The Perfect Happiness

by Santa Montefiore

  She heard the door close, and a gust of cold wind blew into the kitchen. She shivered. Olivier stood in the doorway. His face was gray. “Joe, go and play with your sister, I want to talk to your mother.” Joe knew something was wrong. He glanced at his mother anxiously.

  “We’ll read later,” she said, wanting to save her son from any disquiet. She closed the book and watched Joe reluctantly leave the room. With a heavy sigh she raised her eyes to her husband. Unlike Jack, his first thought was not for her safety but for his coat.

  “It was my favorite. I’d had it for twenty years. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I was too ashamed,” she replied truthfully. No point in pretending otherwise.

  “You lied. You said it was at the dry cleaner’s.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry for that. I wanted to avoid your fury.”

  “Well, you only delayed it.”

  “So I see.”

  “Why didn’t you show him the safe and offer him your jewelry? Why did you stop at the coat?”

  “Don’t be sarcastic.”

  He frowned and leaned against the sideboard. “Sometimes you baffle me, Angelica. Your dippiness is sometimes charming. But now it’s just worrying. I’m not sure that I can trust you.”

  The insult struck her. “This isn’t about trust. Or rather, it’s not about your trusting me, but my trusting a stranger. It happens to people all the time. I’m sure Kate would have done exactly the same.”

  “Kate would have given the keys to her house. That is not a good comparison.”

  “Look, I made a mistake. It’s only a coat.”

  “You let a total stranger into our house. He could have hurt the children!” He sighed melodramatically. “Well, I suppose I should be thankful that you didn’t hand them over so guilelessly.”

  “Now you’re being ridiculous.”

  “I don’t know that I can trust you where they are concerned. You put them in danger.”

  Angelica stood up, fists clenched at her hips as if she were about to strike him. “How dare you question my ability to look after the children! You don’t know the half of it. You’re in the office all day, returning late in the evening in a bad mood. Who looks after them on a daily basis? Who’s there to make sure they are picked up from school and fed? Who does their homework with them lovingly, every day, so that they understand their lessons? Who picks them up when they fall? Who kisses them better? Who tucks them in at night?” Then she fired her most lethal weapon. “Who do they run to when they need reassurance or when they hurt themselves? Don’t ever call me a bad mother. I’m a bad wife, sure, I’ll accept that. And you know what? Right now I don’t care. I gave your coat away . . . I wish I’d given you away!”

  Olivier watched her stride out of the room and into the hall. She grabbed her coat and handbag and marched into the cold street. Olivier heard the door slam and remained rooted to the floor in astonishment. When he had calmed down, he realized that he had gone too far.

  Angelica ran down Kensington Church Street, turning right at the church to sit on one of the wooden benches in the garden behind. It was dark, and she was alone. The old York flagstones glistened with damp. Not even pigeons ventured out on such a cold night. She wrapped her coat tightly around her shoulders and sobbed uncontrollably. The injustice of his accusation had wounded her deeply, as if he had taken a blade and sliced through the roots of her identity and pride. Joe and Isabel meant everything to her.

  When she had stopped crying, she pulled out her mobile telephone and dialed Jack’s number. The rings seemed to go on forever, but when he finally answered, the sound of his voice assuaged her anger, replacing the hate in her heart with love. A mental picture formed of Jack on a mountain flooded with light, while Olivier dwelt in a valley of shadow. Her spirit longed to join Jack up there where it was warm and radiant.

  “Olivier is the sort of man who says things he doesn’t mean in the heat of the moment. Don’t begrudge him for feeling frightened, Angelica,” he advised after she had told him what had happened.

  “He’s hurt me,” she said, her eyes again welling with tears.

  “My darling, don’t cry. You’ll be out here the day after tomorrow and in my arms as soon as you get to the hotel.”

  “If it wasn’t for my children, I’d never want to come back.”

  “When you told me the story, you frightened me, too.”

  “But you were kind.”

