s lucky to be married to the most beautiful girl in London.”
Angelica laughed and looked down at her plate. “Scarlet’s right—you’re an incorrigible flirt.”
“Not at all, my bark is bigger than my bite. But you are very beautiful.” She dismissed his comment with a toss of her hair, but he continued without taking his eyes off her. “I like sensual women. Women with big hearts. Passionate women.”
“Like your wife,” she teased.
“Exactly, like my wife.” But his eyes twinkled again with mischief, and Angelica smiled into her glass.
“So, what’s the new subject?”
“I can’t discuss it with you.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I’m the perfect person to discuss it with, because you don’t know me. I won’t judge you, because I don’t know you, either. In fact, I am the only person here you can discuss it with.” He replenished her wineglass and sat back in his chair expectantly.
“You’re very persistent.”
“When I know what I want.”
“All right.” The wine had made her reckless. “I’m not sure I want to continue writing children’s books that are simply good adventure stories. I want to explore the deeper meaning of life. Perhaps add another layer, like a parable, for me as much as for my reader. I want to find the elusive happiness we’re all searching for.” She stopped his interrupting by raising her hand and continuing at great speed, wishing she’d never begun. “Before you laugh at me, I want to add that I’ve read all those self-help and esoteric books. I know all the clichés. We all know those. The secret is putting them into practice in a practical way. We can’t all become hermits and meditate in distant caves. There must be a way of finding heavenly peace while living in the material world. I just feel there’s more to life than living it mechanically. There, I’ve said it. Now it’s your cue to laugh.”
He let her finish, then nodded gravely. “I’m not laughing. It’s probably the best idea you’ve ever had.”
Her face lit up at his unexpected approval. “You really think so?”
“Absolutely. Everyone is driven by a desire to be happy.”
“Yet so many people are miserable.”
“The secret you’re looking for is love.”
“Well, I know that much.”
“Then you don’t need to write the book.”
“It’s not that simple. Pure, unconditional love is near impossible.”
“No, it isn’t. You feel it for your children, don’t you?”
“Well, do I? Of course I’d kill for them and die for them. But I’m not sure it’s completely unselfish. I need them. That’s ego driven, isn’t it? I mean, it might be better for them to go to boarding school, but I can’t bear to be parted from them, so they’ll go to London schools. That’s conditional love, isn’t it? True happiness comes from loving unconditionally—and I don’t just mean our own children, I mean everyone.”
“Well, I do see there’s a problem there. I find most people intolerable.”
“You see? Jesus loved everyone unconditionally. All the great teachers and avatars preached unselfish, absolute, un-reserved love. The kind of love that loves no matter what. Impossible for we less spiritual creatures.” She grinned at him playfully. “I certainly don’t love Olivier unconditionally.”
He laughed and glanced across the table at Olivier, now in animated conversation with Scarlet. “So what are the conditions?”
“They’re too many to list. We don’t have all night.”
“Which is a great pity.” He turned his eyes on her again and lowered his voice. “Loving your husband is dependent on how he makes you feel. So you love him on condition that he makes you feel alive, beautiful, and valued.” She was surprised by the wisdom in this analysis—Olivier wouldn’t even discuss such a subject. “If he ceases to make you feel good about yourself, you will cease to love him. You might not leave him, but the essence of your love will change.”
“You’re so right. Olivier has the power to make me feel good about myself or bad about myself. His love can wound me or uplift me. Unconditional love would love him no matter what, even if he didn’t love me at all.”
“Pure love loves even the hand that strikes it.”
“I couldn’t love like that.”
He leaned towards her conspiratorially, and she felt the flame of his charisma as if his body were made of fire. “I think it’s a great idea.”
“You’re very sweet to say so.”
“You should have been called Sage, not Angelica.”
She laughed in astonishment. “Most people don’t know that Angelica is an herb.”
“I’m a countryman. I know my herbs, flowers, shrubs, and trees. I know my birds, too. I love nature with a passion. I can’t be in a city for too long, the concrete depresses me.”
“I love nature, too. I just don’t spend enough time in it.”
“I suppose the park doesn’t quite satisfy.”
“No, it doesn’t. But I grew up in Norfolk. My parents still live there. It’s beautiful, by an estuary. There are all sorts of birds on the beach.”
“Ah, Norfolk, the bird-watching capital of Britain.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I love birds and I’ve been to Norfolk. I remember thousands of geese in winter, marsh harriers, bearded tits, avocets, terns, and the odd bittern.”
“You’re joking!”
He grinned, pleased that he was able to impress her. “Don’t they have the most wonderful names!”
“You recognize all of those?”
“Of course. As I said, I know my birds.”
“You really do.”
