The Perfect Happiness

by Santa Montefiore

  “The whole house smells of them,” said Angelica. “I’ll keep one for Scarlet.”

  “What’s Olivier going to say?” Candace asked gently.

  “He won’t even notice now I’ve given some of them to you.” But Angelica couldn’t look at Candace. Her friend was far too clever not to work out what had really gone on. Candace took her roses, kissed Angelica good-bye, and hailed a taxi with Letizia and Kate, whose long bare legs shivered in the cold. Angelica watched them go, consumed with guilt.

  She didn’t see Candace at the school gates. The four-by-fours double-parked and jostled for the few free parking places, packed high with luggage for the weekend in the country. Isabel and Joe ran out excitedly, throwing her their book bags and backpacks, waving good-bye to their friends. Jenna Elrich swept up the pavement in a fur-lined cape and cap, her hair falling down her expensive back in a glossy ponytail. “I’m so stressed out,” she complained to Angelica. “I’ve got to go to Paris this evening for a concert in honor of the Sarkozys tomorrow night, and the dress I wanted to wear is lost somewhere over the Channel.”

  “How do you mean, lost?”

  “I sent the luggage ahead, but it hasn’t arrived.”

  “Where did you send it?”

  “To the Georges Cinq, of course. Lord knows what I’m going to wear.”

  Angelica didn’t have the patience for this ludicrous woman. “Oh, I’m sure you can find some old frock in those cupboards of yours.”

  “That’s just it. They’re all so last season!”

  “Oh, God forbid!”

  “Exactly. Carla will be in Chanel couture, for sure. I’m going to have to leave the kids with my mother and go shopping.”

  “What hell!”

  “I hate shopping.”

  “You disguise it well.”

  “Just because I always look elegant doesn’t mean I enjoy the process. In fact, I positively loathe running around department stores. I’ve called Selfridges Personal Shopping. They should be able to find me something, don’t you think?”

  “Have a glass of champagne and let them do all the running?”

  “Quite.”

  Angelica edged away. “I hope you find something to wear and enjoy the concert. Sounds very glamorous.”

  “No, it’s a bore. I so hate traveling.”

  “The train is rather convenient, I think.”

  “Train! Dear God, no. NetJet, but even so . . .”

  “A plane’s a plane,” said Angelica, fully aware that a NetJet plane wasn’t simply a plane but a luxurious penthouse with wings.

  “Better hurry. Have a good weekend.” She rushed off in her five-inch-heeled boots, leaving a whiff of Dior in her wake.

  Angelica called her children. “We’re going to have a great weekend,” she said, taking Joe’s hand.

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Nothing,” she said with a smile. “Absolutely nothing.”

  As Angelica had predicted, Olivier didn’t question the flowers. He was used to her filling the house with white roses and assumed that she had gone a little over the top with red ones for a change. The City was a sterile place to work; it was heartening to come home to warmth, color, and music. He usually hated her scented candles and blew them out the minute he walked into the room, but now he viewed them with a fondness that surprised them both. The financial crisis was changing the world so fast he found himself clinging to the one place that didn’t change at all: his home—complete with flowers, scented candles, and Dolly Parton.

  That night, while Olivier sat in the study watching the news and chatting to friends on the telephone, Angelica reflected on her marriage. Olivier loved her. Naturally, after so many years of marriage, they took each other for granted, but she didn’t doubt that he loved her. Jack didn’t love her in the same way. His love was fueled by lust and the allure of the forbidden. She loved Olivier in that deep, familiar way that is no longer aware of itself. Her feelings for Jack fed off the way he made her feel as a woman. She was two people. The woman Olivier knew and the woman Jack knew. Were they to meet, neither would recognize the other.

  PART TWO

  Experience

  15

  Darkness serves the light; it is our greatest teacher.

