“I do. I mean, I’m going to meet your fifteen-year-old daughter. She’ll shake hands and smile, not knowing that I’ve been sleeping with her father. It’s so deceitful. It’s not what I wanted.”
“It’s not what I would choose, either. There’s a lot about my life that I wouldn’t choose. But there it is.”
She glanced at him and noticed his jaw tense. His anxiety made her feel a lot better. That was the first time he had implied that things weren’t all well with Anna. But how could they be? she reflected. For if he were blissfully married, would he have room in his heart to fall in love with her? If she were blissfully married, would she have fallen in love with him? She gazed out the open window and tried tossing her fears into the darkness.
“Here we are.”
He turned the car into the driveway, a long, straight dust track overhung with an avenue of towering camphor trees. Ahead, the lights of the house blazed into the semidarkness.
“Home sweet home,” she said, bracing herself.
The house was a pretty whitewashed building constructed in the mid eighteenth century in the Dutch style, with dark green shutters and gables sealing the pitched roof at both ends. In the middle, above the front door, an elaborate gable framing the upper-story window was the house’s main feature. Big terra-cotta pots stood against the wall planted with what looked like fruit trees. Dogs began to bark as the car drew up in front.
“You have a lot of dogs,” said Angelica, her stomach as tight as a ball of elastic bands.
“We love dogs. Some are rescue animals, others we’ve bought, one or two have just joined us for a while because they like the food.” He turned off the engine. “So what do you think?”
“It’s really lovely, Jack. I can’t wait to see it in daylight.”
“Tomorrow I’ll give you a guided tour of the whole estate. We’ll take the horses out and have a picnic lunch on the hill. You’re going to love it so much, you won’t want to go home.”
Angelica inhaled the exotic scent of camphor. “I think I already do.”
Her attention was diverted by the front door opening to reveal a slight woman in floppy white trousers and a man’s shirt, her brown hair tied casually in a loose ponytail. What struck her, though, was not her elegance but the warmth of her smile. It was the smile of a woman who knew nothing of her husband’s infidelities and had swallowed his explanations without a single, questioning chew.
“Welcome!” she cried, almost bouncing down the steps to greet her. She was the same height as Angelica but half the size. A delicate woman with fine, chiseled features; a long aquiline nose; strong chin and jaw; and bright, twinkling eyes the color of the gray clouds that Angelica had just seen from Sir Lowry’s Pass. “Jack has told me so much about you. I feel I know you already.”
Angelica was caught off guard. She allowed Anna to embrace her and couldn’t help but smile back, albeit apologetically. “It’s so nice to be here, finally,” she replied. “I’ve been looking forward to it all week.”
“Well, come on inside.”
Jack remained outside with the dogs, hauling her suitcase out of the car. Anna disappeared into the house. Angelica followed her over the polished wooden floorboards, past a round table adorned with a heavy brass pan of gardenia that filled the air with its sweet, sultry scent. The walls were off-white and quite bare but for a couple of large paintings of fruit set in heavy wooden frames. “How was the sunset?” Anna asked.
Angelica tried to answer casually, but her mind was whirring with all sorts of questions. “The most beautiful I have ever seen.”
“Sir Lowry’s Pass is one of my favorite places in the world. I told Jack to take you, if you arrived in time. It’s never the same. Sometimes the sky is pink, other times orange, gold, even purple. What was it tonight?”
“Molten gold.”
Her smile was almost triumphant. “Good. So you saw it in all its glory. I’m so pleased.” Angelica searched for some hint of bitterness, however small or well disguised, but found none.
Anna led her upstairs, across the landing decorated with bookcases and into a large bedroom with tall old-fashioned windows such as one might see in English Tudor houses, divided into many smaller square panes. In the center of the room stood a high four-poster bed, made of the same rich reddish-brown timber as the floorboards.
“This is a stunning room,” Angelica enthused, inhaling the smells typical of a house cooling down at the end of a hot day.