  “That’s my nature. I’m not hotheaded. I’m philosophical, and besides, I don’t imagine you’ll ever let a stranger into your home again, or give away one of Olivier’s precious coats.”

  “He’s very proud of his clothes.”

  “There’s no point getting angry with someone when they know very well how foolish they have been. There is no better teacher than experience.”

  “I wish Olivier felt like that.”

  “Experience is his best teacher, too. I bet he regrets saying that to you. He’ll learn to think before he speaks.”

  “I don’t want to go home.”

  “You have to face him and make up before you fly out tomorrow.”

  “I don’t have the heart to.”

  “Then take a walk, let the wind blow your anger away. Think about positive things.”

  “Like you.”

  “If that helps.” He chuckled, and she felt the gloom lift a little.

  “Life is too short to waste even a moment being angry. Every second is precious. Go home, wrap your arms around your children—that’ll make you feel better. Then wrap your arms around Olivier and make up.”

  “I’ll do no such thing. He should apologize first.”

  “Perhaps you have to be the bigger person this time.”

  “I’m not feeling big at all. I’m feeling hurt and furious and very small.”

  “Not the Sage I know, debating the secret of happiness, talking so fluently about the need to love unconditionally and detach from our egos. If you detach now, your pain will disappear because it is attached to your ego. No ego, no pain.”

  “How simple that sounds. But I have a very long way to go.”

  “Perhaps, but you could take a great big leap forward right now and make that distance shorter.”

  “Why have you suddenly become so wise?”

  “I’m only telling you what you would tell me in the same situation. I am the voice of your Higher Self.”

  “If my Higher Self sounded like you, I’d listen to it all the time.” She laughed and took a deep breath, no longer angry.

  In comparison to Olivier, Jack shone like a knight in shining armor. While Olivier had exploded with fury and accusation, Jack had cared only for her safety. For the first time she allowed herself to wonder what it would be like to be married to Jack. She didn’t attempt to work out how such a thing could be achieved, but she fantasized about it. She remained on the bench a while, arms folded, gaze lost in the dark, imagining what life would be like with Jack. Her visualization infused her spirit with joy. Did she love Olivier? Or was she so used to being married to him that she mistook familiarity for love? Right now, she felt no love at all, just resentment and the desire to wound him back.

  She looked at her watch. She had been gone an hour. There was no avoiding going home. Slowly she walked back up the road, head bent against the wind and drizzle. She saw the lights on and thought of the children wondering where she was. Their need pulled her home, as if she were attached to them by an invisible cord, rooted in her heart.

  Olivier heard the door close and appeared in the hall looking anxious. His face was white, and his eyes had lost their shine. “Where have you been?” He sounded defeated.

  “For a walk. I had to get out.” He watched her take off her coat and hang it in the cupboard.

  “I’m sorry I overreacted.” She shrugged, unable to dislodge her resentment. “I should not have accused you of being a bad mother.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have.”

  “I didn’t mean it. I was just ang
ry. I can buy another coat.”

  “Whatever.”

  “I can’t buy another wife and children.” He grinned sheepishly, hoping for a sign that she had forgiven him, but she remained stiff and unyielding. “Do you want to know what the policeman said?”

  “Not really.”

  “They’ve arrested the man. You have to go down tomorrow morning to identify him.”

  “I’ll ask him for your coat.”

  “I don’t care about the coat!” he growled impatiently. “Besides, he won’t see you.”

  “That’s a blessing.”

  “I care about you. I’m sorry, ma chérie.”

  She let him draw her into his arms but remained detached, as if she were above, watching him hold someone else. “Aren’t you going to forgive me?” he asked gently, pulling away to look into her eyes.

  “I’m hurt, Olivier. I can’t simply snap out of it like you can.”

  “What more can I do?”

  “You said the most awful thing. I can’t pretend I didn’t hear it.”

  His face reddened with frustration. “I wish I hadn’t said it. Let’s throw that moment away. It never happened.”

