The Perfect Happiness(74)
“So do you want to know what The Haggis said, or not? Soup to start, duck salad as a main course and make it big. I’m hungry.”
“Ah, I see eating is a New Year’s resolution as well as altruism,” said Candace. “Now I’m surprised.”
“Well, go on. We’re listening,” said Letizia. “Did you sneak a peek?”
“Not exactly. I mistook Pete’s telephone for mine. They’re identical.”
“Sure they are,” Candace commented under her breath.
“Well, mine has a sticker on it, actually. But the ring tone’s the same, and he was in the shower, so I opened it and read it.”
“And?” said Scarlet.
“What did it say?” Letizia and Angelica asked in unison.
“Hey sexy, you haven’t been in touch . . .”
“In touch. That’s a good one,” said Candace. Kate didn’t understand. “Well, surely she meant that he hadn’t touched her for a while.”
“Goodness no! She’s far too stupid to think up something witty like that.”
“It doesn’t necessarily mean that Pete’s been cheating on you since he agreed to stay on the porch,” said Scarlet.
Angelica thought of Jack on his porch and brightened at the prospect of seeing him again in only a few weeks. She glanced at Scarlet and knew that she could enlighten them a bit on the advantages of texting. In comparison to her, Scarlet was an amateur.
“She’s stalking him,” said Kate.
“I hope she’s not a bunny boiler,” Letizia added.
“No bunnies to boil.” Kate laughed coolly.
Candace looked at her through narrowed eyes. “You don’t seem upset?”
“Valium,” said Kate simply, taking a calm breath and smiling serenely. “It’s a wonder what a teeny weeny little pill can do for one’s stress levels. Really, I’ve never felt better. Highly recommended.” They all stared at her. “Got you!” She laughed, but no one joined her. “Just a joke. You think I’d be so irresponsible?”
“Honestly? Yes,” said Candace a little nervously. “At this rate your baby will come out laughing.”
“Well, he’ll have a good sense of humor if he’s anything like his father,” Kate replied.
“Which one?” asked Candace, then she added with a chuckle: “Or are they both comedians?”
Angelica picked up the children from school in a good mood. She felt light-headed after three Bellinis, and happy to be back in her comfort zone. She was even pleased to see Jenna Elrich, whose suntan and sea-bleached hair were usually enough to deflate her joy. But her spirit was flooded with generosity, and she listened sympathetically as Jenna moaned about the beach house in Mustique and the chalet in Switzerland, the inefficiency of builders and decorators, and she didn’t mind a bit when Jenna told her how pale she looked. She had put Norfolk and Provence behind her and was looking forwards, to South Africa.
When she got home, there was a man sitting on her door-step in a pair of khaki trousers and a blue shirt. Around his waist was a tool belt. As she approached, he lifted his eyes and smiled sheepishly. “Hi, love, I hope you don’t mind me hanging out on your doorstep for a moment?” His accent was East End, as was his affability. He didn’t look dangerous. In fact, his face was boyishly good-looking, with big blue eyes brimming with honesty.
“Of course not,” she replied, smiling back politely.
She unlocked the door and let the children run inside. She closed it behind her and threw the children’s backpacks onto the dining room table. The children ran off to the playroom. Just as she put the kettle on to make a cup of tea, the doorbell rang. She knew it was the man on her doorstep before she opened the door.
“I’m really sorry to bother you, but I’m in a bit of a pickle. I’m a carpenter. I’m working on that building opposite.” He moved so she could see the house covered in scaffolding. “Big job, that is.”
“I bet it is,” she replied.
“Anyway, Steve has run off with my jacket by mistake. It’s got my wallet and phone inside. I’ve been waiting for him to come back, but it’s been an hour. He must have gone home without realizing.”
“Oh, that’s awful. Do you want to borrow our telephone? My husband’s upstairs, I’m sure he won’t mind,” she lied, thinking that was the sort of thing Candace would do, if she was ever foolish enough to let a strange man into her house—which she most certainly wasn’t. But this man didn’t look dangerous.
“That’s really good of you. Look, my name is John Stoke.” He put his hand in his breast pocket. “Here’s my card.” She looked at it. John Stoke, carpenter. Might be useful, she thought, if ever I need one. Which I most certainly will at some stage. She noticed his hands were big and rough and splattered with paint. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just call my mobile and see if he picks up.”