The Perfect Happiness

by Santa Montefiore

  “I miss you, too, darling. But I’m coming home on Monday. We can have tea together. Shall we buy a cake at Patisserie Valerie on the way home from school?”

  “The raspberry ones with cream?” The thought of cake cheered her up as Angelica knew it would.

  “Any cake you like.”

  “I’ve painted you a picture.”

  “I can’t wait to see it.”

  “Have you seen any animals?”

  “Lots.”

  “Elephants and lions?”

  “Lots of birds.”

  “Will you bring me back a bird?”

  “There’s a really pretty one called the orange-breasted sun-bird. Sometimes they fly in a flock of thousands.”

  “Can I have one for my birthday?”

  “I’m not allowed to take them out of South Africa. But I’ve bought you some pretty things.”

  “Do you want to speak to Joe?”

  “Pass him on. I love you, darling.”

  “Love you, too, Mummy.”

  She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand and waited while Isabel dropped the telephone, picked it up, and handed it to Joe.

  “Come home, Mummy.” Joe’s voice was even more pathetic than Isabel’s had been.

  “I’m coming home on Monday.”

  “Why can’t you come home now?”

  “Because I have to take a plane, darling.”

  “Will you sleep on the plane?”

  “Yes, for a whole night. Has Daddy been looking after you well?”

  “He takes us to Patisserie Valerie.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “But I want you to come home, because you’re my best friend in the whole world.”

  “I miss the Full Joe.”

  “I’m empty.”

  “I’ll be home on Monday to give you a great big cuddle and fill you up. You only have three more segments on your caterpillar, don’t you?”

  “We tear one off tonight before we go to bed.”

  “Then you’ll only have two left.”

  “Yes. One more, then you come home.”

  “And give you the Full Mummy.”

  “Yes.”

  “I love you, darling. Will you pass me back to Daddy now?”

  Joe kissed the telephone. His breathing was so close to the receiver that Angelica could almost touch him. “I love you in my heart,” he said, before passing her back to Olivier.

  Angelica could barely speak for the ball of emotion lodged in her throat. The longing to hold her children was visceral. For a moment she came to her senses. What was she doing out there with Jack, when her children were in London, needing her?

  “So how’s it going out there?” Olivier’s voice reminded her of the old life she wasn’t sure she wanted anymore.

  “It’s been a whirlwind,” she croaked.

  “I bet the Meyers’ vineyard is really beautiful.”

  “It is. It’s the most beautiful place I think I’ve ever been to. The sunsets are just magical.”

  “We miss you, Angelica. I miss you.”

  Something inside her cramped with fear. The echo of the children in the background made her want to hurry home with her guilty tail tucked between her legs in remorse, like a disgraced dog.

  “I miss you, too,” she replied automatically. But she didn’t miss him at all; she was envisaging her children in South Africa where they could run wild like the steenboks of the veld.

  She hung up and sat a while on the sofa, the image of Joe and Isabel playing among the vines burning a hole in her imagination. It was there that Jack found her.

  “Is everything all right?” he asked, sitting beside her. She looked up, and a shadow of concern darkened his face as he registered her drying tears. “What’s happened, Angelica?”

  “Nothing. He just had me worried, that’s all.”

  “The children are fine?”

  “Yes. Everything’s fine. I didn’t expect him to call me here. He got your number from Scarlet. I truly thought something dreadful had happened. He frightened the life out of me.” She placed a hand across her pounding heart.

  “Do you want a drink?”

  “Or two?”

  He put his arm around her and pulled her close. “You’ll see them on Monday.”

  “I know.” She lowered her voice. “That’s what terrifies me, Jack. I want to see my children, but I don’t want Monday to come. I want to stay here with you.”

  “Don’t think about Monday, my darling. It’s still a long way off, and we still have many hours together.” He stood up and offered her his hand.

  She took it, rising to her feet. “I want you and my children, Jack.”

  “I know.” He squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Come on, let’s finish dinner, then we can sit in the pagoda and look at the stars.”

  Angelica felt she had to explain her tearstained face, so she repeated what she had told Jack about Joe and Isabel and how much she missed them.

