The Perfect Happiness(93)
“You have a lot of dogs,” said Angelica, her stomach as tight as a ball of elastic bands.
“We love dogs. Some are rescue animals, others we’ve bought, one or two have just joined us for a while because they like the food.” He turned off the engine. “So what do you think?”
“It’s really lovely, Jack. I can’t wait to see it in daylight.”
“Tomorrow I’ll give you a guided tour of the whole estate. We’ll take the horses out and have a picnic lunch on the hill. You’re going to love it so much, you won’t want to go home.”
Angelica inhaled the exotic scent of camphor. “I think I already do.”
Her attention was diverted by the front door opening to reveal a slight woman in floppy white trousers and a man’s shirt, her brown hair tied casually in a loose ponytail. What struck her, though, was not her elegance but the warmth of her smile. It was the smile of a woman who knew nothing of her husband’s infidelities and had swallowed his explanations without a single, questioning chew.
“Welcome!” she cried, almost bouncing down the steps to greet her. She was the same height as Angelica but half the size. A delicate woman with fine, chiseled features; a long aquiline nose; strong chin and jaw; and bright, twinkling eyes the color of the gray clouds that Angelica had just seen from Sir Lowry’s Pass. “Jack has told me so much about you. I feel I know you already.”
Angelica was caught off guard. She allowed Anna to embrace her and couldn’t help but smile back, albeit apologetically. “It’s so nice to be here, finally,” she replied. “I’ve been looking forward to it all week.”
“Well, come on inside.”
Jack remained outside with the dogs, hauling her suitcase out of the car. Anna disappeared into the house. Angelica followed her over the polished wooden floorboards, past a round table adorned with a heavy brass pan of gardenia that filled the air with its sweet, sultry scent. The walls were off-white and quite bare but for a couple of large paintings of fruit set in heavy wooden frames. “How was the sunset?” Anna asked.
Angelica tried to answer casually, but her mind was whirring with all sorts of questions. “The most beautiful I have ever seen.”
“Sir Lowry’s Pass is one of my favorite places in the world. I told Jack to take you, if you arrived in time. It’s never the same. Sometimes the sky is pink, other times orange, gold, even purple. What was it tonight?”
“Molten gold.”
Her smile was almost triumphant. “Good. So you saw it in all its glory. I’m so pleased.” Angelica searched for some hint of bitterness, however small or well disguised, but found none.
Anna led her upstairs, across the landing decorated with bookcases and into a large bedroom with tall old-fashioned windows such as one might see in English Tudor houses, divided into many smaller square panes. In the center of the room stood a high four-poster bed, made of the same rich reddish-brown timber as the floorboards.
“This is a stunning room,” Angelica enthused, inhaling the smells typical of a house cooling down at the end of a hot day.
“I’m glad you like it. That bed’s very comfortable. I’ve had guests who have failed to get up for breakfast because they don’t want to get out of it. If you’d like breakfast in bed, just let me know.”
There were attractive lines around her mouth and eyes. She wasn’t beautiful, but her face was arresting as her vibrant personality shone through. Angelica couldn’t help but like her. She doubted there was a single person on the planet who didn’t like her.
The sound of Jack’s heaving her suitcase up the stairs made them both turn around. “Here come the whole contents of the African market.” He laughed and lifted it onto the antique wooden chest at the end of the bed.
“I hope you came with an empty suitcase,” said Anna.
“I should have. I didn’t expect to shop. I was meant to be worked like a donkey. I didn’t think I’d have time.”
“Well, at least you brought a big case.”
“And there’s a man in the house strong enough to carry it.”
“Only just,” said Jack. “How about a drink on the terrace?”
He strode past them and descended the stairs. Anna followed lightly behind, and Angelica felt a wrench in her heart. They both belonged here; she didn’t. She cursed herself for having the audacity to feel envious when it was she, not Anna, who was the impostor.
Outside, they sat on green gingham cushions at a table overlooking the gardens. The moon lit up a pagoda in the middle of a small, ornamental lake. White roses wound their way up the poles, and lilies floated on the water like pretty little boats. Beyond, the range of rocky mountains was silhouetted against the sky. The croaking of frogs and clamor of crickets were carried on a warm breeze, and jasmine scented the air beneath the awning. Anna had already laid the table for dinner and placed a vase of freshly cut roses in the center. Angelica couldn’t fail to notice her sense of style. Everything—from the black-and-white-tiled terrace to the chunky crockery decorated with painted green elephants—was touched by her self-assured good taste. She was one of those rare women blessed with flair: whatever she touched was rendered attractive, whether it was the way she decorated her house, the way she dressed, or a simple gift she might wrap for a friend, slipping a pretty butterfly under the ribbon. Angelica knew her type and admired her.