  “You should think more carefully before you accuse.”

  “I know. I’m an idiot! But you can’t fly off to South Africa feeling angry. What if something happens? The last words we will have said to each other are in anger. I would never forgive myself.”

  She stared at him a moment, as if seeing him anew. “It’s always about you,” she said boldly, empowered by the apprehension on his face. “Everything is always about you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m going upstairs to bathe the children. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I think a week in South Africa is just what I need—what we need. I’m tired of running around you, Olivier.”

  Angelica climbed the stairs without glancing back. When she had disappeared, he walked into the kitchen and poured himself a large whiskey, leaned back against the sideboard, and hung his head.

  Angelica bit her lip, suppressing her guilt. She had allowed herself to drift past another frontier, down the river towards the inevitable waterfall—and she hadn’t even tried to grab the hand outstretched to stop her.

  20

  One often finds one’s destiny on the road one takes to avoid it.

  In Search of the Perfect Happiness

  The following evening Angelica was in the plane, on her way to South Africa. She sat in her business-class seat, drinking a second glass of Sauvignon Blanc, trying to dull the ache in her heart as she replayed the parting scene with masochistic fervor. Joe had cried, burying his face in her neck, asking her over and over why she had to leave him. His stricken face and unyielding grip had weakened her resolve, and it had taken all her strength to pull away. If the book tour hadn’t been so meticulously planned, she would have canceled, but so many people depended on her now, it simply wasn’t possible. And it was only a week. She had pressed her lips to his wet cheek and whispered, “I’ll be back for the Full Joe.” Isabel had cried, too, but only because Joe cried and she didn’t want to be left out. Although only six, Isabel was made of stronger stuff. She was content with her bribes and the fact that she’d have her father to herself. He had promised to come home early every evening in time to read them a bedtime story. Isabel was happy to be left with her father; for Joe, only his mother would do.

  Angelica felt light-headed. It was a welcome feeling, masking the bruising caused by her row with Olivier and her parting from the children. She had kissed her husband coolly. He had held on to her for longer than was necessary, hoping for a softening in her demeanor. But her resentment was such that even though she willed herself to be loving, her heart refused to give in, remaining as tight as a clenched fist. Now that she was suitably tipsy, she could convince herself that she didn’t regret her behavior, that she had every reason still to begrudge him. The balance of power had never tipped so far in her favor before, but it was a hollow victory. Candace would have said that she had prolonged their row to give her the perfect excuse for adultery. She took another swig of wine and tried not to think of Candace, or to question her motives for prolonging her sulk. She drained her glass, almost convinced that given the way Olivier had treated her, she deserved someone to cherish her.

  She ate dinner, watched Vicky Cristina Barcelona, then lay flat beneath her blanket and fell asleep. She didn’t dream of Jack or Olivier, but of Joe and Isabel, their anxious faces pulling her heartstrings so hard they tore the flesh and bled.

  When they landed in Johannesburg, it was early morning, but already the light was dazzling. Used to the gray, cloudy skies of England, she squinted in the glare of the royal blue sky and let the sunshine lift her battered spirits.

  Sweeping her family to the back of her mind, she turned her thoughts to Jack. She had told him not to meet her at the airport as the publisher’s rep was going to pick her up and take her to her hotel. She’d have time only to shower before having to go downstairs for a lunch event. Although she had an afternoon talk with a ladies’ reading group in Pretoria, she had made sure that dinner was left free, explaining to her agent that she’d be tired after her flight and would go straight to bed. Jack was meeting her for dinner, somewhere quiet, but they had arranged to speak beforehand as she wasn’t sure what time she’d make it back from Pretoria.

