The Perfect Happiness

by Santa Montefiore

  “Is Cape Town as bad?”

  “No, Cape Town has less crime. It has a more European feel, being on the sea. I’d prefer to live there, but my work is here, so I have no choice.”

  “But there’s still a problem with crime?”

  “Wherever you get a vast divide between rich and poor, you’re going to get crime.”

  “And in the countryside?”

  “It’s everywhere. You have to be constantly vigilant. For us, it’s second nature. Talking of which, don’t wear those rings.”

  Angelica glanced at her diamond engagement ring and diamond eternity ring. “Really?”

  “Unless you want your finger sliced off.” Anita watched her blanch. “Don’t panic, you can wait until you get to the hotel. But then I’d put them away somewhere safe.”

  “I’ve never taken them off.”

  “No time for sentimentality. Better to be safe than sorry.” Angelica toyed with them. I’ll put them back on with my skin. But somehow, removing her wedding ring felt worse than removing her skin.

  They arrived at the Grace Hotel through a shopping mall. “Safer than walking outside,” Anita said, and after their conversation about crime, Angelica was grateful. The mall was busy with shoppers, like an ant colony where all the action takes place underground. Sweeping her eyes over the shop fronts, she thought she’d rather spend the afternoon there than lying by the pool, burning. “There’s a really good African market around the corner. If you like, I’ll take you there this afternoon. Full of jewelry and fabrics. It’s quite touristy, but you can haggle and get the prices down. There are some really nice things, once you get your eye in.”

  The Grace was an elegant, old-fashioned hotel with comfy red sofas, gilt mirrors, mahogany furniture, and brass fittings. Angelica was reminded of London. They checked in swiftly, and Anita left her with the porter. “You have an hour or so to relax. I’ll call you from here when it’s time to come down.” Angelica was happy to be left on her own in her room. She tipped the young man, who smiled appreciatively, left her suitcase on the luggage rack, and departed. The room was tasteful and airy, with tall windows, pale green walls, a king-size bed, and a mahogany desk. They obviously valued her highly to put her in such a grand hotel. She went to the telephone to call Olivier. She longed for news of the children. But as she picked up the receiver she felt her resentment resurface. In spite of wanting to hear news of Joe and Isabel, she didn’t feel ready to speak to her husband. She put the receiver down and went into the marble bathroom for a shower. She’d leave Olivier to stew and call Jack instead.

  Any doubts about her intentions were carried away with the soap. She closed her eyes and let Jack’s broad face surface in her mind. She found herself smiling with guilty anticipation at the prospect of kissing him again. She could almost feel his bristles on her skin, his breath on her neck, and his big arms around her body. After showering, she sat in her towel and took off her rings. They were not easily removed, and she had to twist and turn and pull. With a sigh of resignation she slipped them into the pocket of her wash bag. Her hand looked naked without them, but she felt free.

  She switched on her mobile and reluctantly sent a text to Olivier with the hotel telephone number, adding that he wasn’t to call her as she was busy at an event. Jack had called three times. She pressed redial. It rang only once before he answered. “There you are!” His voice was so cheerful she forgot all about Olivier.

  “At last.”

  “At the Grace?”

  “Right here.”

  “I can’t believe you’re in the same city as me.”

  “Neither can I.”

  “So you’ve got this lunch event.”

  “Here at the hotel.”

  “Then what?”

  “Nothing until four, when I have to go to Pretoria for a teatime event.”

  “Then dinner with me.” She sensed his grinning into the telephone.

  “Dinner with you.”

  “I don’t think I can wait that long.”

  “Well, you have to.”

  “My God, you’re here in Johannesburg. It feels so surreal.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “It is now, because you’re in it.”

  She laughed, embarrassed. “You are funny!”

  “What’s your room number?”

  “Two-o-seven.”

  “I’ll call you this afternoon.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “Neither can I.” He seemed in a hurry to go. Reluctantly, she hung up.