  “I hope I’ll worry about them less when they’re older.”

  Anna smiled serenely. “You worry about them more as they get older because the dangers get worse the more independent they become.”

  “Oh, Mum!” Lucy complained. “Come on, Fiona. I think it’s a good time to leave.” The girls excused themselves and disappeared into the house.

  Anna laughed. “The trick is to worry about things where you have a certain degree of control, not about things over which you have no control at all.”

  “I worry about everything,” said Angelica hopelessly.

  “Worry is a negative emotion. It does nothing but eat away at you. If worry changes nothing except your state of mind, then it is better cast aside. Do you pray?”

  “Yes. Mostly when things are bad.”

  “That’s okay. But you pray for your children?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then worry is like negative prayer. You’re simply wrapping them in your dark thoughts. If you send them love, your thoughts reach them as light. Don’t send them your fears, send them your love. Be constructive.”

  “Do you really believe in the power of prayer?”

  Angelica looked at Anna and Jack, who were holding each other’s gaze for a long moment; she felt the chill of an outcast. They shared an understanding with which she could never hope to compete.

  “I believe in miracles,” Anna continued. “But I also believe there are things in our lives that are set in stone, things we cannot change, even with the power of prayer.”

  “Such as?”

  “Death. When we have served our purpose, it is simply time to go home, whether we are young or old.”

  “I fear losing my children, all the time,” Angelica confessed.

  “So do I. But everything life throws at us is to teach us important lessons. We can’t control what happens to us, but we can control how we react. The greatest freedom man has is choice.” Angelica looked at Jack. Now she knew where he got his ideas. “Nietzsche said, ‘He who has a why to live can bear with almost any how.’”

  “Do you have a why?” Angelica asked.

  “Yes. My life has purpose. There is purpose in everything life throws at me, good or bad. But no one can tell anyone else what their purpose is. Everyone must find it out for himself.”

  Angelica wondered what Scarlet would make of this conversation and smiled inwardly at the thought of her cynical face and rolling eyes.

  “Let’s go and look at the stars,” said Jack, draining his glass.

  “You go. I’m tired from picking all those grapes this morning. Tomorrow will be the same, so I think I’ll go to bed early. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Angelica felt guilty that her spirits lifted at the thought of being left alone with Jack. “Can I pick with you tomorrow?” she asked, getting up.

  Anna looked pleased. “Of course. More hands the better.”

  “Then that is settled,” said Jack, pushing out his chair. “We’ll be up at dawn to pick. We’ll have a bra
ai here for lunch. Then I want to take Angelica into Stellenbosch.”

  “Good idea,” Anna agreed.

  “We can stop at Warwick on the way back for a sundowner.”

  “What’s Warwick?”

  “A beautiful vineyard about half an hour’s drive from here.”

  “Don’t forget I’m taking Lucy into Cape Town tomorrow afternoon. We won’t be back until late.” Anna embraced Angelica affectionately. “No more worrying, okay?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Think positively. You won’t help them by worrying about them. But you can help them by sending them positive thoughts of light and love.”

  “Then that is what I’ll try to do.”

  “Good night. It’s an early rise tomorrow, with the sun. You don’t mind if I knock on your door to wake you?”

  “Not at all. I want to join in. I’ve never picked grapes before.”

  “Sleep well, then—and enjoy the stars from my little pagoda.” She smiled at her husband, a smile so loving that Angelica was left more confused than ever.

  She walked down the garden with Jack and his dogs, cradling the cup of peppermint tea that Anxious had brought her. A bright moon threw long shadows across the lawn from behind the pine trees. Frogs croaked loudly from the lily pads, and crickets chirruped in the grass. The air was infused with the aromatic scent of damp soil and the heady perfume of gardenia and rose. They walked across the stepping-stones to the pretty white pagoda. In the center was Anna’s meditation mat. Around the edge was a sofa and four big, comfortable armchairs in navy and white ticking. They sat together on the sofa, and Angelica slipped off her shoes and curled her legs beneath her. Jack lay back, stretched out his long legs, and threw an arm behind Angelica, pulling her close.

  “You get all your ideas from Anna, don’t you?”