“I’m glad you like it. That bed’s very comfortable. I’ve had guests who have failed to get up for breakfast because they don’t want to get out of it. If you’d like breakfast in bed, just let me know.”
There were attractive lines around her mouth and eyes. She wasn’t beautiful, but her face was arresting as her vibrant personality shone through. Angelica couldn’t help but like her. She doubted there was a single person on the planet who didn’t like her.
The sound of Jack’s heaving her suitcase up the stairs made them both turn around. “Here come the whole contents of the African market.” He laughed and lifted it onto the antique wooden chest at the end of the bed.
“I hope you came with an empty suitcase,” said Anna.
“I should have. I didn’t expect to shop. I was meant to be worked like a donkey. I didn’t think I’d have time.”
“Well, at least you brought a big case.”
“And there’s a man in the house strong enough to carry it.”
“Only just,” said Jack. “How about a drink on the terrace?”
He strode past them and descended the stairs. Anna followed lightly behind, and Angelica felt a wrench in her heart. They both belonged here; she didn’t. She cursed herself for having the audacity to feel envious when it was she, not Anna, who was the impostor.
Outside, they sat on green gingham cushions at a table overlooking the gardens. The moon lit up a pagoda in the middle of a small, ornamental lake. White roses wound their way up the poles, and lilies floated on the water like pretty little boats. Beyond, the range of rocky mountains was silhouetted against the sky. The croaking of frogs and clamor of crickets were carried on a warm breeze, and jasmine scented the air beneath the awning. Anna had already laid the table for dinner and placed a vase of freshly cut roses in the center. Angelica couldn’t fail to notice her sense of style. Everything—from the black-and-white-tiled terrace to the chunky crockery decorated with painted green elephants—was touched by her self-assured good taste. She was one of those rare women blessed with flair: whatever she touched was rendered attractive, whether it was the way she decorated her house, the way she dressed, or a simple gift she might wrap for a friend, slipping a pretty butterfly under the ribbon. Angelica knew her type and admired her.
“I love your pagoda,” she said.
“That’s my little space. It’s where I meditate. My family know not to disturb me when I’m there.”
“You meditate?”
“Every morning and every evening. At sunrise and sunset, for an hour.”
“You have amazing self-discipline. I only manage once a week. I never find the time.”
“You have a busy London life. You write books, you have small children, you have a husband and a house to run. I didn’t meditate for two hours a day when our children were little, more like twenty minutes, snatched at the end of the day and then with half an ear on the children in case they woke up and needed me. Try to find ten minutes at the beginning of your day, before you start working. Just a little time to go within yourself and find that quiet place. It’s very restorative, and keeps you looking young.”
“Well, that’s an incentive.”
“You wouldn’t think I was nearly fifty, would you?”
“You’re joking!” Anna didn’t look older than forty.
“No, it’s true. I can only put it down to meditation and trying to find serenity in my day-to-day life.”
Angelica looked across the table at Jack, who was pouring the wine. “Anna should write
the book on the quest for happiness.”
She laughed, and there was a sweet charm in the way her nose crinkled. “So many books have been dedicated to that elusive subject. If I knew the secret to happiness, I’d have levitated into nirvana by now. But I’m here, very human and full of flaws.”
At that moment Lucy appeared from the sitting room with a scruffy dog in her arms. She was tall and pretty, with curly light brown hair and big brown eyes, like her father. “Ah, Lucy,” said Jack. “I want you to meet Angelica Garner, a friend of mine from London.”
The girl’s eyes lit up. “I love your books,” she said, extending her free hand.
“Who’s that?” Angelica asked, nodding at the dog.
“This is Domino. He found his way into our garden—”
“And into Lucy’s heart,” continued Anna.
“Come and join us,” said Jack.
“Do you mind if I don’t? I’ve already eaten, and I want to do some more on my project.”
“What project is that?” Angelica asked.
“I’m doing a project on the Russian tsars for school.”
“That sounds interesting.”
“A lot of work.”
