The Perfect Happiness

by Santa Montefiore

  He laughed, and she remembered why she had fallen in love with him; he looked so handsome when his eyes were full of mirth.

  “Take off your clothes,” he demanded, turning to lock the door. “Let the children sleep.” She began to unbutton her shirt. When he turned around, he noticed her pretty lingerie and frowned in bewilderment, his eyes tracing her body. “I’ve been sleepwalking for the last few months. That’s what the City has done to me. I’m a man who loves beautiful women, and yet I sleep beside one every night without realizing how fortunate I am!” He slipped his hands around her waist and she stood tall so he could feel how firm it was. “You look like the girl I met all those years ago, but with the maturity of a woman.” She felt her spirits rise with satisfaction. He traced his fingertips across her stomach. “You’ve worked hard.”

  “I’m glad you can see the difference.”

  “Ma chérie, it’s not the outside that’s important but the inside. However, seeing as you’ve managed to get your figure back, permit me to appreciate it!”

  He kissed her, raking his fingers through her hair—her perfect new hair. For a moment she feared he might ruin it and tossed it out of his reach. But what was she doing having lunch with Jack Meyer when she had finally managed to win her husband’s approval? Her stomach churned with regret. It was too late to cancel. She’d enjoy a nice lunch, then scale down the e-mails. Jack had inspired her to get back in shape. Now she had her husband’s attention, she no longer needed him.

  9

  Reach for the stars with your dreams and desires.

  In Search of the Perfect Happiness

  The following morning Angelica walked the children to school, bumping into Candace on the street on the way back. Effortlessly glamorous in a Ralph Lauren tweed jacket under a cashmere cape and tight blue jeans tucked into leather boots, Candace struggled to restrain her silver Great Dane as he tried to sniff the bottom of a passing Jack Russell. “He’s obsessed with small dogs!” she wailed as Angelica approached her. “Enough, Ralph!” She took off her sunglasses and ruthlessly scrutinized her friend. “You’re not going to wear that to lunch, are you?”

  Angelica was scruffy in baggy jeans and trainers. “No.”

  “I’m pleased to hear it.”

  “I’m having second thoughts. What am I doing, Candace?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Olivier came home last night and was so sweet. It suddenly dawned on me that it’s his attention I’m craving—not some sexy stranger’s.”

  “We all know that.”

  “So what do I do? Cancel?”

  “No, it’s too late.”

  “I feel awful. I’ve encouraged him. I’m a prick tease!”

  “Yes, you are. But you still can’t cancel.”

  “I’m such an idiot.”

  “Look, go have fun. Now that you know where your priorities lie, there’s no danger of your getting into trouble.”

  “What if I get caught?”

  “You won’t. Olivier’s hardly likely to walk into Daphne’s in the middle of the day, is he?”

  “I hope not—unless he’s fired! I haven’t told him I’m going.”

  “D’you fancy coffee?”

  “Why don’t you come home with me and help me select something to wear.”

  “Okay, let’s go choose something cool and understated. But not trainers, please.” Candace gave the lead a tug. “And you, Ralph, can sit in Angelica’s garden and not chase squirrels.”

  At home, Sunny made them coffee and brought it up to Angelica’s bedroom on a tray, while Ralph bounded about the small garden defying the instruction about squirrels. Candace took off her cape and began to go through Angelica’s closet.

  Angelica put on her favorite Dolly Parton CD and slipped out of her jeans and sweater.

  “Wow, you really have slimmed down, Angelica. And I like your underwear, too. Where’s it from?”

  “Calvin Klein.”

  “Nice. What does Olivier think?”

  She flashed her friend a bashful smile. “Let’s just say he’s rediscovered it.”

  “Well, that makes two of you.” She pulled out a Vanessa Bruno floral blouse with an extended collar for tying in a bow. “This is cool. Just don’t tie the bow, let it hang.” Angelica put it on. “I think you should wear jeans. You don’t want to look like you’re trying too hard. This is just a friendly lunch: you’re not interviewing for an affair. Wear these Rupert Sanderson shoes—they’re fabulous and they’ll give you height.”

