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The Perfect Happiness(77)

By:Santa Montefiore


“You can be sure of that. I can’t afford to lose another coat!”

“Who cares about the coat! I care about you.”

“You’re very sweet.”

“You’ve got to take better care of yourself. Have you got good locks on your door?”

“I think so.”

“Don’t be vague and British about this. The world is a dangerous place.”

“We live in a very safe area.”

“Don’t kid yourself. Nowhere is safe. You have to put good locks on the doors, a camera outside so you can see who’s there, and don’t ever open the door without asking for ID if it’s a deliveryman. Don’t trust a van and a uniform. They can be copied as easily as a child’s fancy-dress outfit. Keep your wits about you.”

“This isn’t Johannesburg.” She laughed, feeling a surge of tenderness towards him.

“I thank God for that.”

Inevitably, Olivier discovered the coat was missing a couple of days later. She said she’d ring the dry cleaner’s and find out whether they could locate it. “They can pay for a new one if they’ve lost it,” he said, then forgot all about it. Angelica was relieved.

A couple of weeks went by. Now she was able to laugh about it, sharing the story with the girls, who teased her affectionately until Kate told a story about giving two hundred pounds to an Indian fortune-teller on Sloane Street who told her not to wear black on Tuesdays, and knew her mother’s maiden name and the name of her favorite flower. Who would have guessed red peonies, after all? He showed her photographs of his orphanage in Delhi, and when she said she had only twenty pounds in her wallet, he informed her politely that there was an ATM machine around the corner. Angelica’s story was forgotten, and Kate was back where she was happiest, at the center of everyone’s attention.

Angelica began to pack for South Africa. She was so excited, laying everything out on the bed before folding her clothes carefully into her suitcase. It would be sunny and hot, so she packed pretty Melissa Odabash kaftans and white palazzo pants and sandals, and booked into Richard Ward for highlights and a pedicure.

The children weren’t happy that she was leaving them, but she had managed to bribe Denise, their old nanny, to work the week with strict instructions to spoil them rotten. She felt a painful wrench at the thought of separation.

The evening before she was due to leave, a policeman arrived at the door. Olivier was home. She was in the kitchen with Joe, listening to him read Harry Potter. Olivier happened to be in the hall looking through the post, so it was he who answered the bell. She strained to hear their conversation. Although she couldn’t make out every word, she picked up enough to know that Olivier was being told about the carpenter and the coat. She felt the earth give way beneath her and cursed herself for going to the police station. Why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut? Joe pressed her to listen. She swallowed her anxiety and managed a smile of encouragement. “I’m listening,” she said. Joe read on, but Angelica wasn’t listening. She was frantically planning her excuse. She knew Olivier would be furious.

She heard the door close, and a gust of cold wind blew into the kitchen. She shivered. Olivier stood in the doorway. His face was gray. “Joe, go and play with your sister, I want to talk to your mother.” Joe knew something was wrong. He glanced at his mother anxiously.

“We’ll read later,” she said, wanting to save her son from any disquiet. She closed the book and watched Joe reluctantly leave the room. With a heavy sigh she raised her eyes to her husband. Unlike Jack, his first thought was not for her safety but for his coat.

“It was my favorite. I’d had it for twenty years. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was too ashamed,” she replied truthfully. No point in pretending otherwise.

“You lied. You said it was at the dry cleaner’s.”

“Yes, I’m sorry for that. I wanted to avoid your fury.”

“Well, you only delayed it.”

“So I see.”

“Why didn’t you show him the safe and offer him your jewelry? Why did you stop at the coat?”

“Don’t be sarcastic.”

He frowned and leaned against the sideboard. “Sometimes you baffle me, Angelica. Your dippiness is sometimes charming. But now it’s just worrying. I’m not sure that I can trust you.”

The insult struck her. “This isn’t about trust. Or rather, it’s not about your trusting me, but my trusting a stranger. It happens to people all the time. I’m sure Kate would have done exactly the same.”

“Kate would have given the keys to her house. That is not a good comparison.”