The Perfect Happiness(96)
Not wanting to miss a moment, or give herself time to dwell on her children, she dressed in a pair of white trousers and light plimsolls, throwing on a diaphanous floral shirt. She left her hair to fall about her shoulders and sprayed herself with scent. She had noticed that Anna wore no makeup. Her style was effortlessly glamorous, though she doubted Anna would ever use that word to describe herself. So she didn’t bother with her usual morning ritual and skipped downstairs, bare-faced.
She went into the kitchen to find a jovial-looking African woman in a bright yellow headdress, piling up a tray with coffee and bread. “Good morning.” Her smile was dazzling against the rich brown of her skin.
“Good morning. I’m Angelica.”
“Very nice to meet you, Miss Angelica. My name is Anxious. Master is out on the terrace if you want to join him.”
“Thank you. I will.”
“Would you like some coffee?”
“I’d love tea . . .”
“I have a pot of tea ready. Madam likes jasmine tea in the morning, but I have Earl Grey if you would prefer.” The tray looked heavy, but Anxious lifted it off the table with ease and bustled efficiently towards the terrace. Angelica followed her.
Jack was at the table reading a newspaper, surrounded by his dogs. When he saw her, he jumped to his feet.
“Good morning, Sage,” he said, taking her around the waist and kissing her cheek.
He smelled of shaving foam and lime cologne. His hair was damp and pushed off his forehead into a thick froth of unruly curls. Behind his glasses his eyes shone with enthusiasm, the crow’s-feet searing through his temples like deep scars. He looked more handsome than ever.
She withdrew, afraid that his wife or daughter would notice their intimacy, and took a seat beside him. “Where’s Anna?”
“Gone off with Lucy to help with the harvest.”
“I thought she might be meditating in her pagoda.”
“She’s done with that by six.”
“Don’t you have to help, too?”
“Technically, yes. But as you’re here I’m going to entertain you.”
“I’d be more than happy to pick grapes.”
“I know, but I want you to myself. Besides, they started hours ago and will be finished by half ten. If the grapes come in too warm, they’re useless for good wine. You shall survey the harvest from the comfort of a pretty chestnut mare. Faezel and Nazaar are bringing them around at nine-thirty.”
“That sounds like heaven. I’ve dreamed of riding over the hills with you.”
“Anxious is making us a picnic, aren’t you, Anxious?”
Anxious lifted her eyes over the teapot and grinned at him affectionately: “Yes, Master.” She poured into Angelica’s cup.
“I’m going to show Angelica the estate.”
“Tell her to wear cream: the sun is very hot, and she is very pale.”
“You’d better do as Anxious says,” he teased, watching her big body vibrate with a chuckle. “I’ve done as Anxious says for the past thirty-five years, haven’t I, Anxious?”
She shrugged. “Some of the time. Most of the time, no.”
“When will the picnic be ready?”
“Just now, Master.” She put the teapot down and went to fetch it.
“She’s a real character. I love her like my own mother.”
Angelica sipped her tea and helped herself to toast. Across the garden she could see a couple of dark-skinned men working in the borders, their heads protected by white hats. The sound of their chatter floated across the lawn with the twittering of birds.
“It’s so beautiful here, Jack. I don’t ever want to leave. I hate to think of returning to our winter: the short, bleak days; the cold, damp air; the bare trees and borders of dead flowers. Here it’s so lush and fragrant. The light is so bright, the sky so blue, the green greener than I have ever seen it. Everything is an extravagance of color and scent. Even you look browner and glossier out here.”
He took her hand. “I’m so happy it’s touched you like it touches me. I love this place more than any other. When I die, my ashes will be scattered beneath those hills.”
“A fine resting place.”
“I’ll never leave.”
She looked alarmed. “You’ll come back to London soon, I hope.”
“If you’re there, then I’ll devise a good excuse.” He looked at her fondly, but his smile faltered.
“I’m looking forward to riding out. I haven’t ridden a horse in years.”
“Don’t worry, Fennella is very placid. She’ll look after you. And so will I!”
At nine-thirty two men appeared with the horses. Jack’s was a fit-looking gray mare, with the legs of a racehorse, while Angelica’s was smaller and sturdier, with a gentle face and soft brown eyes. She approached Fennella and stroked the white blaze down the center of her nose; the mare nodded with pleasure, snorting through dilated nostrils.