  The thought of being on the same continent as Jack filled her with nervous excitement. She was moving inexorably towards an affair, and, even if she had second thoughts, it was too late to stop now; she hadn’t the will to turn the tide. It was that sense of inevitability that turned her stomach to jelly. But Candace was safely tucked away on the other side of the world, her voice of reason lost in the great distance that separated them, and she didn’t think of her family. She was in South Africa, far from anyone she knew, far from the Angelica she knew. Here, she could be anyone she wanted to be and somehow it wouldn’t count—she’d step back into her own skin on her return.

  As she walked into Arrivals, a pretty, brown-faced girl stood holding a handwritten sign with her name on it. Angelica waved, and the girl smiled in recognition, weaving nimbly through the crowd to greet her. “Hi, I’m Anita,” she said, laughing bashfully at her crude sign. “Sorry about this. I wasn’t sure I’d recognize you. Welcome to Jozi.” They shook hands.

  Angelica delighted in her accent. It reminded her of Jack. “It’s good to be here,” she said truthfully, inhaling the foreign air and tasting in the atmosphere the anticipated sweetness of forbidden fruit.

  “You look radiant, considering the long flight. Was it okay?”

  “I slept most of the way.”

  “Good, so you’re not too tired for your lunch event?”

  “Not at all.”

  “We’re fully booked, which is great. We even had to turn a few people away. It’s going to be fun.”

  They walked through the airport and out into the car park, where the midsummer heat was luxurious. Frothy trees shimmered in the breeze as birds flew in and out of the branches. Anita was cool in a black sundress with red pumps, and Angelica couldn’t wait to change out of her jeans into something lighter. They climbed into the hot car, and Anita turned on the air-conditioning. Piles of papers and files lay across the backseat, and at her feet was a bag containing bottles of water and shiny red apples. “In case you get thirsty,” she said, handing her a bottle. “Now, we’re going straight to the Grace. It’s really pretty. I think you’ll like it. It has a lovely garden behind with a swimming pool, so if you want to lie out this afternoon for an hour, be my guest. We’ll be leaving for Pretoria at four.”

  “Busy schedule!”

  “Claudia made it very clear that you wanted to squeeze as much as possible into these five days. I gather you have children to get back to.”

  “And an irate husband.”

  “Oh, he doesn’t like you to go away?”

  “No. He likes the domestic routine to stay the same. He
’s very persnickety. He likes things neat and tidy, from the way he folds his shirts to the way I slot into the home, looking after the children.”

  “Then it’s good for you to get away.”

  “Absolutely.” She breathed heavily, savoring the novelty of being unencumbered. “I’m going to enjoy having ‘me’ time.”

  “Spaces are good for relationships. You realize how much you miss each other.”

  Angelica laughed and put on her sunglasses. “I’m not missing him yet!”

  She turned her gaze onto the leafy streets of Johannesburg, devouring the exotic sights with fascination. Anita gave her a tour of the city as they drove into the center. What struck her immediately was the lack of people on the pavements. There were no mothers pushing prams, no joggers on the way to the park, no dog walkers. Houses hid behind tall, forbidding walls fitted with spikes and alarms; security guards stood at the gates, suspicious and watchful. No one seemed very keen to get out and enjoy the frothy plane trees and rampant bougainvillea.

  “There’s a terrible problem with crime. Everyone has a story to tell. It’s very sad, and it’s not getting any better. The only thing you can do is fortify your house so it’s as safe as a castle. If you’re a woman on your own, you don’t drive at night, and if you do, you don’t stop. Not even at robots.”

  “Robots?”

  “Traffic lights.” She laughed. “I know, foreigners always find that funny.”

  “So life goes on in people’s houses?”

  “Behind those walls you will find some of the most beautiful homes you have ever seen. Luscious gardens with palm trees and swimming pools, bright flowers and exotic birds. They live well. But for all that, they sacrifice their freedom.”

  “Is it worth it? Why don’t the rich move somewhere safer?”

  “Because their friends are here. Their lives are here. The climate is perfect. But don’t forget, we can’t take much money out, and Europe is very expensive. If you’re wealthy, what can you do? Leave it all behind and start again?”