  “That’s the one thing Pilates can’t do for me.”

  “But these can.” She grabbed them off the shelf and threw them at her. “Where are those Stella McCartney jeans with cute little pockets at the front?”

  Angelica studied herself in the mirror. “God, I don’t recognize myself when I dress up. I still feel like I’m pretending to be someone else.”

  “Honey, you look fabulous.”

  “Only because of you, Candace.”

  “I’ll happily take all the credit. I couldn’t let you slip into that old cliché of the scruffy writer. Writers don’t have to be badly dressed.”

  “I’m loving myself!” Angelica threw her arms up and laughed.

  “And of course, you don’t give a rat’s ass about Jack anymore.”

  “I’m a little sad I’m already over him. What am I going to do now for entertainment?”

  “Come shopping. It’s safer.”

  “Now I know why you do it.”

  “There’s method in my madness.”

  She looked at Candace steadily. “Have you ever been tempted?”

  “I wouldn’t be human if I wasn’t tempted every now and then. But I love Harry, period. And you know what? If there’s something positive I inherited from my mother, it’s her backbone of steel. I’ve never found it hard to say no and walk away from trouble. You must learn to do the same.” She tossed her her jacket. “Today is your first lesson.”

  Angelica parked her car in Draycott Place. It took a while to find a parking space, and when she did, she was so anxious she rolled into the Range Rover in front, knocking its bumper with hers. “Oh Lord!” she exclaimed, hastily reversing. She hurried out to assess the damage. To her relief, the Range Rover was unscratched. Her own car was already grazed from past blunders; if she had just acquired one more scratch, she couldn’t tell. She walked unsteadily up the road towards Daphne’s, breathing deeply to calm her nerves.

  She looked at her watch, not wanting to arrive before Jack. She was fashionably five minutes late. Inhaling a large gulp of air, she pushed open the door and strode in, holding her head high to convey a confidence she didn’t feel. She lowered her voice at the desk and articulated his name with care as if it were a loaded gun. As she was led through the tables she glanced about her, relieved that she recognized no one.

  Then she saw him sitting in the corner, reading the Evening Standard, and all her reservations evaporated at the sight of him, so broad he dwarfed the table. He sensed her approach, and his face opened into a wide smile. “The wise sage,” he said, standing up to greet her. He dwarfed her, too, even in heels. She kissed him, breathing in the lime scent of his cologne and relishing for a fleeting moment the rough sensation of his cheek against hers. It was almost too intimate to bear, and she drew away, her face flushing crimson.

  She sat down and laughed nervously. “So, the dog’s been let off the porch.”

  “You can’t expect a dog like me to stay at heel when there’s the most delicious-looking rabbit in the garden!” The warmth of his expression brought him back to her in a sudden rush of desire. What am I doing? she thought anxiously. When I’d lifted almost every paw out of the mud!

  “Oh really! You are funny!” she exclaimed, trying to brush off his comment with nonchalance.

  He swept his eyes over her face. “You look different.”

  “Do I?”

  “Yes. Your hair’s lighter. I like it. You look great, Angelica.”

  “Now
you’re embarrassing me.”

  “Good.” He grinned and leaned towards her, peering at her over his glasses. “You look even prettier when you blush.”

  In an attempt to keep the conversation under control, she said: “How long are you in the U.K.? I mean, are you here on business?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Does your wife ever come with you?”

  “Sometimes, but right now she’s at home with the children. She doesn’t like to leave them.” He grinned at her mischievously. “Does Olivier know you’re having lunch with me?”

  “No, I never got around to telling him.” He shot her a quizzical look, and she couldn’t help grinning back at him. “Okay, so I lie. I knew he’d say no, and I wanted to have lunch with you. I mean, why not? There’s nothing wrong with having lunch with a friend, is there?”

  “Nothing wrong at all.”

