The Perfect Happiness

by Santa Montefiore

  “I don’t know. Just over a week.”

  He pulled a face. “More than a week?”

  “It’s a one-off,” said Angelica hopefully. Joel refilled Olivier’s glass.

  “I don’t think you’ve ever been away for so long.”

  “Which is why she deserves to go. You men are always traveling,” said Chantal. “We, on the other hand, stay at home, look after the children—”

  “And spend our money,” interrupted Joel.

  “There has to be some compensation, surely!” Chantal protested. “I gave up a good job to be a mother. Angelica has a good job as well as being a good wife and mother. For that she deserves a break.”

  “It’s not fun, I promise you. But apparently these tours really boost sales, and my next book is out in February.”

  “It’s not the money I care about,” said Olivier, whose pride prohibited him from admitting that he might be struggling financially. “As long as the children are taken care of. You can’t expect me to come home early to help with their homework. And as long as you are safe. I want you back in one piece, Angelica.” He took her hand. She noticed how tired he looked around the eyes.

  “It’ll be fine. I’m hardly going to be roaming the streets at night, or lurking in dangerous places.”

  “Perhaps you should go with her!” said Joel.

  Angelica was horrified. “And leave the children without either parent?” she exclaimed. “In which case I’d rather not go. Forget it, Olivier. It doesn’t matter. Besides, I haven’t said I’ll go.”

  It was a gamble, and she held her breath. He took a gulp of wine. The waiter came with their main courses and placed them on the table. Olivier’s mood lifted at the sight of his steak.

  “Go,” he said, picking up his knife and fork. “I’ll survive without you for a week or so. At least I won’t have to contend with all your makeup littered around the bathroom.”

  “No dimmed lights and scented candles, Leona Lewis and Neil Diamond.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I might even surprise myself and miss them.”

  Angelica knew she would have to tell Candace that she was going to South Africa. There was no point lying about it. Candace would find out one way or another. But instead of telling her immediately, as she normally would, she decided to wait until nearer the time. She confirmed the dates with her agent: February 7–15, just before half term, and agreed to stay at Jack’s vineyard for the last three days.

  At the beginning of December, the girls gathered at Scarlet’s house for a Christmas lunch. Scarlet had decorated her home with a large fir tree in the hall, its branches heavy with gold tinsel and big glass balls that shone like glittering bubbles amid the fairy lights. On the top sat the silver star Charlie had made at school out of tin foil. The bannisters were interwoven with garlands of holly and berries, and mistletoe laced the door frames. Choirs singing carols resounded from invisible speakers, and a fire raged in the grate beneath a row of cards draped decoratively on ribbon. On the hall table a tray of tall purple flutes fizzed with the finest champagne.

  Candace arrived bearing a big scented candle from Jo Malone, which Scarlet placed in the middle of the coffee table and lit. Letizia bought faux-diamond collars for the cats, while Kate had gone to SpaceNK and filled a bag with her favorite beauty products. Angelica bought The Shopaholic’s Guide to Buying Online and some cookies from Ladurée.

  “Well, dolls, isn’t this a fine way to spend a rainy afternoon?” asked Scarlet, sinking into the sofa, a glass of champagne in hand. “I love all the presents. Must make a point of throwing lunches more often!” Outside, the wind swept through the plane trees, whipping away the last remains of autumn.

  “It’s been an exhausting few months,” said Kate, who now looked like she’d swallowed a football. She patted her belly that strained against her little Ralph Lauren cashmere dress. “Amelia wants me to call it Jordan. Phoebs says that if it’s a boy, he can go back. She absolutely doesn’t want a brother.”

  “Just call the stork,” said Candace.

  “If only one could put in an order and have it delivered like a pizza.” Kate laughed. “I’m bored of being the oven!”

  “What does Pete think?” Letizia asked, pulling Taz onto her knee to attach her new collar.

  “Naturally he wants a Russian name.”

  “Very romantic,” said Angelica, envisaging Lara from Dr. Zhivago.

  “Vladimir,” Candace suggested in her best Russian accent.

