The Perfect Happiness(110)
“Joe and Isabel.”
“And you, Olivier.” Her eyes glittered. “I felt remorse. I wished I had never said a hurtful word to you in our entire marriage. I wished I’d appreciated you, not grumbled about your imperfections. After all, I married you for those.”
“Did you?” He grinned, and she was reminded of the first time that smile had captivated her all those years ago in Paris. It hadn’t changed; she had just grown used to it.
“Yes, because it’s your imperfections that make you different from everyone else. Without them you wouldn’t be you.”
“That’s very sweet of you, but I’m not sure that’s true.”
He took her hand across the table. It was smaller and smoother than Jack’s. For a moment she longed for the rough, calloused hand of the rugged South African, but she had to put him behind her now. She belonged with Olivier. If she concentrated on him hard enough, would she forget Jack had ever existed?
“I have had time to think while you have been away, and certainly, last night, I did more thinking than ever. When you went to South Africa and we had had that fight, I worried I was losing you. But last night, I felt close to losing you in a different way. I just wanted you home, where you are safe. I love you, Angelica, but I also need you. I am nothing without you. I’m half a man. I know I am difficult, selfish, and demanding, but I am going to make a conscious effort to be a better husband and a better friend.”
“We’ll both make an effort.”
Angelica lowered her eyes in shame. She hadn’t even bothered to remember his birthday back in October. It would have passed like any other day had his mother not called at seven in the morning. Angelica had rushed to Gucci and bought him a jacket and a pair of brown lace-ups, and Kate had managed to book her a table for two at the Ivy.
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Before you call Candace, you’d better call your mother.”
Angelica looked at her husband in horror. “You told her?”
“Of course. She’s your mother. You could have been killed, Angelica. She has a right to know. Besides, I didn’t know what state you’d be in once I got you home. Don’t be angry. At least I fended her off. She threatened to drive down this morning. She’s worried sick.”
“Sure she is.” Angelica chuckled cynically.
“Just call her.”
Angelica dialed Fenton Hall with a sinking heart. The last thing she needed was her mother fussing over her. It rang only twice before Angie picked it up and breathed down the line in a little-girl-lost tone of voice. “Is that you, love?”
“Yes, it’s me.”
“Thank the Lord you’re safely home. My God, we’ve been worried about you. I’m coming down right away.”
“You don’t need to.”
“I’m your mother, and I want to!”
“I’m fine. It was horrid, but it’s over.”
“I’m coming. There’s nothing you can do to stop me. Your father and I have been beside ourselves with worry. This is a wake-up call, as loud as any I’ve ever heard.”
“I promise you, I’m fine,” Angelica protested.
“But I’m not. I need to see you, love. Surely you understand a mother’s need?”
Angelica did, indeed, understand a mother’s need. Grudgingly, she relented. “All right, I’ll see you later, then.”
• • •
News traveled fast along the buzzing network of grapevines that crossed oceans. Anna had called Scarlet, who had called Kate, who had called Letizia, who had called Candace, who had waited tactfully for Angelica to call her.
“Oh my God, Angelica, are you all right!” she exclaimed down the telephone. “You don’t know how happy I am to hear your voice!”
“Oh, Candace, you’re going to say I told you so.”
“I promise I won’t. I’m coming over right now. Oh, and the girls are coming over for lunch, but don’t panic, we’re bringing our own food.”
“Now, why doesn’t that surprise me!”
She put down the telephone and hurried upstairs to take a quick shower. There was no point moping about. The sooner life got back to normal, the better. The thought of her friends brought on a strange craving, like homesickness—a longing for what was routine and familiar.
Olivier went to the office. Angelica cried in the shower. She thought of Jack in his hospital bed, and she cried for the cancer in his lungs and for the inevitability of his demise. She recalled the last thing he had said to her, that the only important words were that he loved her. So why did she doubt him? Then she cried with fury at his concealing the truth and taking his pleasure without any regard for her tender heart. Did he not once consider what impact his death might have on her? Was he just going to satisfy his own need for validation and then leave her adrift? Or didn’t it matter, seeing that he’d be gone and no longer responsible for the lives destroyed?