The Perfect Happiness(42)
By the time she reached the house she was no nearer a solution. Sunny opened the door, and the children tumbled in, running into the kitchen to help themselves to the biscuit tin. The smell of fish fingers wafted out into the autumn air, and Angelica was reminded of where she belonged. She closed the door behind her and felt a sense of security within the four walls of her home. Her mobile burned in her handbag, but she ignored it, setting the dining room table for homework by way of a distraction.
Finally, bath time was over, and the children were in her bed watching an old DVD of Robin Hood. She stood alone in her bathroom in her pretty lingerie. The lights were dimmed, music playing softly, Dyptique candles burning. In the sensual atmosphere of her sanctuary, she decided that she would simply respond that she would love to see him again before he left for South Africa. What was the harm? He’d be gone in a week—this might be her last opportunity to see him, ever.
So she leaned against the sink and wrote a text: Dear DOP, Park sounds good, weather permitting. X S
She climbed into the bath, reluctant to get changed and go out. Olivier was going to meet her for drinks at Sotheby’s, then they were joining friends at Harry’s Bar for dinner. Another late night she didn’t need. She’d have much preferred to stay at home, watching an old episode of Frasier.
Now that she was slimmer she could get into a favorite silver Ralph Lauren skirt and pale gray top. She admired her reflection, scrunching her hair between her fingers. She wished Jack could see her now, all dressed up, looking her best. What would she wear to the park? She couldn’t ask Candace. A stab of guilt weakened her resolve for a moment. She hated to keep anything from her friend, but she didn’t want anything to spoil her fun, not least her conscience.
She kissed the children, stroking their hair and soft faces. Engrossed in Robin Hood, they barely noticed her. “Be good for Sunny,” she said, slipping on silver stilettos. “Hey, how do I look?”
Joe tore his eyes from the telly. He appraised her a moment while Angelica struck a pose. “Cool,” he replied.
“As cool as Zeus’s mum?”
He grinned. “Cooler.”
“What good taste you have, sweetheart.”
She waved at them. Joe turned his attention back to the television. Sunny was coming up the stairs to put them to bed. Angelica yearned for her own bed but picked up her clutch bag and left the room with a determined stride.
She sat in the taxi staring at her mobile telephone, willing Jack to send her another message. When it bleeped, her heart leapt with excitement, only to be disappointed when she read that it was from Olivier: he wasn’t going to make Sotheby’s but would meet her at Harry’s Bar instead. She wasn’t surprised and found that she didn’t care, either. As the taxi turned into Bond Street she retrieved Jack’s message and read it again.
Sotheby’s turned out to be more fun than she had expected. William and Scarlet were there—Scarlet in the tightest pair of black leather trousers and transparent Chanel blouse—and a whole host of other friends. Everyone she talked to complimented her on her appearance, asking whether she had been away, or what she had had done, and she felt light-headed with all the attention.
At half-past eight she took a taxi to Harry’s Bar. The club was already full of diners, sitting in the dim light at small round tables surrounded by paintings and mirrors and plants. Her friends were already there, but not Olivier. She weaved her way to the other end of the restaurant and greeted them all warmly.
“You look marvelous,” said Joel de Claire, Olivier’s oldest friend. “Why don’t you sit there between Antoine and Roberto,” he said, pointing at the empty chair at the far end of the table. “That way you can see into the club, and when Olivier arrives, you can scowl at him for being late.”
“Angelica doesn’t scowl!” protested Joel’s wife, Chantal, flicking her wavy chestnut hair off her shoulder.
“Oh, you have no idea,” Angelica quipped, edging around the back of the chairs. Antoine and Roberto stood up politely, and she kissed them both. They all sat down. Then Angelica felt her telephone vibrate with a message. While Antoine and Joel conversed across the table, Angelica sneaked a look at her text. To her astonishment it was from Jack: Raise your beautiful eyes and look to ten o’clock. A ripple of excitement washed over her. Suppressing a smile, she glanced through the gap beside Chantal, where Olivier was to sit. There, with his back against the wall, sat Jack, in an open-necked white shirt and jacket, his rugged face dark and handsome, his unruly hair swept off his face so that the blond streaks in it caught the light and glistened as if he had just returned from a day at sea. She was thankful for the dim light as her cheeks burned with pleasure. She turned her attention to the elderly couple at his table, a distinguished-looking pair, diligently reading the menu, and wondered who they were. When she looked back at Jack, he was grinning.