  He feigned ignorance. “What ideas?”

  “Existential ones. Don’t pretend not to know what I’m talking about. Either that or she’s got her ideas from you.”

  “Okay, so she’s taught me a lot about life.”

  “I thought it was something special that we shared.”

  “It is.”

  “Well, not exclusively.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “I’m just as wise.”

  She sighed. “None of us is as wise as Anna.”

  “You’re ten years younger than her. When you’re her age, you’ll be just as wise.”

  “I don’t know. She was born wise, I suspect. Some people are. I’m just on a search.”

  “We’re searching together. Don’t forget Somebody Braai—In Search of the Perfect Happiness. Our groundbreaking work in progress.”

  “So what shall our first chapter be about?”

  “The happiness of your life depends on the quality of your thoughts.” He kissed her hairline. “When I think about you, I’m happy.”

  She took his hand and wrapped it around hers. “When I think about you, I’m happy, too.”

  They watched the stars twinkling above the shadowy silhouette of the mountains, discussing their book with zeal. The dogs lay on Anna’s mat, lulled to sleep by the low monotone of their voices and the warm night air. When they retreated inside to go to bed, they crept up the stairs like schoolchildren returning from a midnight adventure. Jack followed her into her bedroom and pressed her against the back of the door to kiss her. He didn’t attempt to do anything more than that.

  “You need to sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”

  “I wish we could curl up in bed together,” she whispered.

  “So do I. But you wouldn’t get much sleep.”

  “I want you to make love to me again.”

  “I will.” He kissed her nose. “But not tonight.”

  “It should be enough just to be near you. But it isn’t.”

  His smile was so tender, her stomach seemed to flip over. “Just one more kiss, then I have to release you.”

  Once Jack had gone, she undressed and brushed her teeth, humming contentedly. She resolved not to think about Monday. After all, it wasn’t the end of the affair, just the end of the weekend. There would be many more. Their love would grow, and they’d cross the world to be together.

  She slipped on her nightdress, feeling the sensual pleasure of the silk against her skin, and wished Jack was waiting for her in her bed, his arms outstretched. She went over to the window, where a sugary breeze swept gently through the gap between the curtains. She pulled them aside and leaned on the sill. The valley had a romantic allure, set in shadow beneath a luminous navy sky, glittering with stars. She listened to the crickets, the distant croaking of frogs, the secret scurrying of nocturnal creatures hiding in the undergrowth. Then she saw a figure lit up in the moonlight, walking across the lawn. It was Jack. She caught her breath. Where on earth was he going at this time of night, and why hadn’t he asked her to go with him? He was alone, but for one of his dogs, who trotted along beside him. It was a strange time to walk the dog. She went to bed feeling uneasy.

  It seemed like the middle of the night when Anna knocked on her door to wake her. She mumbled something incoherent and opened her heavy eyes. It was still dark. Reluctantly, she got up and staggered over to open the curtains. The lawn was haunted by the memory of Jack walking across it during the night, and she felt her insides twist with anxiety. Now a light mist hung in the valley, replacing the luminous night. The air was cool, dogs barked in the distance, the chatter of guinea fowl added to the dawn chorus. She sensed the vineyard stirring to life with the smoke wafting up from the laborers’ cottages. She dressed hastily and made her way downstairs, where Anxious had prepared a light breakfast on the terrace. She found Jack at the table. He didn’t mention his nocturnal adventure, so she didn’t, either, but she was relieved to find him in a happy mood. She dismissed her fears; there was nothing wrong with a man walking across his own lawn in the middle of the night if he felt so inspired. Perhaps he couldn’t sleep. They ate quickly and headed out to the farm buildings as the first rays of dawn bled into the sky.

  The air was charged with anticipation. The burly Afrikaans farm manager was barking instructions to the farmworkers as they prepared to head into the Sauvignon Blanc vineyards to pick the fruit. A bakkie drew up with a truckload of women and children from town to help with the picking, their singing rising merrily out of the mist. Jack strode about, talking to the workers, taking the manager aside for a quick word, deriving pleasure from being busy. Angelica stood with Anna, Lucy, and Fiona, thrilled to be part of the scene.