  “It was just easier not to mention it. He’s very jealous. But I won’t have my wings clipped.”

  He gazed at her a moment longer than was comfortable, then laughed heartily. “Now you’re funny!”

  “Why?”

  “Because you know as well as I do that there’s everything wrong with having lunch with a man you’ve only just met. It’s not wrong in itself, only wrong because your husband wouldn’t like it. If it wasn’t so, you would have told him and he would have told you to have a good time.”

  “Then the secret to happiness is not honesty,” she rallied.

  “I’d agree with you there, but that’s a selfish kind of happiness, not the pure happiness you’re searching for.”

  “Okay, so I’m selfishly taking my pleasure.”

  “Let’s drink to that. What will you have?”

  “A glass of white wine, please.” She needed fortification.

  “Then let me choose a bottle of good South African wine.”

  The waiter brought the wine, and Angelica took a swig, immediately feeling more confident. She began to relax as the conversation moved on to more mundane subjects and she no longer felt like a small prey in the shadow of a formidable predator. They discussed the menu, then he hailed the waiter and ordered for her. Olivier had done that, too, when they had first courted. Now he simply ordered for himself.

  “So how’s the book coming along?” he asked.

  “Not well.” She laughed. “It’s amazing how much time can be wasted writing one’s own name.”

  “I read your last book, by the way.” He was clearly pleased by the surprise on her face.

  “Which one?”

  “The Caves of Cold Konard.”

  “And . . . ?”

  “I really enjoyed it. In fact, I couldn’t put it down. At first I thought I’d take a look just so I could say I’d read it. But I was hooked—on the second page, to be precise, when the cave isn’t a cave at all. It’s very clever. Then Mart carried me away. I identified with him even though he’s just a boy. I suppose we’re all children at heart, aren’t we? Those Yarnies are dreadful, disguising themselves as Enrods to fool Mart into trusting them. They’re the worst sort of enemy, and I know a few Yarnies back at home. It’s all very magical, but at the same time very true to life. Really, I was impressed.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Olivier should read it. I think he’d be astonished by your talent.”

  “Oh, he’s so busy.”

  “That’s no excuse. You can always make time. He’s probably jealous of your creativity.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so.”

  “Trust me. He’s working all hours in a bank churning figures. You’re sitting at home, listening to music, surfing the waves of your imagination. How fantastic is that? I bet he’s jealous you make money doing something that looks so easy and is so pleasurable.”

  “Except it’s not easy at all, because I’m not sure that what I’ve written so far is any good. I can’t seem to think of a single brilliant idea, just rather ordinary ones.”

  “Yet.”

  “I’m almost tempted to ask for time out to recharge.”

  “So you can work out the deep layers beneath the story?”

  “Yes.”

  “Think of Tolkien. You almost do it with The Caves of Cold Konard. It wouldn’t be difficult to add another layer. To make it more spiritual for those who want to read beneath the surface.”

  “I’m anxious about it. I’ve never done it before. It would be easy to continue on the same road.”

  “But good for you to challenge yourself. If you’re bored of your books, your readers are going to be bored, too.”

  “I know. I’ve got to find something I’m passionate about.”

  “You’re a woman of great passion, Sage. That comes across in The Caves, and it’s contagious, which is why it’s hard to put down. Even for an old book veteran like me!”

  “You really think so? You’re not just saying that?”

  “Because I fancy you? No. I’ll buy The Silk Serpent even if this is the last time we ever lay eyes on each other.”

  She stared at him a moment, a heavy sense of disappointment sinking to the bottom of her belly like a stone. The thought of never seeing him again caused her physical pain. She hadn’t anticipated still being so attracted to him. She had hoped to have lunch and leave, drawing a line under a fun but innocuous flirt. But he drew her to him, like the hypnotic allure of a long-forgotten melody whose notes resonated deep within her soul.

  He took a sip of wine. Neither spoke for what seemed like a long while. The waiters brought their first courses and, as Angelica looked up to thank them, she noticed a familiar face at the other end of the restaurant. “Oh Lord,” she exclaimed, shrinking back.

