Angelica felt light-headed. It was a welcome feeling, masking the bruising caused by her row with Olivier and her parting from the children. She had kissed her husband coolly. He had held on to her for longer than was necessary, hoping for a softening in her demeanor. But her resentment was such that even though she willed herself to be loving, her heart refused to give in, remaining as tight as a clenched fist. Now that she was suitably tipsy, she could convince herself that she didn’t regret her behavior, that she had every reason still to begrudge him. The balance of power had never tipped so far in her favor before, but it was a hollow victory. Candace would have said that she had prolonged their row to give her the perfect excuse for adultery. She took another swig of wine and tried not to think of Candace, or to question her motives for prolonging her sulk. She drained her glass, almost convinced that given the way Olivier had treated her, she deserved someone to cherish her.
She ate dinner, watched Vicky Cristina Barcelona, then lay flat beneath her blanket and fell asleep. She didn’t dream of Jack or Olivier, but of Joe and Isabel, their anxious faces pulling her heartstrings so hard they tore the flesh and bled.
When they landed in Johannesburg, it was early morning, but already the light was dazzling. Used to the gray, cloudy skies of England, she squinted in the glare of the royal blue sky and let the sunshine lift her battered spirits.
Sweeping her family to the back of her mind, she turned her thoughts to Jack. She had told him not to meet her at the airport as the publisher’s rep was going to pick her up and take her to her hotel. She’d have time only to shower before having to go downstairs for a lunch event. Although she had an afternoon talk with a ladies’ reading group in Pretoria, she had made sure that dinner was left free, explaining to her agent that she’d be tired after her flight and would go straight to bed. Jack was meeting her for dinner, somewhere quiet, but they had arranged to speak beforehand as she wasn’t sure what time she’d make it back from Pretoria.
The thought of being on the same continent as Jack filled her with nervous excitement. She was moving inexorably towards an affair, and, even if she had second thoughts, it was too late to stop now; she hadn’t the will to turn the tide. It was that sense of inevitability that turned her stomach to jelly. But Candace was safely tucked away on the other side of the world, her voice of reason lost in the great distance that separated them, and she didn’t think of her family. She was in South Africa, far from anyone she knew, far from the Angelica she knew. Here, she could be anyone she wanted to be and somehow it wouldn’t count—she’d step back into her own skin on her return.
As she walked into Arrivals, a pretty, brown-faced girl stood holding a handwritten sign with her name on it. Angelica waved, and the girl smiled in recognition, weaving nimbly through the crowd to greet her. “Hi, I’m Anita,” she said, laughing bashfully at her crude sign. “Sorry about this. I wasn’t sure I’d recognize you. Welcome to Jozi.” They shook hands.
Angelica delighted in her accent. It reminded her of Jack. “It’s good to be here,” she said truthfully, inhaling the foreign air and tasting in the atmosphere the anticipated sweetness of forbidden fruit.
“You look radiant, considering the long flight. Was it okay?”
“I slept most of the way.”
“Good, so you’re not too tired for your lunch event?”
“Not at all.”
“We’re fully booked, which is great. We even had to turn a few people away. It’s going to be fun.”
They walked through the airport and out into the car park, where the midsummer heat was luxurious. Frothy trees shimmered in the breeze as birds flew in and out of the branches. Anita was cool in a black sundress with red pumps, and Angelica couldn’t wait to change out of her jeans into something lighter. They climbed into the hot car, and Anita turned on the air-conditioning. Piles of papers and files lay across the backseat, and at her feet was a bag containing bottles of water and shiny red apples. “In case you get thirsty,” she said, handing her a bottle. “Now, we’re going straight to the Grace. It’s really pretty. I think you’ll like it. It has a lovely garden behind with a swimming pool, so if you want to lie out this afternoon for an hour, be my guest. We’ll be leaving for Pretoria at four.”
“Busy schedule!”
“Claudia made it very clear that you wanted to squeeze as much as possible into these five days. I gather you have children to get back to.”
“And an irate husband.”
“Oh, he doesn’t like you to go away?”