The Perfect Happiness(13)
“But what if the baby comes out looking like someone else?”
“Depends who that someone else is.”
“Any ideas?”
“No, but I’m working on it. Whose shoulder does she cry on?”
“Not my husband’s, at least. Olivier finds her intolerable.”
“But it could be anyone else’s!”
“I’d better call her.”
“Then bring the kids over for lunch.”
Angelica went upstairs to dress. She put on a CD, and the throaty voice of Amy Winehouse filled the house. Sunshine flooded her bathroom, bouncing playfully off the marble and mirrors, a rare sunny day in what had been the very grayest of summers. She knew she should start on a new book, but continuing in the same mold didn’t inspire her at all, and today, she felt wildly free from care. Perhaps she didn’t have it in her to write any more novels. Five was a decent number, after all, and they had done pretty well. She hadn’t hit the big time, but they sold all over the world, and she had broken into America with the last one, which was based in Arizona. Her latest, The Silk Serpent, was due out in March, and her publicist was trying to get her to go and promote it in Australia. She was big in Oz, apparently. Perhaps she should quit while ahead and float about having lunches with her girlfriends and pondering the meaning of life. Olivier didn’t like her working anyway. He made no secret of the fact that she was a wife and mother first and that her writing was merely a hobby. But what would she do if she didn’t write? Candace was busy with her charities; Letizia was a contributing editor for Vogue; Scarlet ran her own PR company, Bright Scarlet Communications; and Kate modeled, for catalogues mostly. Writing was the only thing Angelica was good at. She brushed her doubts away. Today, she was free of care. Jack’s memory hadn’t faded, and when she looked in the mirror she saw an attractive, sensual woman, Spanx or no Spanx!
She slipped out of her nightie and opened her underwear drawer, where the neat rows of matching Calvin Klein lace panties and bras lay unused. With a shiver of guilty pleasure she chose a set in ivory. So, she didn’t have the lean, slender figure of her youth, but she was undeniably All Woman. Riding on the crest of this most enthusiastic of waves, she decided to join Candace’s Pilates class in Notting Hill. It was about time she took a grip, and David Higgins’s classes promised quick results. Candace was blessed with height and the long legs of a racehorse, but she insisted her flat stomach and sculpted waist were down to David’s rigorous regime. Angelica would never be tall like Candace and no miracle could lengthen her legs, but she could tone up and lose weight. Not for Olivier, not even for Jack, but for herself. The handsome South African had inspired her to get in shape.
She pulled on a pair of jeans, pink trainers, and a floral blouse from Paul & Joe, leaving her unruly hair to fall over her shoulders in shiny curls. She felt the underwear clinging to her skin and smiled at her own daring, as if she were wearing it especially for Jack to take off.
Before leaving the house she telephoned Kate, who sounded a lot better in spite of her hangover. “Candace asked me for lunch today as well,” Kate said, “but Mum is bringing the children back and having lunch with me here. I have an idea, which I’ll share with you tomorrow at Cipriani.” Angelica wished she’d share the identity of the Other Man. “Thank you for coming over yesterday. You didn’t get into too much trouble with Olivier, I hope?”
“No, he was fine,” she lied.
“He knows how much I need you. I don’t know what I’d do without all my friends.”
Without an audience there’d be no play, thought Angelica cynically. “That’s what friends are for,” she said. “To pick you up when you fall.”
“I’ve fallen very hard this time.”
“Nothing you can’t cope with.”
“I’m not sure, this time. I think I’ve really gone and blown it!”
“No, you haven’t. These things are sent to make us stronger.”
“Would it make me stronger to lose Pete . . . and the children?”
“You’re not going to lose anyone. Look, you said you had a plan.”
“Yes, I do.” The strength returned to Kate’s voice.
“Hold that thought until tomorrow, then we can all discuss it over a glass of wine and a delicious meal.” She forgot that Kate didn’t eat.
“Okay, thank you again, Angelica. I owe you one.”
Angelica put down the telephone and wondered what it was that compelled them all to buzz around Kate like worker bees around the queen. Was it her vulnerability that inspired them all to look after her? Or her charm, of which she had an inordinate amount? How could someone like Kate be taught the art of happiness—or even the art of serenity?