The Perfect Happiness(6)

“Hi, doll. I got a text from Kate but couldn’t leave the house.” Scarlet lowered her voice. “Is she okay?”

“I’ll fill you in later. Long story. But she’s alive!”

“Well, that’s something. You look like you could do with a drink?”

“I’ve already had one.”

“Then have another. You’re as pale as a pancake. I’ll get Olivier suitably wasted. He’ll be love’s young dream by dessert!”

“Thanks, Scarlet. Right now he’s a grumpy old nightmare!” Olivier was now in conversation with the ravishing Caterina Tintello. There was nothing that lifted his mood as surely as a beautiful woman.

“Now, you’ve got the delicious Jack Meyer from South Africa on your right—give that husband of yours something important to worry about—and my slightly less delicious husband on your left.”

“Oh, Scarlet, William is very delicious!”

“Well, he is to me, I suppose, but Jack’s delicious to everyone. Now, let me introduce you.”

Scarlet tapped Jack on the shoulder. He said something to Stash Helm, the vivacious woman on his right, then stood up politely, towering over them like a bear. Angelica felt her spirits jolt back to life, recharged by his big shaggy head and wide, infectious smile as he grinned down at her appreciatively. She smiled back, the tension melting away in the warmth of his handshake.

“Jack, meet Angelica Lariviere. Jack’s a notorious flirt,” Scarlet teased. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“While the cat’s away . . .” he replied, without taking his eyes off her. Angelica was enchanted by the humorous twinkle behind his glasses.

“There’s no keeping this dog on the porch,” Scarlet added with a chuckle.

“Some dogs aren’t made for porches,” said Angelica.

“You seem to know a lot about dogs.”

“She knows a lot about everything. Angelica’s an author, a very successful one, too! Jack loves books. That’s why I put you next to each other.”

Scarlet returned to her place, and Jack pulled out Angelica’s chair.

“You smell of oranges,” he said.

“Is it overpowering?”

“No. It’s delightful.”

She basked in his accent. It wasn’t strong, but she could feel the sun and smell the rich red soil in those gently clipped vowels.

He sat down and scrutinized her. “You seem familiar,” he murmured.

She shook her head and looked away, disarmed by the intimacy of his gaze. “I don’t think so.”

“We haven’t met before?”

“Definitely not.”

He laughed it off and spread his napkin on his knee. “Funny, I feel I know you. A past life, perhaps.”

Before Angelica could respond, William turned to greet her on her left. Reluctantly, she swung around to kiss him, hearing Jack resume his conversation with Stash. “You look well,” William commented, running his eyes over the glow Jack had just ignited. “Where have you spent the summer?” William was reserved in that cool, phlegmatic way for which upper-class Englishmen are notorious. Angelica had known him and Scarlet for years: they were part of the London social scene, and Scarlet had become one of her inner circle of friends. However, as fond of him as she was, right now Angelica wished she could turn away and talk to Jack.

She was aware of every movement he made and most of William’s conversation went unheard. The first course was eaten, the plates taken away, and, although Jack passed her only a few comments about the food or the wine, she felt they were isolated from the rest of the guests on a little island of their own, acutely conscious of each other. She could feel his arm against hers, and it was warm and strangely familiar. Neither moved away, and she wondered whether he, too, was aware of it. She could hear his voice, the foreign way he articulated his words, but having to respond convincingly to William made it impossible to tune in to what he said. His laugh was infectious, and she laughed herself, deliberately feigning amusement at something William had said. Her host felt witty, growing uncharacteristically animated as a result of her encouragement.

Finally, with reluctance, William turned to Hester Berridge, a buxom, rosy-cheeked Englishwoman who bred horses in Suffolk while her husband worked at the Tate. Angelica was cast adrift for a moment while Jack continued to talk to Stash. She sat back and sipped her wine, the sense of anticipation causing her stomach to fizz. She glanced at her husband, who was still deep in conversation with Caterina. Their heads were almost touching, and he was grinning roguishly. He had once looked at her like that, before they had married and their conversations had been dragged into a more domestic domain. He threw his head back and they laughed together. Angelica didn’t mind—Olivier was always better company after a good flirt.