“I know. And together we have made the two sweetest children on the planet.”
She turned to find them fast asleep. She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed it back. In that fleeting moment she saw her life with clarity, as if she were above her body, looking down. Jack didn’t belong there. But the moment didn’t last. Soon they were motoring up the drive of Fenton Hall and the children were waking from their nap. Olivier slipped his hand away and replaced it on the wheel. Angelica wound up her seat and prepared for the worst.
The car pulled up on the gravel, setting off security lights that lit them up like actors on a stage. Denny appeared in the porch with a cigar between his lips, hands in the pockets of his jerkin. A flurry of fluffy dogs scurried out like big rats, sending the children into squeals of panic. Angelica coaxed them out of the car, bending down to stroke the dogs to prove that they weren’t going to bite. Olivier waved at his father-in-law and went round to the boot to see to the bags. Angelica took Joe and Isabel by the hand and led them inside.
“Hi, Dad,” she said.
He put his arm around her and planted a smoky kiss on her cheek. “You look smashing, darling. Go and see your mother—she’s in the kitchen with Daisy.” Angelica took the children through the hall, where a grand piano stood in front of a sweeping staircase and pale green sofas clashed with the blue patterned carpet. She recalled the times she had sat at the top of those stairs watching the parties below. Her father at the piano, a girl on his knee, her mother in a miniskirt and platform boots singing Marianne Faithfull songs, the hall smoky enough to hide where people put their hands.
On the walls were large black-and-white photos of Angelica and her sister Daisy as children in white hippie dresses with buttercups in their hair, big Andy Warhol prints in psychedelic colors.
She heard her mother’s voice before she reached the kitchen. “Well, he’s not going to be worth a great deal now, love. You should have squeezed him for as much as you could get out of him a year ago at least.” Angelica sighed and stepped into the room.
“Ah, Angelica.” Angie left the Aga and sailed across the room like a galleon to press the children to her spongy bosom. Both Isabel and Joe recoiled as they were smothered in red lipstick and Yves Saint Laurent’s Opium. “You’ve grown so big. Look at you! You’re adorable. Both of you.”
Daisy was sitting at the kitchen table looking pale. “My lot are upstairs in the attic, if yours want to join them. They’re playing with Dad’s trains.” Joe’s eyes lit up, remembering the gigantic model railway from the year before.
“Come on, Isabel,” he hissed, taking her by the hand. Angelica watched them go, hoping they wouldn’t bump into the dogs on their way through the hall. As there was no screaming, she deduced that her father and Olivier were still outside chatting.
“Hi, Daisy,” she said, kissing her sister. Daisy looked her over in surprise.
“You’ve lost weight,” she said.
“Have I?”
“Yes, you have, love.” Her mother appraised her admiringly, taking a drag of her cigarette. “It suits you. After all, you have to be careful: you have my genes. Daisy’s lucky she’s skinny like her father.”
“So how are you, Daisy?” Angelica asked, pouring herself a glass of Chablis.
“Well, since I last saw you, which was, what? Oh, a year ago!” She laughed, trying to make light of it.
“I know, it’s crazy, but life has been so busy.”
“Streatham isn’t the other side of the world.”
“I know. We should make more of an effort to see each other.”
“Ted and I are now officially divorced, but he won’t settle.”
“I told her, she’s missed the boat now. I can’t imagine he has much money to give you,” interjected Angie.
“He’s been made redundant,” Daisy informed her.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Angelica replied truthfully. She knew Daisy didn’t get paid much as a piano teacher.
“Life’s a bummer.”
Angelica took a gulp of wine and braced herself for her sister’s defensiveness. Ever since she had married Olivier and made a better life for herself, Daisy had resented her. “I know how hard it is, Daisy,” she said sympathetically.
Daisy sniffed. “I don’t think you have the slightest idea, Angelica.”
“I’ve made a delicious fish pie,” said their mother cheerfully, opening the Aga door to look at it. “Denny loves fish pie. I’ve asked a few friends over for drinks tonight. Just locals. Jennifer and Alan Hancock, Marge and Tony Pilcher. I’ve always had a bit of a thing about Tony. He’s a dreadful old roué!” She laughed throatily.