“All the other mothers will look cool. You look like you haven’t tried.”
Angelica was mortified. Her jeans weren’t any old pair, but Hudson’s most fashionable, and her trainers were shiny new silver ones. “What do you think, Isabel?”
“I want you to wear your big shoes.” She meant the new Tory Burch platforms Letizia had brought back from America.
“Well, if you really mind, I’ll change.”
“Zeus’s mummy’s very cool,” said Joe.
Angelica couldn’t disagree. Jenna Elrich was famously glamorous, if somewhat overdone in Angelica’s opinion. She was one of those girls who wore cream in midwinter, real fur, a lot of big gold jewelry, and oversized sunglasses even when there was no sun.
“She is cool, Joe darling, but I’ll never be as cool as her. I haven’t the time to spend my mornings being blow-dried at Richard Ward.”
Joe wasn’t listening: he was too busy sneaking his favorite Power Ranger toys into his backpack. Angelica changed into a pair of J Brand jeans, the brown platforms Isabel had requested, and a Burberry khaki jacket.
When Joe saw her, he nodded his approval. “That’s better,” he said.
She threw on a gold Yves Saint Laurent necklace for good measure and wondered whether other mothers were dictated to by their children.
The scene at the school gates was pandemonium. The road was partially blocked by shiny chauffeur-driven cars. One or two bodyguards with important-looking devices plugged into their ears trailed their small charges, while handsome fathers in suits and long-legged Prada-clad mothers, with straightened blond hair and suntans, tried to control their excited children as they greeted their friends and gossiped on the pavement. The air was thick with perfume and voices and the odd irritated mutter from a local trying to get to Kensington Gardens to walk his dog. Angelica lived close enough to school to walk and stopped to chat to those she knew on the way.
They shook hands with the headmistress, who remarked how much they had grown and how much the sun had bleached their hair. “We spent the summer with Olivier’s family in Provence,” Angelica told her, aware that it sounded far more glamorous than it really was. The women in his family were a coven of grumpy, dissatisfied witches bent on making everyone around them as miserable as they were. The only consolation was his father, who was dashing and charming, with old-fashioned manners and a dry, cynical wit that made her laugh, mostly at his wife’s and daughters’ expense.
She was happy to find Candace and Letizia in the hall, talking to Scarlet. When she saw her, Scarlet grabbed her arm exuberantly. “You have a fan, Angelica!”
“She has many fans,” Candace interjected.
“Sure, but this one’s very smitten.”
“Who is he?” Letizia asked.
“A devilishly handsome South African I put her next to at dinner. I didn’t notice that you two had hit it off.”
Angelica blushed and tossed her hair casually. “He was fun.”
“Well, he thinks you’re gorgeous! He called to tell me what a rare and special woman you are. Duh! Tell me something I don’t know!”
“I hope he knows she’s married,” said Letizia.
“He’s married, too, but it doesn’t stop his flirting as if he were single.” Scarlet laughed huskily. “You know, I was in Clapham yesterday seeing my acupuncturist, and I spotted him knocking on a little door at the end of the street. He looked really nervous. I was about to shout out and wave, but knowing him as I do, and what a terrible old rogue he is, I left him to his business.”
“A lover perhaps?” asked Candace.
“Without doubt,” Scarlet agreed. Angelica was surprised to feel the twist of jealousy in her gut. Scarlet continued, “He might be badly behaved, but he’s very attractive.”
“He wasn’t badly behaved with me,” Angelica retorted nonchalantly. “He just flirted a little.”
“I hope Olivier noticed,” said Scarlet. “It would do him good to swallow some of his own medicine.”
The four of them took the children to their new classes. None of them looked as immaculate as Candace’s children, with their perfectly ironed uniforms and polished shoes, their hair shining like silk. When it came to saying good-bye, Candace bent down and hugged them as if they were embarking on a long voyage rather than a short day at school. “I hate leaving them,” she said, her eyes glittering with tears as they walked back down the corridor.
“They love it here,” said Angelica.
“Oh, I know they do, but what about me? I’m a wreck.”
Angelica laughed at the absurdity of such a suggestion. Candace, with her manicured nails, sleek hair, and beautiful face was nowhere near a wreck. She looked typically pristine in skinny jeans and flat shoes, an olive cashmere vest worn over a crisp white shirt. Her beloved Birkin handbag hung on her arm, almost eclipsing the enormous diamond ring Harry had bought her on his last business trip to Hong Kong. Angelica doubted Candace’s children had ever criticized her choice of clothes. “They’ll be out in less than seven hours.”