  The tractors started up, and they were all carted off into the fields as the sun began to rise. Angelica was given gloves, a pair of cutters, and a crate. Anna explained how to use them. Then they set to work side by side, chatting as the guinea fowl waddled up and down the aisles, pecking at the soil. It was strenuous work, but invigorating, and Angelica’s spirit swelled with pleasure as the light expanded and flooded the valley.

  When the crates were full, they carried them to the tractor, which rattled back down the track to the winery. By ten o’clock the mist had lifted and the sun blazed down unobstructed. Half an hour later they were called to a halt, the sun now too hot to carry on. Finished for the day, they returned to the farm for refreshments. A table was spread out in the shade with traditional Cape food: bobotie, breyani, ghema curry, and koeksisters, washed down with wine. Angelica mingled with the workers, chatting and laughing, asking questions about their lives and listening with interest to their answers.

  Angelica and the girls swam in the swimming pool to cool off before lunch. The pool was concealed behind a hedge with a pretty white hut to change in. Sun loungers were set in a row on the paving stones, and Anxious appeared with grenadilla juice on ice. Angelica wallowed in the cool water, taking in the fruit trees and climbing roses, listening to the girls’ light chatter and the twittering of birds. She felt stiff from riding the day before, and her arms ached in a pleasurable way from her morning�
�s work.

  Just before lunch, Kat and Dan Scott arrived from the neighboring vineyard. Kat was athletic and blond, with pale blue eyes and full pink lips that curled into an infectious smile. Her long legs stretched out slim and brown beneath a miniskirt, and her toenails were painted bubblegum pink. Her handsome husband was unable to take his eyes off her and grinned indulgently at everything she said. Jack cooked the braai beneath a shady plane tree, the dogs circling like greedy wolves in the hope of scraps. Anna held court in the pagoda as Kat and Dan told them about their honeymoon in Brazil, and Dan, never one to miss an opportunity to amuse, told stories against himself that had everyone holding their stomachs from laughing. Angelica remembered when she and Olivier had been so happy. She glanced at Jack and knew that they could be happy like that, were they ever given the chance. Was it beyond probability that one day they might end up together, holding hands and flaunting their love like Kat and Dan?

  Kat turned to Angelica. “Jack tells us you’re going to Warwick this afternoon.”

  “Yes, I hear it’s beautiful.”

  “Oh, it really is. It has a stunning view of Table Mountain. You must go for a sundowner.”

  “It produces the most delicious wine,” said Dan knowledgeably. “The Sauvignon Blanc is unique because of a special hybrid of peach tree planted by a horticulturist called Professor Black. They were the first variety to withstand the southeaster. After the professor’s peaches were removed they planted the first Sauvignon Blanc. You can definitely taste peach in it. It has a unique bouquet.”

  “Oh, and they have that gold cup that two people can drink out of at the same time.”

  “Tell her the story,” Dan encouraged his wife.

  Kat took Dan’s hand and smiled at him fondly, stirred by a happy memory they shared. “It’s a lovely story. Once there was a beautiful maiden called Kunigunde, who fell in love with a young, ambitious goldsmith. She refused the hand of many rich suitors and finally confessed her secret love to her father, a powerful nobleman. He was so angry that he threw the young goldsmith into the dungeon. Kunigunde’s heart was broken. She pined for him and began to fade away with grief. Finally, her father relented and told the goldsmith that if he could make a chalice from which two people could drink at the same time without spilling a single drop, he would be free to marry his daughter. Of course, he never believed such an invention was possible. But the goldsmith was inspired by love, and with love anything is possible. So he set about making this special cup. His fingers formed an exquisite skirt-shaped chalice, the like of which no one had ever seen before. At the top stood a model of his virtuous and beautiful Kunigunde, who, with upraised arms, held a small, movable cup. It was simple, yet ingenious. Two people could easily drink from it at the same time without spilling a single drop. The king was astonished but stood by his promise. No one was happier than the young couple, who earned his blessing to marry and lived happily ever after.” She gazed languidly at Dan. “We’ve drunk from it, haven’t we, Danny?”