  Her spirits high with excitement, she rummaged in her case for something to wear, pulling the contents onto the carpet, where they remained in an untidy heap. She chose a duck-egg-blue sundress from Heidi Klein and wedge espadrilles. Her skin glistened with body oil and an abundance of Stella McCartney rose and amber eau de toilette, and she scrunched her hair dry so that it fell over her shoulders in thick curls. In spite of the creases on her dress she was pleased with her appearance. She waited for Anita to ring from downstairs. Looking at her watch, she had twenty minutes to kill. She went and stood at the window, looking out onto the sunny gardens below, smiling at the small birds that played merrily among the trees and gardenia bushes.

  The sound of the doorbell made her jump. Expecting Anita, she strode over to open it. To her astonishment, Jack stood in the corridor like a shaggy brown bear, his mouth curled into a triumphant smile.

  “I couldn’t wait,” he said, taking her in with one greedy sweep of his eyes. Before she could reply, he pulled her into his arms, shuffled into the room, and closed the door behind him. “My God, you smell delicious.” He buried his face in the crook of her neck and inhaled hungrily. Angelica laughed with delight, then gave in to the sensual feeling washing over her like a tide of warm honey. Her legs weakened and she felt her stomach lurch, as if plummeting from a great height.

  He placed his lips on hers, and she felt his bristles scratch her chin, then the warm, wet sensation as he parted her lips with his tongue. She forgot about Anita and the lunch event as he unzipped her dress and ran his hands up her back and around to her breasts, caressing her nipples with his thumbs. She let out a low moan and threw her head back. Her dress floated down to her feet, where it remained like a blue pool around her ankles. Before her legs gave way, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. For once her mind was lost for words, neither condemning nor justifying her infidelity. It remained empty and detached, allowing a sensual wave to wash her into a transient paradise where it was just her and Jack, at liberty to love each other.

  He took off his glasses and placed them on the bedside table. She laughed. “Can you see me?”

  His eyes looked bigger without them, the color richer, with a shade of sage green making them almost gray. “My sense of touch is more than enough to satisfy my need to savor you.” Gently, he brushed her hair off her face, tenderly kissing her forehead, her temples, her cheeks, and her chin, tracing her jawline with his tongue. While he played with her ear his hand stroked her belly and hips, moving down to her thighs and over her silky Calvin Klein panties. She closed her eyes, parted her legs, and invited him in with a wantonness that surprised her. With an ecstatic sigh she was swept over the final frontier.

  A little later, the telephone brought them back to reality with a jolt. They lay entwined, their naked limbs thrown over each other casually, hearts slowly decelerating with their breathing. “That’s my call for lunch,” she whispered with a laugh. “How do I look?”

  “Glowing.” He pressed his lips to hers with a smile. “Shame you have to go. I could do that all over again.”

  “We have an hour this afternoon.” She sat up and picked up the telephone. “I’ll be down in a minute,” she told Anita.

  “I can think of a lot of mischief we can get up to in one hour.”

  “That was pretty good for twenty minutes.”

  “Tonight, I’ll take my time.”

  She got up and hurried into the bathroom, picking up
her dress on the way. When she saw her reflection, she laughed throatily. Her hair was wild, her cheeks raw, her mascara smudged beneath her eyes. She washed herself with a flannel, repaired her makeup, and sprayed another cloud of scent across her chest. When she emerged, Jack was already dressed in a biscuit-colored suit with an open-necked blue shirt. “You look smart,” she said, walking over to kiss him again. “I was so shocked to see you, I didn’t notice.”

  “I’ve got a grand lunch to go to.”

  “Oh?”

  “There’s a really hot speaker who’s come all the way over from London just to talk to us.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You’re not coming to my talk, are you?”

  “Believe me, there’s only one hot speaker in the whole of Johannesburg.”

  “You can’t!”

  “Why not?”

  “There isn’t room for you. It’s fully booked.”

  “I know. I must have been the last person to get a ticket.”

  “How?”

  He shrugged. “I’m your cousin.”

  “My cousin?” She looked incredulous.