“Do you have to cover all of them?”
“Just the important ones.”
“Cherry-picking.”
“Yes.” Lucy laughed. “I’d rather be reading your new book. I gather Daddy’s already read it.” She raised her eyes to her father and grinned. “When will you give it to me?”
“If I give it to you now, you’ll never finish your project.” Jack’s eyes were full of affection as he watched his daughter. “The Silk Serpent is your reward.”
She shrugged. “Better get back to my laptop. Are you staying all weekend?”
“Leaving on Sunday.”
“Good, I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” She kissed her parents and retreated inside.
“You have a beautiful daughter,” Angelica said to Anna.
“There’s not a lot of me in her,” Anna replied. “She’s her father’s daughter.”
“Lucky girl to be so tall.”
“She is lucky. They’re all tall like Jack. It cannot be said that my husband hasn’t improved my family gene pool.” Angelica noticed the way she gazed at her husband. There was something sad in it, wistful perhaps. His eyes slid away as if not wanting to see.
They drank wine, ate from a spread of salads, chicken, and bread, and talked about life. Angelica forgot to be jealous of Anna. It was as if she were a mythical enchantress blinding Angelica to her own fears and resentments. There she sat in her white linen shirt, her skin radiant and brown, her compassionate eyes glittering in the light of the hurricane lamps, smiling with a gentle peacefulness as if nothing bad or unpleasant in the world could touch her. When she looked at Angelica, she did so with affection, as if she were looking at her own daughter. Angelica wanted to feel antipathy. Anna stood between her and the man she loved, but she could find nothing but gratitude for the warm welcome, and the desire to hear her talk more.
When Anna disappeared into the house with the dishes, Angelica was left at the table with Jack. She lowered her voice and leaned towards him. “Anna’s a very special woman,” she said. She wasn’t sure whether she was asking a provocative question or making a genuine statement.
But Jack smiled triumphantly. “I told you you’d like her.”
“She’s very wise.”
“Like you.”
“I’m not wise, Jack. If I was wise, I’d walk away from here right now and return to my husband and children.” She dared touch his hand across the table. “Why do you want me, when you’re married to such an amazing woman?”
“Don’t compare yourself to Anna. I don’t.”
“What does she think I’m doing here? Doesn’t she suspect anything?”
“She doesn’t have a possessive bone in her body.”
“So she knows.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know what she knows. But she likes you.”
“I can’t imagine her disliking anyone.”
“Oh, she does, believe me. She can turn very frosty.”
“I think she sees the good in everyone.”
“I’ve seen her turn frosty if she feels her children are threatened, for example. She’s not all sweetness and light.”
“You know, the most ridiculous thing is that I want her to like me. Yet here I am sleeping with her husband. It’s awful. I’m a really bad person.” Candace is right: I’m thinking only of myself and my right to happiness.
“Don’t let me hear you talk like that. I told you, leave my marriage to me. It’s not your problem. If you want to feel guilty, then feel guilty about Olivier. Anna is my wife and my responsibility. Does she look unhappy to you?”
“No.”
“Then don’t worry about her.”
“I didn’t go into this considering your wife. I was only thinking about us. If I’d met Anna before, I’d never have entertained an affair. Never.”
He let go of her hand, sensing Anna returning from the kitchen with dessert. “Then it’s my good fortune that you are only meeting her now.” He grinned mischievously. “When it’s too late to back out.”
After dinner Jack played the piano in the sitting room. A cool breeze slipped in through the French doors, bringing with it the sweet scent of jasmine and damp grass. Anna and Angelica sat on the sofa drinking coffee, listening to the music, the dogs sleeping on the carpet at their feet. Jack played sad tunes that made Angelica’s hair stand on end. His face was anguished, as if the music was coming directly from a tormented soul. He didn’t play from a score but from memory, and he closed his eyes to allow the melody to transport him. Angelica was so enthralled she didn’t notice Anna, wiping away tears, until he had finished. “Now I’ll play something happy,” he said, as if making a conscious effort not to look at his wife.
