“You’re right. I haven’t told anyone.”
“There you go. I’m the keeper of secrets, the sacred vault.”
“You should be the one writing the book.”
“How’s that going by the way?”
“It’s not.”
Candace put her glasses back on and curled her glossy lips into a smile. “All you need is a little inspiration.”
That evening Angelica and Olivier had dinner alone together in the kitchen. Angelica had cooked a root vegetable soup and Thai noodles with ginger, but not even his favorite dish could raise her husband’s spirits. He told her about his day, his fear that the City was on the brink of collapse, speculating that thousands of jobs were under threat. The financial world was about to implode, and Olivier was right in the middle of it. He looked gray and tired.
“I’ve got a sore throat,” he added gravely, as if that was the worst thing to befall him. “I had it this morning when I woke up.”
“Have you taken anything for it?”
He shrugged helplessly. “Only aspirin.”
“You should gargle with TCP.”
“I can’t abide the taste of that stuff. I’ll have an inhalation and sleep in the spare room.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“If I can’t sleep I want to watch television.”
“Take Night Nurse, that’ll knock you out.”
“And make me feel drugged in the morning.” He took a spoonful of soup. “This is very soothing.”
“Good.”
“I’m sure I’ll feel better in the morning. I can’t afford to take time off work at the moment.”
“Oh, you’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep.”
“I don’t know . . . these things tend to linger.”
Angelica recalled the times she had been nearly incapacitated with flu and still managed to look after the children. She grinned into her bowl. Throughout history, men had fought bloody battles with incredible acts of bravery, and yet nothing could slay a man more surely than a sore throat.
Olivier retreated to the spare room after fumigating the kitchen with his Karvol inhalation. Angelica had a bath, lighting candles and scenting the water with aromatherapy oils. She lay back and closed her eyes, letting her mind wander wherever it chose, reining it in when Jack’s face surfaced and his arms spread wide to hold her. It was still early when she climbed into bed. She didn’t have the will to read—other people’s books just reminded her of her current lack of imagination—so she put on a DVD instead. An old movie, one of her favorites: Falling in Love, with Meryl Streep and Robert De Niro. She had seen it countless times but still managed to cry when they found each other on the train at the end.
She switched off the light and lay in the semidarkness listening to the distant drone of cars and the sudden roar of a motorbike as it sped up Bayswater Road. The bed was large, and she felt small lying there, alone. When the children were younger, they’d pad across the landing to climb in beside her. She had relished those nights snuggled up against their warm little bodies, listening to the reassuring rise and fall of their breathing. Now the children slept soundly down the corridor, and Olivier was wallowing in self-pity in the spare room upstairs. Tonight, there was no one to hold but in her dreams.
4
If you love yourself, you open yourself up to being loved in return.
In Search of the Perfect Happiness
The following morning Angelica woke the children early for their first day back at school. They had spent the whole summer going to bed late and waking up at eight, so she had to open their curtains and stroke their faces, coaxing them out of their deep sleep with gentle words of encouragement. They lay inert, their warm bodies curled up beneath their duvets, their pale faces buried into their pillows. She felt sorry for them. There was nothing pleasant about being woken for school, even if it was the most luxurious in London.
Isabel rolled over and stretched like a cat, blinking in the weak light of a gray day. Joe staggered into the bathroom, where he hovered dangerously by the loo, eyes half closed, barely aware of his aim. Angelica rushed to steady him so that he didn’t wee all over the floor.
Once awake, they recovered quickly, rushing about with excitement, throwing their pillows at each other while Angelica struggled to get them washed and dressed. She knew how important it was for them to look polished for their new class teachers. She hadn’t expected them to be concerned about her.
“Mummy, I hope you’re not going to wear that into school,” said Joe.
Angelica looked down at her wide-leg jeans and trainers. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”