The Perfect Happiness(30)

“So is it public knowledge yet?” asked Candace.

“Have you told your mother?” Angelica added.

“Same question,” said Candace.

“No, I haven’t had my twelve-week scan. Don’t breathe a word to anyone.”

“Does your lover know?” Candace asked more keenly.

“He’s not my lover.”

“Whatever. Does he know?”

“No.”

“You don’t think he’ll work it out when he hears you’re pregnant?”

“I know he won’t work it out.”

Candace raised an eyebrow. “That’s interesting, what is he? A priest?”

“Look, he’s forgotten it even happened.”

“But we haven’t,” said Candace with a grin.

“I’m not going to tell you,” Kate retorted. “Not because I don’t want to. You know I share everything with you three. But I promised him I wouldn’t, and I must keep my word.”

“What, because you always do?” said Candace. Kate was notoriously feckless.

“No, because I owe it to him and because the consequences of it getting out are too horrible to imagine.”

Angelica narrowed her eyes. “So we know him.”

“The plot thickens,” said Letizia. “He’s not one of our husbands, is he?”

Kate laughed. “You’d have to pay me to sleep with one of your husbands!”

“Me, too, honey,” Candace joked, lifting her finger into the light. “I think I’m due another diamond.”

The week passed without an e-mail from Jack. Angelica continued her Pilates classes and bore the consequent stiffness with fortitude. She buried herself in her writing and tried not to be too disappointed about Jack’s sudden disappearance. It was inevitable that their correspondence would end at some stage. She had been naïve to imagine they could continue flirting indefinitely. He had probably moved on to someone else he had met at another dinner party—someone who was prepared to take the flirtation further, like his “friend” in Clapham. It had been fun. He had made her feel alive. She picked up the children from school, listened to Candace and Scarlet worrying about the credit crunch’s effects on fund-raising and spending, and tried to shrug off the heavy feeling of anticlimax.

Then on the following Wednesday morning the world shifted back into place. She received a large royalty check from Holland and an e-mail from Jack:


Dear beautiful Sage, I’m sorry I didn’t reply earlier, I’ve been away. I think we need to discuss things in person. This dog is getting restless here on the porch and was wondering whether he might persuade you to allow him to take you out for lunch when he comes to London in October. You’re no ordinary rabbit. DOP



Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! What to do? Angelica wanted to have lunch with him more than anything in the world. But what would Olivier say? No, she knew exactly what he would say: “Mais non, mon ange.” NO. That had to be avoided at all costs. But she couldn’t lie, in case she was spotted. They couldn’t go somewhere low-key in the back of beyond because if they were discovered they’d look even more suspicious. They’d have to go out in Chelsea and risk it. What am I doing? I don’t want an affair! I really, really don’t. I just want a little fun. I just want to feel attractive. He doesn’t want an affair either, for sure. Of course he doesn’t.

She reread the e-mail twenty times. Her mind was as clear as glass and whirring away like a new clock. If I say no, I’ll look churlish and presumptuous. And besides, I want to see him. I’m nearly forty years old. I think I’m entitled to do what I want. So Olivier can’t be told. I’ll say I’m having lunch with the director of my publishing house, then I’m covered if I’m spotted with a strange man. Olivier has never met my publisher, let alone my agent—actually, he’s never met anyone from my working life. Schmuck! as Candace would say. Serves him right!

Dear Dog on Porch, I think it’s about time you used up that slack on that lead of yours. Too flirty! What am I thinking? I’ve gone mad!



Dear Dog on Porch, I’d love to have lunch. It will be fun to see you again. Where do you want to go? Let me know when you’re over and I’ll book . . . No, that’s far too keen! Typical woman wanting everything tied up neatly with a bow!



Dear Dog on Porch, I’d love to have lunch. October is a good month for dogs. So many leaves to truffle through in the park! I think you’ll find I’m actually a rather ordinary rabbit. On the subject of lunch—shall I put it down to research? From Curious Sage