Angelica sighed heavily. “I hear you.”
“You know, we live in a disposable culture. We run a hole in a sweater, we don’t mend it like our mothers used to do, we trash it and buy a new one. We want something we can’t afford, we buy it anyway, on credit, and pay later, because you know what? We think we deserve everything we want. We think our happiness is a right, like our right to live on this planet. We’re the ‘me’ generation, and it’s all about how to make ‘me’ happy. So we desire another woman’s husband, we feel we have a right to him, because our happiness is paramount, and God forbid anyone stand in the way of that. There’s no sense of duty or responsibility anymore, and I know I’m sounding like my grandmother, but she lived a more moral life, where she made her vows before God and kept them, whether she was happy or not. It wasn’t all about ‘me’—but about taking responsibility for one’s choices and putting duty before personal gratification. I don’t want to preach, but you’re happy with Olivier. Sure, he’s not an easy man, but he makes you laugh when he’s on form, and you love him. Do you really feel you deserve another woman’s husband? Do you really feel Olivier deserves to be a cuckold? Do you really feel your happiness is more valuable than Joe’s and Isabel’s, that you have a right to have an affair whatever the cost?” She sighed and took a sip of coffee while Angelica stared forlornly into her cup. “Selfishness is all part of the sickness of our world. The crazy idea that we have a God-given right to be happy all the time and if we’re not, some-thing’s not right—but hell, it’s not our fault!”
“Wow, you should run for president!”
“I’m good at rhetoric.”
“You sure say it like it is.”
“I just don’t want to be the person who says I told you so. By then it’s too late and all the eggs in the basket are broken—and they’re such fine eggs!”
“You won’t be that person, I promise.” You’re the sage, not me, Angelica thought bleakly. “You should write a book.”
“Of course I should write a goddamn book, but I can’t write like you. I don’t have that gift, unfortunately. Besides, why share my wisdom with the rest of the world?” She shrugged on her cape and hooked her caramel Birkin over her arm. “It’s not ready for me yet!”
Candace gave Angelica a lift to school. The pavement heaved with leggy mothers with sheepskin jackets and Anya Hindmarch handbags, and pale-faced children in immaculate green coats and hats, waving good-bye to their friends and teachers. The street was blocked with shiny Mercedeses and BMW Jeeps, solemn-looking chauffeurs in navy suits idling beside their vehicles. Joe and Isabel bounded out like excited puppies and flung their arms around their mother.
Candace kissed Angelica affectionately. “You have a good Christmas,” she said, giving her a sympathetic look.
“I’ll be fine. Christmas with my ghastly parents. New Year’s in Provence with Olivier’s ghastly mother and sisters. No texts to get me through it all. No warm Caribbean sea to lose myself in. But I’ll be fine. I’m made of strong British stock!”
“There you go,” said Candace, smiling. “You hold on to that great sense of humor.”
“If I can’t cry, I might as well laugh.”
“Call me if you need me.”
“I will.” She looked at her steadily. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. What are friends for?”
Angelica had no intention of giving up Jack. As far as she was concerned, she hadn’t done anything wrong. He made her laugh, and he made her feel attractive, and she didn’t see anything wrong with that. So they were falling in love with each other, but they were wise enough to know when to stop, weren’t they? And a little flirt with danger was not a crime; it made her happy.
She was relieved the holidays had arrived at last. She never wrote when her children were home, so she had the perfect excuse to abandon her desk. Claudia was in for a shock. She had barely started her new book and what she had written wasn’t satisfactory. Meanwhile, sales of her paperback were good and she had received proof copies of The Silk Serpent, which had a fabulous shiny snake on the front with bright red eyes and a green forked tongue. She immediately sent one to Jack.
The children were very excited to be home. They played in the garden, climbing the magnolia tree and feeding the birds. She took them to Kew Gardens, where they walked along the celebrated treetop walk, holding hands to reassure Angelica, who was afraid of heights. They made daily trips to Kensington Gardens to give bread to the swans and scale the pirate ship in the Diana playground. Angelica took them for a walk around the Serpentine, remembering the morning she had spent there with Jack and allowing her heart to flood with nostalgia. It was now bitterly cold, and frost hardened the ground and froze the trees into bent and twisted shapes like crippled old men. The skies were gray, darkness came early, and crows cawed into the icy air as they pecked the grass for worms.