“Anything,” Angelica replied, feigning cheerfulness. “Just don’t ask me to sing.”
Later, when Angelica was in bed trying to sleep, she heard the doleful sound of the piano again. She didn’t dare get up in case Anna was with him. She lay listening, carried on the notes to a dark and melancholy place where dreams were unfulfilled and wishes hung suspended in the air, never to be granted. She felt a heavy sense of loss and the wetness of tears on her pillow. She could fantasize as much as she liked, but she and Jack would never ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after. Her thoughts sprang back to her children and made her feel suddenly quite desolate. What was moving Jack to such sorrow? When she finally drifted off to sleep, she dreamed of him, a distant, misty face in the sky. The faster she ran, the farther away he drifted, until she cried out in her sleep and woke herself up in panic.
24
Expand your view beyond the ego’s range.
In Search of the Perfect Happiness
The following morning Angelica was awoken by the excited clamor of birds in the plane trees outside her window. A dog barked in the distance, and guinea fowl exploded into a round of indignant complaint. She lay a while, relishing the foreign sounds, barely daring to believe that she was there at Rosenbosch. She climbed out of bed and crept across the squeaking floorboards to open the curtains. The sunshine tumbled into the room, and she squinted and threw an arm across her eyes. Blinded for a moment, she held on to the wall for balance. Then she tentatively opened her eyes.
The beauty of the view was breathtaking. The gardens glistened in the dawn light, beneath the bluest of skies. Towering pine trees and extravagant red flowering gum trees threw shadows onto the immaculately mown lawn, where white and blue hydrangeas grew in the borders, intermingled with forget-me-nots. Beyond, the vineyard stretched out to the hills beneath an eerie layer of mist that lingered like smoke. She noticed a lone bird of prey circling high in the sky, silently watchful for signs of breakfast below. The pagoda stood in the tranquility of the morning, in the middle of the ornamental lake. The surface of the water shimmered like a mirror, reflectin
g the perfection of the heavens above, and small, energetic birds fussed about the roses. She wondered whether Anna was in there meditating. She didn’t think there was any place on earth as peaceful as that little pagoda.
Not wanting to miss a moment, or give herself time to dwell on her children, she dressed in a pair of white trousers and light plimsolls, throwing on a diaphanous floral shirt. She left her hair to fall about her shoulders and sprayed herself with scent. She had noticed that Anna wore no makeup. Her style was effortlessly glamorous, though she doubted Anna would ever use that word to describe herself. So she didn’t bother with her usual morning ritual and skipped downstairs, bare-faced.
She went into the kitchen to find a jovial-looking African woman in a bright yellow headdress, piling up a tray with coffee and bread. “Good morning.” Her smile was dazzling against the rich brown of her skin.
“Good morning. I’m Angelica.”
“Very nice to meet you, Miss Angelica. My name is Anxious. Master is out on the terrace if you want to join him.”
“Thank you. I will.”
“Would you like some coffee?”
“I’d love tea . . .”
“I have a pot of tea ready. Madam likes jasmine tea in the morning, but I have Earl Grey if you would prefer.” The tray looked heavy, but Anxious lifted it off the table with ease and bustled efficiently towards the terrace. Angelica followed her.
Jack was at the table reading a newspaper, surrounded by his dogs. When he saw her, he jumped to his feet.
“Good morning, Sage,” he said, taking her around the waist and kissing her cheek.
He smelled of shaving foam and lime cologne. His hair was damp and pushed off his forehead into a thick froth of unruly curls. Behind his glasses his eyes shone with enthusiasm, the crow’s-feet searing through his temples like deep scars. He looked more handsome than ever.
She withdrew, afraid that his wife or daughter would notice their intimacy, and took a seat beside him. “Where’s Anna?”
“Gone off with Lucy to help with the harvest.”
“I thought she might be meditating in her pagoda.”
The Perfect Happiness Page 25