  Jack followed her gaze. “Who have you seen?”

  “Jenna Elrich. A Yarnie.”

  “The one with big hair and sunglasses?”

  “That’s the one. Don’t be fooled:

  she’s pure malice.” “She’s either very insecure or her husband’s given her one in the eye.”

  “Could be either, actually.”

  “She can’t see you.”

  “Oh, she will. She’s the sort of woman who can spot someone she knows a mile off. She’ll be desperate to know who you are.”

  “I’m your publisher.”

  “Yes.” She flushed at the flaws in the lie. “You don’t look anything like a publisher!”

  “I don’t think you can generalize. My name is Leighton Jones and I’m your publisher from South Africa. If she comes over, leave me to do the talking.”

  She laughed into her glass. “That makes me tremble with fear. She’s a wicked gossip.”

  “I’d like to give her something to gossip about.”

  “And ruin my marriage?”

  He turned serious. “Do you want to go somewhere else? We can leave if you’re worried?”

  “No, we can’t leave now, it’ll look suspicious. Let’s pretend we haven’t seen her. If she comes over, you’re my publisher in Johannesburg, simple as that. The more we make of it, the guiltier we’ll look.”

  “You’ve got it all worked out.”

  “You don’t know my husband. He’s more jealous than you can imagine.”

  “You should be flattered.”

  “It doesn’t work that way. Possessiveness is a ball and chain around our ankles. It curtails our freedom and makes us unhappy. The secret to happiness is to love without conditions.”

  “Which we know is impossible.”

  “We can at least try.”

  Jenna Elrich sat beside the window with a couple of women Angelica didn’t know. The three of them were bad examples of too much Botox and not enough mirth. They picked at their food and sipped their water and lemon through tight, joyless mouths. Angelica turned her back, but she knew Jenna would recognize her. It was only a matter of time before she tottered over in her six-inch heels to find out who Jack was. If he wasn’t so devilishly handsome, she wouldn’t bother.

  The wine Jack had chosen was very good. Angelica didn’t like
to drink at lunch, especially as she was driving, but Jack refilled her glass, and she felt pleasantly relaxed and soon forgot all about Jenna. They discussed love and the secret for happiness, and the more they talked the more Angelica entered his magnetic aura until she no longer saw or heard the other people in the restaurant. They were both stimulated by the arguments: she could see the enthusiasm in his eyes like a bright light behind them shining through. By coffee they had identified some of the most endemic obstructions to happiness.

  “We should write a book together,” Jack suggested. “It would be a big best seller.”

  “I think you’re right. I’m feeling very inspired.”

  “Perhaps I can be your mentor. Whenever you need to discuss something, you can call me.”

  “I don’t have your number,” she replied with a shrug, knowing she was now cruising across another frontier.

  “Then give me your phone.” She rummaged through the chaos in her handbag and pulled it out. Her heart raced at the obvious step she was now taking. Candace had been right. Lunch was not just lunch. He took her mobile and began to punch in his number. Then he held it up to her with a grin: DOP.

  “Dog on Porch,” she said, smiling back.

  “Wrong! Dog off Porch,” he corrected.

  “You’re very naughty.”

  He flicked open his phone. “Give me yours.” She read out her number. He held it up. “Sage. Nothing naughty about that,” he said, replacing it in his jacket pocket. “Now, when am I going to see you again?”

  Angelica was flustered. “I don’t know,” she said. “Aren’t you going back to Rosenbosch?”

  “Not until Friday.” He lowered his voice. “We haven’t even touched on desire.”

  Angelica’s cheeks flamed, and she dropped her gaze into her empty coffee cup. She thought of his secret lover in Clapham and reminded herself that flirting was just a game to him. “Desire is a basic animal instinct that should be avoided at all costs.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it doesn’t last.”

  “But it’s a good place to start.”

  “If it’s the appropriate journey to make.”