The Perfect Happiness(29)

But then doubt set in. Perhaps he had got bored. Maybe his wife had found out and banned him. Or he might have gone away for a few days and forgotten to take his BlackBerry. What time of year was it in South Africa? He had said it was spring. He must be busy with the vines, surely. God, the list of possibilities was endless. The fact was, he hadn’t replied and that was that. She was surprised by the depth of her disappointment.

She clicked onto In Search of the Perfect Happiness by Angelica Garner and sat staring at the pink letters and white page that followed. She sat there for half an hour without writing a single word. It began to rain. Light drizzle was blown about on the breeze like dust. Celine Dion sang “All by myself . . . don’t wanna be all by myself . . .” and Angelica felt empty, like a well of dried-up ideas. As often as she lowered the bucket it came back as light as when it went down. Her agent was expecting another fantasy novel for children, laced with magic and monsters. She was never going to be Tolkien—she didn’t have the patience or the genius to write such powerful allegories—but she usually enjoyed sinking into her imagination and spinning any reality she desired. But her imagination was as cloudy as cauliflower soup.

Her fingers hovered over the keys. The blank page stared back at her, goading her to spoil its perfection. Then an idea popped into her head from nowhere. An evil, unhappy sorceress falls in love with a good man and attempts to attract him with spells and potions. Nothing works because nothing ever does on good people. So she has to learn how to be good like him, because only a pure heart will win him. For every good deed she does she loses a little of her evil nature. Gradually her good deeds begin to make her happy and the less evil she becomes. She sets out on a quest and learns the secret of happiness.

Angelica was quite pleased with her idea. It was a mere husk—she’d have to fill it in and build it up—but at least it was a start. Forgetting her empty mailbox she began to develop her magical world, inventing names and language, customs and laws.

By three o’clock she had a better idea of her fantasy land, and, feeling happier for having started, she saved what she had written and closed down her computer. She clicked on her mailbox to find Jack still hadn’t replied. She shrugged it off bravely; perhaps it was for the best.

It was raining, so she walked under an umbrella to pick up the children. It felt autumnal. The leaves in the park were beginning to turn yellow and brown. The skies were gray, the pavements shiny and wet. Only the pigeons seemed not to notice and hopped about cheerily as if every day was a picnic.

Outside the school, mothers gathered among nannies, huddling under umbrellas or sitting in their cars parked on yellow lines. As she approached she heard her name above the rumble of engines. It was Candace, waving exuberantly out of the window of her car. “Get in, Angelica.” As she crossed the road Candace hissed at her. “She’s told Pete she’s pregnant!” Angelica peered through the window. Letizia and Kate sat in the backseat deep in conversation. The driver stared ahead, pretending not to listen. “Get in!”

“He doesn’t suspect it’s not his?” Angelica asked, squeezing in beside Kate.

“Why on earth would he? He’s the philanderer in our marriage, not me—well, at least that’s the way he sees it. He’s over the moon. He says we’ve got to have marriage counseling, though, so we’re strong for the new baby. A friend of his has recommended this woman called Betsy Pog.”

“Great name,” said Letizia with a giggle.

Candace laughed cynically. “You don’t need marriage counseling, he just needs to keep his pooch in its pouch.” They all laughed.

“No, really, Betsy Pog is my kind of woman. She’s meant to be fantastic.”

“She better be fantastic,” Candace added.

“We’re going tonight for our first session.” Kate shivered with excitement. “What shall I wear?”

“A hair shirt?” asked Candace.

“Oh, I was thinking much more along the lines of a little Prada dress with my red Louboutins.”

“Well, at least it’ll look like you’re trying,” said Angelica.

“I never try,” Kate retorted. “My style is effortless and effervescent.”

“You might as well wear it while you can,” said Letizia.

“God, don’t remind me. The thought of maternity trousers and big shirts again! Hideous!”

“Darling, pregnancy is no excuse to dress badly,” Letizia reproached her. “A woman is at her most beautiful when bearing a child.”

“Sometimes you are so Italian!” Kate retorted, envisaging flat shoes with dismay.