The Perfect Happiness(2)
“Bad day?”
Olivier took off his tie. “It’s a difficult time. The mood in the City is very depressed.” He went into the dressing room and slipped his jacket onto a hanger. “Did you pick up my dry cleaning? I want to wear my Gucci jacket tonight.”
Angelica flushed. “I forgot. Sorry.”
“Merde! Sometimes I wonder what goes on in that cotton wool head of yours.”
“There’s a whole world in here, beyond the cotton wool, of course.” She tapped her temple, trying to be upbeat. “I get paid to imagine.”
“You remember the plots of those fantasy novels of yours, but you don’t remember to pick up my dry cleaning. You still haven’t collected my trousers from the tailor, and I asked you weeks ago. If you had my job, we’d be broke!”
“Which is why I don’t have your job. Look, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m obviously not a priority.”
“Darling, don’t be angry, please. We’re going out to dinner, it’ll be fun. You’ll forget about the City and your Gucci jacket.” She walked up behind him and put her arms around his waist. “You know you’re my priority.”
“Then be an angel and get me a drink—and put the children to bed. The summer holiday is too long. When do they go back?”
“Thursday.”
He sniffed irritably. “Not a moment too soon.” He stepped out of his trousers and hung them up carefully. Olivier was meticulously tidy. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“So, how do I look?”
Olivier glanced at her as he removed the gold-crested cuff links from his shirt. “Why the belt?”
“Fashion, darling!”
“Why would you want to emphasize the widest part of you?”
Angelica stared in astonishment. “The widest part of me?” He chuckled and kissed her neck. “You always look beautiful, Angelica.”
She watched him remove his shirt and toss the cuff links into the leather box on the trouser press. Though slightly built and not very tall, Olivier was an attractive man. He was athletic, playing regular games of tennis at Queen’s, or running off his excess energy around Hyde Park when one of his four couldn’t make it. He was typically Gallic, with thick brown hair swept off his face in waves and smooth olive skin that never paled, even in winter. His features were fine, his nose long and aristocratic, his eyes a startling cornflower blue against lustrous black lashes. It was his mouth that had first attracted her to him, the way it curled at one corner. Now it took a lot to make it curl at all. He wore his clothes with the panache of a true Parisian, paying special attention to his shoes, which were always polished, and his suits, which were always beautifully tailored. Appearances were important to Olivier, and he spared no expense at Turnbull & Asser and Gucci. He liked to look good and he liked her to look good, too.
With the help of Sunny, the housekeeper, Angelica put the children to bed and served her husband whiskey on the rocks as he came out of the shower smelling of sandalwood. He didn’t notice that she had removed the belt, replacing it in the drawer along with her joy. She no longer felt like going out to dinner, even though Scarlet was one of her closest friends. She felt like a sack of flour.
As she reached for her handbag, her mobile telephone bleeped with a message. Please come quickly. I need you. X Kate. Angelica’s heart lurched. Kate was in trouble, again! She looked at her watch. Kate lived in Thurloe Square, on the way to Scarlet’s house in Chelsea. If she was quick, she could jump in a cab and meet Olivier there.
Olivier’s reaction was predictable. He sighed grumpily and swore, clipping his words to emphasize his annoyance. “She is such a drama queen! And you run to her like a lady-in-waiting who cannot see that without her drama the queen is not a queen at all.”
“She’s fragile. She’s obviously in a state.”
“She spends her whole life in a state.”
“It’s not her fault that Pete is having an affair.”
“I sympathize. If I were married to her, I’d have an affair, too.”
“I hope that’s not a threat.”
“Not to you, my angel. The very fact that we are opposites is good for my soul. I am material, you are ethereal.” He laughed, pleased with his analysis. “Go on then, I’ll meet you there. But don’t be later than eight-thirty. I’ll let them know that you are dealing with a crisis. No doubt your fellow lady-in-waiting will understand!” he added, referring to Scarlet. “Though, I’m sure she won’t want you to be late for dinner.” As she left the room, he noticed her handbag, thrown carelessly on the bed with her lip gloss and compact. “Angel, you cannot pay the cab without your purse!” he called impatiently. She rushed back, gathered it all up, and hurried out again.