  In Search of the Perfect Happiness

  It snowed over half term. A thick layer of sparkling white sugar covered the countryside like icing on a Christmas cake. Angelica took Joe and Isabel to stay with Candace in Gloucestershire for a couple of days while Olivier remained in London trying to keep his head above water as the City sank with the share prices. The children built snowmen and swam in the indoor pool while Angelica and Candace curled up by the log fire, drank tea, and gossiped. Candace didn’t mention the roses, nor did she refer to Jack, although the handsome South African stood between them like a neon elephant in the room. Angelica knew she had been discovered—Candace had the instincts of a panther—but she didn’t want to hear advice; she knew what it would be and would ignore it. She read her texts in the privacy of her bedroom and spoke to him late at night after everyone had gone to bed, sharing the minutiae of their day, their thoughts, and their dreams, but mostly they whispered the sweet nothings of lovers. The deeper Angelica became embroiled in her secret, the further she drifted from her friend, for honest intimacy was the glue that bonded them.

  She spent Halloween with Scarlet and Ben Cannings, her manny, the exuberant lad from Yorkshire whom Scarlet had employed to teach her children football. Tall and handsome, with a thick mop of dark hair and soft brown eyes, he was mature for his age and chivalrous in the tradition of well-educated northern men. He whisked the children into Battersea Park and entertained them while Scarlet and Angelica went to Hamleys to buy them costumes for the trick-or-treating street party they were to join after dark. Isabel wanted to go as an owl, which was the only costume Hamleys didn’t have, while Joe was content to dress up as one of the skeletons displayed in every shop window in town. Scarlet’s children wanted to go as Harry Potter and Hermione Granger and kill all the witches.

  As they left the toy shop laden with shiny red bags they bumped into Jenna Elrich climbing out of her chauffeur-driven car in a flurry of leather and fur. “Great minds think alike,” she said, mobile telephone clamped to her ear. “Zeus now wants to go as a bat, and Cassandra has demanded another princess dress. Pink is the only color she’ll wear. Thank God the twins are too small to demand anything except chocolate! I hope you haven’t bought the last bat!”

  “They’re all yours,” said Scarlet, looking her up and down disdainfully.

  “I’m taking them to the Louis Vuitton party. Are you going?”

  “Trick or treating for us,” said Angelica.

  “Oh, I hate all that ringing bells and running around. One bumps into so many dubious people coming into Chelsea to check out the big houses. I’d be very careful if I were you . . . Hello!” she barked into the telephone. “Yes, it’s Mrs. Elrich. Am I speaking to the manager? Must go,” she mouthed at the girls and flounced off into the shop, leaving her chauffeur in the cold, standing to attention beside the shiny blue Range Rover.

  “Well, she won’t have to dress up. She already looks like a witch with those poor animal tails hanging off her cape,” said Angelica, linking her arm through Scarlet’s.

  “The perfect target for Charlie and Jessica! Perhaps we’d better pop into Louis Vuitton for some target practice before we hit the streets. Let’s go and find your owl.”

  “But where?”

  “The Disney Store.” She waved at an approaching cab. “If we don’t get lucky there, you can always buy her a pretty brown cape from Marie Chantal.”

  At the beginning of November Barack Obama became the first black president of the United States, and Kate hired a healer to cleanse her house of all the negative energy emitted during the acrimonious years of her marriage. Candace rolled her eyes at Kate’s latest fad and ordered another Birkin for Christmas. Having worked for seven years before he
r marriage in the Ralph Lauren press office in New York, she was well plugged into all the stores and was immediately placed at the very top of the waiting list. Scarlet bribed Ben to move in over Christmas as her children’s official coach and tutor, in spite of Letizia’s pleas to loan him to her for her skiing holiday over New Year’s. And just when Angelica was resigned to never seeing Jack again, her agent made an unexpected proposal over lunch at Sotheby’s Café on Bond Street.

  Claudia ordered champagne and raised her glass to Angelica. “This is to you,” she said, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “And to the successful optioning of The Caves of Cold Konard.”

  Angelica was stunned. “You’re not serious?”

  “Totally serious.”

  “Who?”