“Come to South Africa. We have all sorts of exotic breeds there: the little malachite kingfisher with her electric-blue plumage and the cheeky hoopoe who calls ‘poop poop poop’ across the garden.”
“Wow, you’re a fount of information. How come you’re so wise about life and nature?”
“If you love nature, you automatically ask yourself the big questions. You’re constantly faced with the death and rebirth of trees and flowers. And when you gaze over vast distances, that prompts you to think of your own mortality and makes you feel very insignificant.”
“I’m going to wipe the dust off my binoculars!”
“I’m glad I’ve inspired you.”
She sipped her wine thoughtfully. “You’ve really inspired me, Jack, and not just in the feathered department. I’m going to try to add a deeper layer to my books. I’m
going to search for the perfect happiness.”
“You should. I’m not just saying so because I find you attractive. Most people go through life as if they were blind, mechanically, as you say, without ever questioning what it all means. Trust me, I ask myself that question every day.” His face darkened as if a sad thought had passed through his mind. “We’re all going to die. I’d like to find out what I’m doing here before I go. I’d certainly like my last years to be happy ones.” He drained his glass, which was promptly filled by a hovering waiter.
“Let’s talk about something happy. Tell me about your children?”
So Jack told her about Lucy, Elizabeth, and Sophie: the three jewels in his crown.
“I bet they’ve got you well wrapped round their little fingers.”
He laughed as he thought about their wheedling and manipulating. “They’re young women now. Even Lucy, who’s just fifteen, is going on twenty-one. It’s hard for a father like me. I want to wrap them in pink candyfloss and hold on to their innocence. I’m a terrible old rogue, so I suspect all the young men in their lives of the worst intentions.”
“Judging them by your own standards.”
“Exactly. I keep a shotgun under my pillow, and woe betide anyone who lays a dirty hand on one of my girls.”
“It’s going to happen, you know.”
“Oh, it already has. Elizabeth is eighteen and has a boyfriend at Stellenbosch University. Sophie is sixteen, and who knows what mischief she’s already got up to. Lucy’s a knockout, and I can see a knowing shadow in her eyes. She’s tasted the fruit of good and evil, I’d bet my life on it. There’s nothing I can do.”
“Children come through us, but they don’t belong to us.”
“That is a hard lesson for me to learn.”
“For all of us. Mine are still little, but Olivier will find it hard, especially with our daughter.”
“You never forget what they were like as little girls. In spite of their makeup and grown-up clothes, they’re still the same underneath. And they don’t know how naïve they are. They think they know everything. I want to stand at the helm of their lives and steer them through the mines.” Angelica felt a wave of tenderness. She, too, wanted to steer Isabel and Joe through the mines. “When you find the secret of happiness, let me know.”
“You, Jack, shall be the very first person I tell.”
After dinner Olivier remained at the table with Caterina and a few others while the rest of the guests adjourned to the sitting room, where a fire burned in the grate.
“Isn’t it a little early for fires?” asked Hester, flopping onto the sofa.
“It’s been the most miserable summer on record,” Scarlet replied, lighting a cigarette. “I’ve spent the last month in Italy, and I’m really feeling the cold. You horsey people never feel the cold.”
“It’s all that rolling around in the hay,” said Hester, laughing huskily.
“Do you really get up to all that?”
“As much as one can without frightening the horses,” Hester replied, glancing at her husband, who was standing by the window talking to Stash.
“I’d expect you to be burning up in those leather trousers,” said Angelica, joining Hester on the sofa.
Scarlet gave her a hand. “See, I’m as cold as a fish! I have terrible circulation.”
“You could eat more. You’re so skinny, you have no insulation,” said Angelica.
“Thank you for the compliment!” Scarlet puffed out a ring of smoke.
“I’d happily give you some of mine!”
“At our age, women have to choose between their faces and their figures,” said Hester, who had clearly chosen her face.
“So they say, but if my arse expands, my misery pulls my face down, so I choose my figure, every time. A little nip here or tuck there will take care of the face. As it is, I’m so riddled with Botox I can only just pull a smile.”
“I’ve sacrificed my figure by default, and it’s done nothing for my face,” said Angelica, noticing Jack talking to William in the library.
“Oh, I’d love your face, Angelica,” said Scarlet, warming her bottom at the fire. “We’d all love to look as wholesome as you. Trouble is, no amount of makeup can disguise my unscrupulous past.”
“Oh, I don’t think I look wholesome!”
“You do, like a field of golden wheat. You look like a fresh bun just out of the oven. In fact, I’m surprised you haven’t been discovered to star in a Hovis advert.”
They all laughed, and Angelica caught Jack’s eye as he turned to see what was amusing them. His attention was like sunshine, and she basked in the delicious warmth of it.