  “They have to make space for family.”

  “You’re going to distract me.”

  “I hope so. I’d be very put out if I’d gone to all that trouble not to have any effect at all.”

  “Now I’m really nervous.”

  “Don’t be. I’m your biggest fan, and besides, I’ve read The Silk Serpent, which is more than can be said for the rest of the guests downstairs.”

  “They can buy their copies today.”

  “And they will, when I tell them what a work of genius it is.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her again.

  Anita was waiting in the lobby downstairs. They walked out of the lift together as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “This is Jack Meyer, my cousin,” said Angelica. Anita shook his hand, but she was more concerned with getting her author to the event on time.

  “Everyone’s here waiting. Let’s go.” Angelica caught Jack’s eye and grinned.

  “Good luck,” he said. “I’ll put up my hand and ask the first question.”

  “That would be really helpful,” said Anita. “People are often a little shy.”

  “Not in Johannesburg,” said Jack.

  “Well, that’s true. We’re a pretty outspoken lot. But still, it’ll be good to get the ball rolling.”

  The dining room was full of eager-looking children with their parents and grandparents. Jack and Angelica were immediately separated. Anita led Angelica into the crowd to meet her fans, while Jack wandered over to the other side of the room, where he stood by the window, watching her. She felt his eyes upon her like the sun, and once or twice raised hers to lock comfortably into his gaze like a sunflower that automatically finds the light. This is what it would be like if I had another life, she thought, staring at the handsome man who, only moments ago, had been making love to her. She pulled away and turned her smile on the children, thanking them for coming out to meet her on a Sunday, shaking hands with their parents, who told her how they had read The Caves of Cold Konard, too, and couldn’t put it down. All the while she was fizzing inside because Jack was there, in the same room, breathing the same air.

  21

  Joy is not in things; it is in us.

  In Search of the Perfect Happiness

  Later that afternoon, Angelica lay in Jack’s arms on the hotel bed, her naked body pressed against him, her leg wedged comfortably between his. They molded together perfectly, like intertwining branches of a gum tree. She didn’t feel guilty. It felt so natural, and they were so far from her London life and the risk of getting caught. It wasn’t hard to pretend she was single again.

  Her talk had been a success. Jack had been true to his word and asked the first question. She had struggled to maintain her composure as the room had grown quiet and everyone had turned their attention to her. She was barely aware of what he asked, so distracted by his charisma that lit him up like some supernatural being—or perhaps it had been the sunlight streaming through the French doors behind him that had made it almost impossible to see him but in silhouette: his shaggy, unkempt hair framing his darkened face, his imposing stature that dwarfed the two women sitting on either side of him, the granular tone of his voice that resonated with the intimacy of their lovemaking. She was filled with gratitude that, for the moment at least, this leonine man belonged to her.

  Marjory Millhaven, who had organized the event, clapped her hands exuberantly, announcing to everyone that Jack was the speaker’s cousin. A shadow of anxiety had passed across his face as the entire room had strained to get a better look at him. A few young mothers had tittered appreciatively, and Angelica had hastily answered his question, moving swiftly on to the next. So pleased was she with her lunch that Marjory was reluctant to let Angelica go, insisting at every attempted departure that she stay another ten minutes. Aware that the clock was gnawing through her afternoon with Jack, she hastily signed more books, talked to each child who approached her, and finally extricated herself by promising to come back another year.

  “You were a real pro today,” Jack said, running his fingers through her hair. “As your cousin, I was very proud.”

  “You were brave to come.”

  “I know. South Africa is a small place. There was a chance I might have known someone, but I didn’t.”

  “What would you have done?”

  “Pretended you were my cousin,” he replied nonchalantly, as if it really wasn’t such a big deal.

  “Does your wife know you’re here?”

  “Yes, and she knows I’m taking you out for dinner.”

  Angelica was astonished. “She doesn’t mind?”

  “You’re my friend.”

  “Do you sleep with all your friends?”

  “Only you.” He kissed her forehead. “I can’t lie to her.”