  “The Cohen-Rosh brothers—Stephen and Marcus. They’re the hot new producers in Hollywood. Very now, very happening, very cool.” She liked to emphasize the important words in a breathy whisper. “Toby will be calling you to discuss the details. I think he wants to tell you himself, so act ignorant. We have not had this conversation.”

  “Fine by me.” Angelica’s head swam, already visualizing the red carpet at the Oscars and panicking about what to wear.

  “On another note, I know you won’t go to Australia, but what about South Africa? They really want you, and the book is doing so well out there. It’ll give The Silk Serpent such a boost.” Angelica blanched, which Claudia mistook for refusal. “Before you say no, it would be a week, not a minute more—a few days in Jo’burg and a few in Cape Town. Back-to-back interviews, radio, and a few talks to literary groups. They love you out there. They’re a big market for you. Think about it.”

  “I’ll go,” Angelica replied steadily.

  Claudia nearly choked on her champagne. She dabbed her mouth, leaving red lipstick on the napkin. “You what?”

  “I’ll go.”

  “Right, okay, great.”

  “I didn’t want to go to Australia because it’s too far. I can’t be two days away from my children. But South Africa is nearer and the same time zone, almost.”

  “You’ll love it. The South Africans are so friendly and warm. They’ll put you up in the nicest hotels and treat you like a queen.”

  “I’d like a couple of days at the end to visit a friend.” She could barely control the tremor in her voice.

  “Sure.” Claudia was surprised. “I mean, if that’s not too long for you to be away. We can arrange anything you want.”

  “Research.”

  “For the next book?”

  “Yes. I’m feeling inspired.”

  “Good.”

  “I’m going to do something different, Claudia.”

  “Not too different, I hope. Your readers will expect more of the same, and you don’t want to disappoint them.”

  “I’m writing this one for me.”

  “Okay.” Claudia looked a little anxious, but she couldn’t complain: she’d got Angelica to agree to South Africa. “Can’t wait to read it.”

  After lunch, Angelica kissed her agent good-bye and walked down Bond Street towards Piccadilly. Her legs felt unsteady, as if she were walking on jelly, and her head spun. She had agreed to go on a book tour to South Africa. What would Olivier say? How would she manage to tell him without giving herself away? She wasn’t a very good actress. This was going to be the lie of her life. Anticipation rising with each step, she found a bench in Green Park and sat down.

  The gardens were littered with crispy brown leaves, the sky was a dull pigeon-gray, but she felt as happy as if her heart were flooded with sunshine. She pulled out her telephone and pressed Jack’s number. It rang a few times before he answered.

  “Hello there, you.” His voice was full of affection.

  “I’m coming to South Africa.”

  “My God, when?” His excitement rippled down the line, and she smiled into the telephone.

  “Next year.”

  “I have to wait that long?”

  “Only a few months.”

  “How have you managed to pull that off?”

  “Book tour. My agent just told me. I’m going to promote the new book.”

  “So what are we looking at? February?”

  “Maybe.”

  “February is beautiful. You must come and stay.”

  “I’d love to.” She thought of his wife and her exuberance deflated.

  “Come for a long weekend.”

  “I’ve requested a couple of days at the end of the trip.”

  “A couple of days? That’s too short. Come for a long weekend. Four days.”

  “I don’t know . . . What will your wife think?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I want to spend time with you. Where will you be before?”

  “Jo’burg and Cape Town.”

  “I’ll come and see you.”

  “I’d love that.”

  “I couldn’t bear to think of you in the same country as me without being able to see you. I’ll pick you up at the airport.”

  “I’m going to have to work.” She laughed at his enthusiasm.

  “All work and no play . . .”

  “I’ll make time to play.”

  “I can think of a few games.”

  “Will you be allowed off the porch?”

  “I’m already off the porch, darling. I was off the porch the moment I laid eyes on you at Scarlet’s.”

  “Then we’ll meet in Johannesburg.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “Neither can I. I haven’t told Olivier yet.”

  “He won’t ban you from a book tour, surely?”

  “I hope not. But I’ll have to convince him that it’s really necessary.”

