The Perfect Happiness(37)
“Why?”
“Because you know as well as I do that there’s everything wrong with having lunch with a man you’ve only just met. It’s not wrong in itself, only wrong because your husband wouldn’t like it. If it wasn’t so, you would have told him and he would have told you to have a good time.”
“Then the secret to happiness is not honesty,” she rallied.
“I’d agree with you there, but that’s a selfish kind of happiness, not the pure happiness you’re searching for.”
“Okay, so I’m selfishly taking my pleasure.”
“Let’s drink to that. What will you have?”
“A glass of white wine, please.” She needed fortification.
“Then let me choose a bottle of good South African wine.”
The waiter brought the wine, and Angelica took a swig, immediately feeling more confident. She began to relax as the conversation moved on to more mundane subjects and she no longer felt like a small prey in the shadow of a formidable predator. They discussed the menu, then he hailed the waiter and ordered for her. Olivier had done that, too, when they had first courted. Now he simply ordered for himself.
“So how’s the book coming along?” he asked.
“Not well.” She laughed. “It’s amazing how much time can be wasted writing one’s own name.”
“I read your last book, by the way.” He was clearly pleased by the surprise on her face.
“Which one?”
“The Caves of Cold Konard.”
“And . . . ?”
“I really enjoyed it. In fact, I couldn’t put it down. At first I thought I’d take a look just so I could say I’d read it. But I was hooked—on the second page, to be precise, when the cave isn’t a cave at all. It’s very clever. Then Mart carried me away. I identified with him even though he’s just a boy. I suppose we’re all children at heart, aren’t we? Those Yarnies are dreadful, disguising themselves as Enrods to fool Mart into trusting them. They’re the worst sort of enemy, and I know a few Yarnies back at home. It’s all very magical, but at the same time very true to life. Really, I was impressed.”
“Thank you.”
“Olivier should read it. I think he’d be astonished by your talent.”
“Oh, he’s so busy.”
“That’s no excuse. You can always make time. He’s probably jealous of your creativity.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.”
“Trust me. He’s working all hours in a bank churning figures. You’re sitting at home, listening to music, surfing the waves of your imagination. How fantastic is that? I bet he’s jealous you make money doing something that looks so easy and is so pleasurable.”
“Except it’s not easy at all, because I’m not sure that what I’ve written so far is any good. I can’t seem to think of a single brilliant idea, just rather ordinary ones.”
“Yet.”
“I’m almost tempted to ask for time out to recharge.”
“So you can work out the deep layers beneath the story?”
“Yes.”
“Think of Tolkien. You almost do it with The Caves of Cold Konard. It wouldn’t be difficult to add another layer. To make it more spiritual for those who want to read beneath the surface.”
“I’m anxious about it. I’ve never done it before. It would be easy to continue on the same road.”
“But good for you to challenge yourself. If you’re bored of your books, your readers are going to be bored, too.”
“I know. I’ve got to find something I’m passionate about.”
“You’re a woman of great passion, Sage. That comes across in The Caves, and it’s contagious, which is why it’s hard to put down. Even for an old book veteran like me!”
“You really think so? You’re not just saying that?”
“Because I fancy you? No. I’ll buy The Silk Serpent even if this is the last time we ever lay eyes on each other.”
She stared at him a moment, a heavy sense of disappointment sinking to the bottom of her belly like a stone. The thought of never seeing him again caused her physical pain. She hadn’t anticipated still being so attracted to him. She had hoped to have lunch and leave, drawing a line under a fun but innocuous flirt. But he drew her to him, like the hypnotic allure of a long-forgotten melody whose notes resonated deep within her soul.
He took a sip of wine. Neither spoke for what seemed like a long while. The waiters brought their first courses and, as Angelica looked up to thank them, she noticed a familiar face at the other end of the restaurant. “Oh Lord,” she exclaimed, shrinking back.