  “So you’ve told her how you feel about me?”

  “No, she hasn’t asked.”

  “But if she did ask, what would you tell her?”

  “She won’t. She respects my boundaries.”

  “Isn’t she at all possessive?”

  “We’ve been married twenty years. She knows me well enough to give me my freedom.”

  “She sounds extraordinary. Do you offer her the same freedom?”

  “She doesn’t require it.” He sounded like Olivier. Were all men such hypocrites?

  She sat up to challenge him. “So it’s all right for you to have an affair, but not for her?”

  “She doesn’t want one.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know.”

  “You have a very peculiar relationship.”

  “You’ll understand when you meet her. She’s unique.”

  Angelica had no desire to meet her. “Are you sure it’s a good idea?” she asked, seeking reassurance.

  He pulled her back into his embrace and squeezed her. “Are you crazy? You’re coming to Rosenbosch whether you want to or not. Don’t think about Anna.” Sensing her unease, he added: “Live in the moment, Angelica. Leave my marriage to me.”

  Angelica tried not to think about Anna as she sat in the car with Anita on the way to Pretoria. The traffic was heavy on the highway, shantytowns quivering in the heat and close enough for her to get a stirring sense of their poverty. Anita told her about the history of her country, what it was like living under apartheid, and the positive future she so passionately believed in. Angelica made all the right noises, half listening, half replaying the stolen hour she had enjoyed with Jack. She knew she should telephone Olivier, if only to put him out of his misery. Perhaps she had been unfair to treat him so coolly. But Joe would want to talk to her, and she dreaded hearing his voice, knowing it would drag her back to the reality she had so deliberately left behind. While she was removed from her family, she felt disconnected, as if she were living another woman’s life.

  Anita parked the car in the parking lot, bribing the at
tendant to watch it, as was the custom.

  “What would happen if you didn’t pay him?” Angelica asked, following her towards the restaurant.

  “He’d probably steal it himself!” She laughed.

  The restaurant was a log cabin. Angelica took a deep breath, bracing herself for another talk. But as she stepped into the foyer she was transported into the world of Cold Konard. The lights were dimmed and the walls decorated to look like the inside of a cave, hung with extravagant garlands of fake green weeds and purple and red crystals the size of footballs. She peered into the dining room, which had been cleared for what was obviously a children’s tea party. About fifty children were running around in fancy dress—as Mart and Wort, Yarnies, Elrods, Mearkins, and Greasy Grouchoes.

  She laughed with delight. “This is how it must feel to be J. K. Rowling,” she said to Anita as an oversize Wort strode over to welcome her.

  “I’m Heather Somerfield, or Wort,” she said, snorting in amusement at her effort to dress in character.

  “You look terrific!” said Angelica, though the Wort she had invented was a five-foot elf, not a monumental egg. “I’m so flattered by all the trouble you’ve gone to.”

  “The children love you. They’re so excited you’re coming. And so are we. I wanted to dress up as a Mearkin, but they don’t make green leotards in my size.”

  “You look great as Wort.”

  “Come and meet the children. There are some more convincing Worts in there.” She marched into the dining room and clapped her hands like a headmistress. “Girls and boys, it gives me great pleasure to introduce Angelica Garner, the author of The Caves of Cold Konard.” The squeals petered out as the children stopped their games and stared at her shyly. Angelica wished she had come in costume. It was clear that the talk she had planned for a ladies’ reading group would not be appropriate here. She’d lose their attention in the first sentence, and it would be horribly embarrassing. “So, Angelica, what would you like to do?” Heather looked at her expectantly.

  Good question . . . what indeed? Angelica thought anxiously. She gazed back at the fifty pairs of painted eyes and hesitated momentarily. They all looked so keen and expectant, waiting for her to speak. But she couldn’t talk about inspiration to a group of small children who had all made the effort to dress up. They required enchantment. She peered through the fog in her mind, trying to find something to grasp. Then, as if by magic, the fog lifted, and her mind was clear.