  “Darling, it is more necessary than you know.”

  “Not sure he’ll agree with you.”

  “When are you going to tell him?”

  “Tonight.”

  “Let me know what he says.”

  “I’ll text you.”

  “I love your texts.” He paused, then lowered his voice to barely a whisper. “I think I’m falling out of love with you, Sage.”

  She remembered their conversation by the Serpentine: that you truly start to love someone only when you fall out of love with them. “You don’t know me well enough to fall out of love with me,” she replied softly.

  “I feel I’ve known you forever.”

  “But you haven’t, Jack.”

  “True, and we don’t have forever. But I’m living for now. And at this very moment, you’re here with me, and that’s more than I could wish for.”

  She put the mobile in her handbag and smiled to herself, the warmth of their conversation wrapping her in a pair of invisible arms. An old tramp in a ragged black coat was sitting on the next bench. He stared at her, his arms folded against the cold, a bottle of something toxic in a brown paper bag beside him. At his feet a skinny greyhound shivered in a dirty little coat of its own. Her heart buckled with compassion. Aware of her own good fortune and fueled by happiness, she delved into her handbag for a five-pound note. When she gave it to him, he blinked at her in surprise. “You’re a pretty lady,” he said, shoving the money into his pocket.

  “Thank you,” she replied.

  “I’d like to fuck you.” He grinned at her toothlessly, and Angelica’s stomach churned in disgust. She hurried away, wishing she hadn’t parted with that five-pound note. No good deed goes unpunished, she thought as she hailed a taxi outside the Ritz Hotel.

  That night she went to see the new James Bond film in Leicester Square with Olivier, Joel, and Chantal. At dinner afterwards at the Ivy, Angelica decided to tell Olivier about her book tour in front of his friends. That way he’d be less likely to refuse her. “Darling,” she said after he had eaten a healthy portion of lobster and drunk almost a whole glass of Sancerre, “my publisher wants me to go to South Africa on a book tour in February.”

  “That sounds fabulous,” Chantal enthused.

  “It’s not all that fabulous. Boo
k tours are really hard work,” Angelica replied, watching Olivier nervously. She took a sip of wine and hoped he couldn’t see her heart jumping through her sweater.

  “I didn’t think you wanted to go on book tours.” Olivier’s face clouded.

  “Well, I have to go sometime, and I’ve said no to Australia.”

  “I agree: that’s too far for a mother to travel,” said Chantal. “But South Africa is so pretty.”

  “Pretty and dangerous,” interjected Joel.

  “Oh, I’ll be perfectly safe.”

  “I had a friend who was nearly murdered in Johannesburg.”

  Chantal rolled her eyes. “Mon cher, everyone has a friend who was nearly murdered in Johannesburg. Being held up with a gun is as common as being accosted by those Big Issue people over here. They are on every street corner. But don’t worry, Angelica, I’m sure you will be well looked after.”

  “I don’t like the sound of it,” said Olivier, having considered it. “Who’s going to look after the children?”

  “I’ll get someone. Chrissie, for example, or Denise—the children trust them.” She hoped those nannies who had worked for her in the past would be available.

  “Do you want to go?” Olivier asked.

  “I’d like to. It’ll be good for my career, although I’ll miss the children dreadfully.”

  “And your husband,” Chantal reminded her. “Husbands need their wives more than children. Especially French husbands.” She gave Joel a playful nudge.

  Joel laughed. “I don’t like to let Chantal out of my sight. But what can I do?” He shrugged. “I’d do anything to avoid her sulking.”

  “I don’t sulk!”

  He let his jaw drop. “Chantal, you were born sulking! If you didn’t get your seasonal shopping trip to New York, your face would be in a permanent scowl that no Botox or collagen could cure.”

  “You’re so silly!” She laughed. “Well, Olivier. This is a dilemma. What are you going to do? A girl needs a bit of freedom from time to time. It’s good for the marriage.”

  He thought about it a moment. “I agree. It is good to be apart every now and then. How long will you be gone?”