The Perfect Happiness(17)
“I know, but the first day is always hard. I hate the emptiness in the house. All I can hear is the scuffle of feet as Florencia goes up and down the stairs to clean and Ralph lies in his basket sulking because the children aren’t there to play with him. Thank God we’re having lunch somewhere nice today. I don’t think I could bear being at home on my own watching the clock.”
“I’m going to get to my desk, finally,” said Angelica, wondering what she was going to do there.
“I’m going shopping. Screw the credit crunch!”
“I would say the credit crunch demands it. There’s no point adding to the misery by denying the shopgirls their commission.”
“I’m so glad you see it that way. I thought I’d pop into Harvey Nichols—fancy a little wander around the first floor?”
“Much as I’d love to, I’d better try to do something. Besides, I haven’t checked my e-mails in weeks.”
They made their way through the throng of parents to the street, where Candace was met by her chauffeur. She climbed into the front seat and waved a bejeweled hand at Angelica. “See you later,” she shouted, already pressing her telephone to her ear.
Angelica turned towards home, imagining Joe and Isabel settling into their new classes, when a voice shouted at her from the other side of the street. It was Jenna Elrich. Her heart sank. Jenna held her son’s hand and crossed the road without a glance at the Range Rover that had to brake suddenly to let her pass. “How are you?” she asked.
“I’m great,” said Angelica, taking in the big hair and giant sunglasses that made her look like an insect. She was tanned the color of her Gucci handbag, but her face had the remains of a frosty beauty.
“How’s Joe?”
“Thrilled to be back.”
“Zeus didn’t want to come to school today. I had to drag him out of bed complaining. ‘Mais Maman, je ne veux pas aller a l’école!’ Isn’t that right, Zeus?” Angelica was startled by such pretentiousness. Her own children had a French father, but she wouldn’t dream of showing off so shamelessly.
“Oh, he’ll be fine when he gets inside. Miss Emma’s incredibly sweet.”
“We’ve had such a busy summer. I’m exhausted. We’ve just finished the house in Mustique, but there are terrible delays on the chalet in Gstaad. I’ve told John that if they don’t finish it by Christmas, I don’t want it. Then Jennifer got sick and had to be flown back to London, so I had to have the children on my own for two weeks in Biarritz without a nanny! Imagine the horror of it! So now I’m interviewing for a new nanny, if you hear of anyone who’s looking.”
“I’ll keep my ear to the ground.”
“Well, I’d better get on, or Zeus will be the last boy to arrive, and that won’t be a good way to start the new year.” Then as an afterthought, she added, “You look great, by the way. I wish I could do that tousled, just-got-out-of bed look, but I always end up looking polished.” Angelica watched her stride off in her leather boots and big coat and hoped she’d boil to death in the heat of the school building. Tousled, just got out of bed! she thought indignantly, marching up the road. If there’s one woman I can’t abide, it’s Jenna Elrich.
At last she sat down at her desk in her office at the top of the house overlooking the garden. With its pale walls and New England furniture, leafy plants and bookshelves, it was her little sanctuary, where Olivier couldn’t complain about the scented candles and her choice of music, a room of her very own where she could meditate without disturbance and dream without distraction. With a sigh of pleasure she sat in her chair and switched on the computer. It had been a long summer away, and it felt good to be back. While the computer was starting up she lit a candle and switched on her iPod.
The sight of the seventy e-mails was alarming at first, but after scanning the list she realized that most were spam and could be swiftly deleted. There was one from her agent, Claudia Hemmingway, and a couple from her editor in New York. She replied briefly, skipping the ones from friends asking them for dinner and printing out long epistles to read later. Then her eyes caught sight of a familiar name: Jack Meyer. With a rush of curiosity she clicked on his name. How on earth had he found her?
Dear Sage, I hope you don’t mind my writing to you. I’ve been thinking about the idea for your book (which I think is great, by the way). I’m back in Rosenbosch now. It’s spring. The air is infused with the smell of flowers and camphor. I love this time of year: everything is new and exciting. I think you should come out—it would really inspire you. I enjoyed meeting you in London very much. I love your Web site by the way, though there aren’t enough pictures of you and the ones that are there are not as beautiful as the real woman. From Dog Safely on Porch