  “Please, no,” said Kate. “For this one I want a name that no one else has.”

  “You’ll have to make it up, then,” said Candace.

  “Angelica, you’re good at names. Your novels are full of weird words.”

  “How do you know? You’ve never read one!” said Candace.

  “I read the back-of-the-hovel one in Waterstone’s,” Kate retorted.

  “Caves, not hovels,” Letizia corrected.

  “Whatever, I saw a whole lot of extraordinary names.”

  “On your way to the magazine section,” added Candace.

  “I have ADHD—I can’t possibly get through a whole book. Anyway, the point is that Angelica is good at names. She has a wild and wonderful imagination.” She turned to Angelica. “Will you think of a name for my baby?”

  Angelica laughed. “That’s too much responsibility.”

  “You don’t want to get it wrong,” Candace warned, drawing a line across her neck with her fingernail.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Kate. “I only want suggestions.”

  “Which you’ll disregard,” said Candace.

  “Just flick through Grazia for inspiration,” Scarlet interjected. “I don’t think there’s a celebrity who hasn’t chosen a mad name for her child.”

  “Like Apple, Suri, and Bluebell.” Kate knew them all.

  “If you want a name that no one else will give their child, try Jane or Mary,” said Candace. “Trust me, she’ll be the only one of her generation.”

  Lunch was in the dining room. They gossiped about the people they had in common, dragging up the same old names to peck at like vultures. Scarlet thought Jenna Elrich’s husband was having an affair with Caterina Tintello, having seen them together at Annabel’s. Letizia was sure Hester Berridge had had a face-lift, although Scarlet disagreed, claiming that she’d never put that sort of money into anything other than her horses. However, they weren’t the only group of women to gossip: London was visibly vibrating with rumor. “I hear that you’re going to South Africa,” Kate said to Angelica. Angelica was caught off guard.

  “South Africa? When?” Letizia asked.

  “Book tour,” Angelica replied casually, unable to look at Candace. “The dates haven’t been finalized yet.”

  “I was in Michaeljohn yesterday, having my hair cut by the fabulous Enzo, and found myself sitting next to Chantal de Claire.”

  “Karma,” said Candace. “What goes around, comes around.”

  “Sounds very glamorous,” said Scarlet. “There’s a fabulous spa near Cape Town—now, what’s it called?”

  “It’s not at all glamorous. It’s really hard work, giving talks and interviews. It’s relentless. No fun at all. I’m literally spending a few days in Jo’burg and a few in Cape Town.”

  “Wedgeview,” said Letizia. “It’s in Franschhoek. My mother went there last year and said it was fabulous. Maybe we should all go with you!”

  “A fine idea,” said Scarlet. Then to Angelica: “You can pop in and visit your old flame Jack Meyer.” Angelica felt her cheeks flush and took a big gulp of wine. “They have the most beautiful vineyard called Rosenbosch.”

  “I don’t think I’ll have time for that, sadly. Olivier will only let me go for a week, and it’ll be packed with work.” She caught Candace’s eye.

  Candace put down her knife and fork and placed her hands in her lap. “You know what, Angelica, if you want to go to that vineyard, you’ll make time. No one ever turned down an opportunity like th
at because they didn’t have the time.”

  By that, Angelica knew she meant an affair. And as always, she was right.

  16

  Count your blessings and watch them multiply.

  In Search of the Perfect Happiness

  Angelica dreaded Candace’s confronting her about Jack. But it was inevitable. Candace was not the sort of girl who swept things under the carpet and dissembled when she was furious or upset. Angelica knew she’d always tell her the truth, even though the truth hurt. The only consolation was that her friend had a big heart, and her advice was never for her own selfish ends. Candace was immune to jealousy, secure in her own skin and solid in her beliefs.

  The moment came over coffee in Starbucks on Kensington High Street an hour before picking up the children for the Christmas holidays.