Coffee and tea were brought in on a tray, and William and Jack joined the group in front of the fire. Angelica tried to behave naturally, but her whole body tingled with a pleasure as unfamiliar as the taste of a long-forgotten fruit. Jack’s smile was contagious. His hair, the color of wet hay, fell over his forehead until he pushed it back into shaggy waves like a lion’s mane. She admired the generous width of his face, his dark eyebrows that knitted together when he frowned, and his almond-shaped eyes that seemed to see the humor in everything. He dominated the party, his comments wittier than everyone else’s, his charisma brighter, and everyone laughed at everything he said.
“Jack, why don’t you play something?” Scarlet asked, lighting another cigarette. Scarlet was classically trained and never missed an opportunity to show off her talent. “Because if you don’t, I will.”
Jack needed no encouragement. “Bring me a glass of red wine, and I’ll play anything you want.” He went into the library and sat on the piano stool. The baby grand, a wedding present to Scarlet from William, was covered in silver photo frames and a large vase of tuberose. If Jack had impressed Angelica during dinner, it was as nothing compared to the sight of him at the piano. He began with jazz, his fingers dancing deftly over the keys, his powerful body moving in time with such grace and confidence it was as if the piano were an extension of him. Then he played their requests, and they all sang the songs of the Beatles, Abba, and Billy Joel. Angelica joined in, blushing each time he caught her eye, hoping he couldn’t hear her pitiful effort. Whether he did or not, he seemed to smile for her alone.
When Olivier sauntered in with Caterina and declared that it was time to go home, she was disappointed. There was no point trying to persuade him to stay. Once Olivier had made up his mind to go there was no changing it. He looked pointedly at his watch, indicating his impatience with a brisk toss of his head.
Angelica said her good-byes. When she got to Jack, he took her hand and kissed her on both cheeks. “Come to South Africa. You might discover the secret you’re looking for riding across the veld.”
“You don’t give up, do you?”
“Life is short.” He pleaded with his eyes.
She laughed and removed her hand. “It’s been fun meeting you and I loved your piano playing. You’re not Jack of all trades, you’re Jack, master of music. You have a wonderful gift.”
She could tell he was disappointed at her departure, and she was flattered. She hadn’t received such attention in years. She couldn’t wait to tell Candace.
Olivier was in a good mood. He didn’t mention her tardiness nor ask about Kate, and she didn’t volunteer any information.
“What a great evening,” he said, opening the car door and climbing in. “Scarlet always gives good parties.”
“She’s a pro at throwing people together and leaving them to get on with it. There are always new people, which is fun.”
“What was that South African like?” he asked. “He looked a bit pleased with himself, if you ask me.”
“Charming, actually.”
“I bet. He’s the sort of man who’s strong on charm and weak on brains. I suppose girls like that rugged Clint Eastwood appeal.”
“He was amazing on the piano. You should have joined us.”
“I didn’t think you liked singing.”
�
�I do. I just have a terrible voice. How was Caterina?”
He grinned. “Caterina is a naughty monkey.”
Angelica was relieved to change the subject. She didn’t want to discuss Jack with her husband. “You’ve met your match with her.”
“She’s an atrocious flirt. Her husband should keep an eye on her.”
“Nothing wrong with a flirt.”
“It’s different for a man.”
“In what way?” Angelica bristled.
“I’m afraid there are double standards. A woman flirting in front of her husband is humiliating.”
“Oh, and it’s not humiliating for a man to flirt in front of his wife?”
“It’s different.”
“Says who?”
He turned into Gloucester Road. “Boys will be boys. It means nothing. I flirted with Caterina, but she knows I am devoted to you. Whereas if you flirt with a man, he assumes you’re not happy with your husband and that you are looking for an affair.”
“You’re so wrong!”
“Did you mind my flirting with Caterina?”
“Not at all, but that’s because I’m not possessive. I trust you.”
“And you are right to.”
“Are you saying that you wouldn’t trust me?”
“Yes.” He put his hand on her knee. “If you flirted with another man like I flirted with Caterina, I’d be crushed like a grape under your foot.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“No, just a hypocrite. Unlike you, I am very possessive, and my heart is very tender.” She laughed. “The South African flirted with you, naturally. I would be surprised if he didn’t. You are a good-looking woman, Angelica. But did you assume he is unhappy with his wife?”
“Of course not.”
“But if you had flirted with him, he would have assumed you were unhappy with me.”
“I didn’t flirt with him,” she said quickly.
He stopped at the traffic lights at the bottom of Kensington Church Street. “I would never accuse you of that, mon ange. But don’t think I wasn’t watching you.”
She wanted to say that he was too busy watching Caterina, but she bit her tongue. Caterina had done her a service.
The Perfect Happiness Page 3