  “Look, Angelica,” Candace began, stirring her cappuccino. “I know you’re still communicating with Jack. I’ve known it for months. I don’t mind that you haven’t told me. I shouldn’t expect you to tell me everything.” Angelica made to speak, but Candace stopped her. “No, let me finish. I also know that you’re going to see him in South Africa. I have strong instincts, so don’t deny it. And I know you saw him the night of Kate’s party for Art, and I know you’ve been texting—and probably calling, for all I care. The point is, I’m your friend, and I’m concerned about you. I can’t let you walk into something that has the potential to tear your family apart. I have to warn you because you don’t seem capable of seeing the pitfalls yourself.”

  “I know the pitfalls.”

  “No, you don’t. You think you know the pitfalls. If you really knew them, you’d make damn sure you avoided them at all costs. Right now, you’re in love. You can’t see beyond your desire, which is totally understandable. Desire clouds a person’s judgment. But I beg you, cancel your trip and stop communicating with him. This is way more dangerous than you can imagine, in your state of mind.”

  “Firstly, I’m not having an affair.”

  “An affair is not simply sex, Angelica. You’re having an affair of the mind, and that’s almost worse. If it was just sex, I’d say, do it, finish it, and leave it alone. An affair of the mind is an addiction and therefore far harder to quit.”

  “We’re friends.”

  “No, you’re not. Friends want the best for each other. If he’s pursuing you, then he’s not your friend: he’s only thinking of himself and his desires. If he really cared about you, he’d leave you to your husband and your children.”

  Angelica began to bite her nail. “I probably won’t see him in South Africa.”

  “Bullshit. You’ve already arranged to see him. Don’t tell me that you haven’t already told him you’re going and that he hasn’t already invited you to his farm. What on earth does his wife think? Will she be there? Have you asked? Will his children be there? What will Olivier say when he finds out? Which he will, because they always find out, one way or another. Are you the only one he’s chasing? From what Scarlet says he has a girl in every town.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” Angelica replied quickly.

  Candace raised an eyebrow. “Oh dear, you have got it bad. Look, you have to ask yourself the questions: What does he want from you? Where’s it going to go? Do you want to leave Olivier and the children and run off with him? Are you going to break up two families to be together? Is that what you want?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Then drop it, Angelica.”

  They drank their coffee in silence while both digested what had been said. Finally, Candace drained her cup. “Are you and Olivier having problems?”

  “No.”

  “Things are really bad in the City at the moment. Olivier is probably terrified of losing his job. He must be beyond stressed out.”

  “He is very stressed and completely self-absorbed,” Angelica replied bitterly.

  “So he’s not listening to you. You’re not listening to him. He’s not giving you attention. Look, it happens. Romance gives way to domestic life. That’s what marriage is. But you have to work at keeping the romance burning. Maybe you should both go away without the children. Be a man and woman together rather than a mother and father. Remember what attracted you to him in the first place. If your lives are running parallel but not touching, then you have to rebuild the tracks. Olivier’s a really great guy, and he loves you. Isabel and Joe depend on you. Their entire world rests on you and Olivier. You break up, the foundations crack beneath them. The simple truth is that you can’t have everything you want in life. Duty has to come first when you’ve brought two little people into the world. It’s your responsibility to give them a solid base camp for life. Don’t think it isn’t.”

  Angelica sighed heavily. “I hear you.”

  “You know, we live in a disposable culture. We run a hole in a sweater, we don’t mend it like our mothers used to do, we trash it and buy a new one. We want something we can’t afford, we buy it anyway, on credit, and pay later, because you know what? We think we deserve everything we want. We think our happiness is a right, like our right to live on this planet. We’re the ‘me’ generation, and it’s all about how to make ‘me’ happy. So we desire another woman’s husband, we feel we have a right to him, because our happiness is paramount, and God forbid anyone stand in the way of that. There’s no sense of duty or responsibility anymore, and I know I’m sounding like my grandmother, but she lived a more moral life, where she made her vows before God and kept them, whether she was happy or not. It wasn’t all about ‘me’—but about taking responsibility for one’s choices and putting duty before personal gratification. I don’t want to preach, but you’re happy with Olivier. Sure, he’s not an easy man, but he makes you laugh when he’s on form, and you love him. Do you really feel you deserve another woman’s husband? Do you really feel Olivier deserves to be a cuckold? Do you really feel your happiness is more valuable than Joe’s and Isabel’s, that you have a right to have an affair whatever the cost?” She sighed and took a sip of coffee while Angelica stared forlornly into her cup. “Selfishness is all part of the sickness of our world. The crazy idea that we have a God-given right to be happy all the time and if we’re not, some-thing’s not right—but hell, it’s not our fault!”

  “Wow, you should run for president!”

  “I’m good at rhetoric.”

  “You sure say it like it is.”

  “I just don’t want to be the person who says I told you so. By then it’s too late and all the eggs in the basket are broken—and they’re such fine eggs!”

  “You won’t be that person, I promise.” You’re the sage, not me, Angelica thought bleakly. “You should write a book.”

  “Of course I should write a goddamn book, but I can’t write like you. I don’t have that gift, unfortunately. Besides, why share my wisdom with the rest of the world?” She shrugged on her cape and hooked her caramel Birkin over her arm. “It’s not ready for me yet!”

  Candace gave Angelica a lift to school. The pavement heaved with leggy mothers with sheepskin jackets and Anya Hindmarch handbags, and pale-faced children in immaculate green coats and hats, waving good-bye to their friends and teachers. The street was blocked with shiny Mercedeses and BMW Jeeps, solemn-looking chauffeurs in navy suits idling beside their vehicles. Joe and Isabel bounded out like excited puppies and flung their arms around their mother.

  Candace kissed Angelica affectionately. “You have a good Christmas,” she said, giving her a sympathetic look.

  “I’ll be fine. Christmas with my ghastly parents. New Year’s in Provence with Olivier’s ghastly mother and sisters. No texts to get me through it all. No warm Caribbean sea to lose myself in. But I’ll be fine. I’m made of strong British stock!”

  “There you go,” said Candace, smiling. “You hold on to that great sense of humor.”

  “If I can’t cry, I might as well laugh.”

  “Call me if you need me.”

  “I will.” She looked at her steadily. “Thank you.�
��

  “Don’t mention it. What are friends for?”

  Angelica had no intention of giving up Jack. As far as she was concerned, she hadn’t done anything wrong. He made her laugh, and he made her feel attractive, and she didn’t see anything wrong with that. So they were falling in love with each other, but they were wise enough to know when to stop, weren’t they? And a little flirt with danger was not a crime; it made her happy.

  She was relieved the holidays had arrived at last. She never wrote when her children were home, so she had the perfect excuse to abandon her desk. Claudia was in for a shock. She had barely started her new book and what she had written wasn’t satisfactory. Meanwhile, sales of her paperback were good and she had received proof copies of The Silk Serpent, which had a fabulous shiny snake on the front with bright red eyes and a green forked tongue. She immediately sent one to Jack.

  The children were very excited to be home. They played in the garden, climbing the magnolia tree and feeding the birds. She took them to Kew Gardens, where they walked along the celebrated treetop walk, holding hands to reassure Angelica, who was afraid of heights. They made daily trips to Kensington Gardens to give bread to the swans and scale the pirate ship in the Diana playground. Angelica took them for a walk around the Serpentine, remembering the morning she had spent there with Jack and allowing her heart to flood with nostalgia. It was now bitterly cold, and frost hardened the ground and froze the trees into bent and twisted shapes like crippled old men. The skies were gray, darkness came early, and crows cawed into the icy air as they pecked the grass for worms.

  Angelica turned her thoughts to South Africa. She googled images of vineyards and dreamed about riding across the veld with Jack, the sun on their faces, the wind in their hair, their cares boxed up and left behind. They spoke often.

  On Christmas Eve Angelica and Olivier drove up to Norfolk to spend a couple of days with Angelica’s parents and sister. Angelica always dreaded going home but returned yearly out of duty and a misplaced sense of pity. She began to feel anxious the moment they left the city. Her stomach contracted into a tight ball, and she had to wind the seat down and lie flat to stop it from hurting. Isabel and Joe sat in the back quietly playing Nintendo while Olivier listened to Radio Four.