Angelica drew Joe into her arms and gave him a bear hug. “You’re brilliant,” she exclaimed, savoring the smell of his hair and his soft skin against her cheek. Her children were still little, but it wouldn’t be long before they were pushing her away, not wanting to be cuddled, and then she’d have no one to wrap her arms around, because Olivier was never here and when he was, his mind was still in the office.
“So, can I watch Ben10 now?”
“Go on, then. Tell Isabel it’s her turn.” She watched him disappear into the hall. My happiness depends on the health of my children, she thought. Not a lasting happiness because it is always clouded with fear. I fear things that might never happen. Wasted energy and yet, I can’t stop myself. For every moment of bliss I fear the pain of loss. How would I cope without them? Happiness is like small islands in a sea of fear. Why can’t fear be small islands in a sea of happiness? Why fear at all? Can’t I just accept things as they come and deal with them as they arrive? She smiled wistfully as Isabel padded into the room.
When Olivier arrived home, the children were in bed and Angelica had cooked dinner. The table was laid in the kitchen with place mats and napkins, wineglasses and a single candle.
“This is romantic,” he said, dropping his briefcase on the hall table.
“It’s just the two of us.” She noticed the silk and cashmere scarf around his neck.
“Good. I’m too tired to talk to anyone but you, and my head is still full of rampaging elephants.”
“Have you taken anything for it other than aspirin?”
“Besides Nurofen, no. I think I’ll have another inhalation before bed.”
“Take Night Nurse.”
“All right. I’ll do that. Tomorrow, I’ll stagger into work with a hangover.”
“How’s it been?”
“Terrible. Everything is down. This is serious, Angelica.”
“I know, I’ve read the papers.”
He sighed and sank into a chair. She poured him a glass of Bordeaux. He took a sip, and his shoulders relaxed.
“Take off your scarf and jacket, and I’ll give your shoulders a rub.”
“What’s going on?” he asked, loosening his scarf. “Are you having an affair?”
“Silly! You just look so tense.” She felt her cheeks redden.
“I am tense.” She put his scarf and jacket on the back of his chair and proceeded to massage his neck. “That feels so good.” Her fingers worked deep into the muscles, feeling them soften beneath her touch. She felt guilty about her secret e-mails, and her guilt made her a geisha to make up for it.
“I haven’t given you a massage in years.”
He laughed. “You never gave me massages even when we were courting. I was the one with the oil.”
“And the magical hands.” She was surprised to feel herself grow hot with desire.
“They still are magical, you know.” He closed his eyes, and slowly his tension drained away, replaced by a physical yearning for a more primitive form of release.
He took her hands and pulled her round in front of him, pushing out his chair so she could sit astride him. “I want to make love to you,” he murmured. “I have a beautiful wife. I should take more notice of her.”
“With your sore throat!”
“It’s feeling better.”
Hypochondriac, she thought affectionately. “What about the children?”
“If we worry about the children walking in on us, we will never make love.”
He pulled her head down and kissed her, letting her hair fall about his face. His lips were warm and tasted of wine. He was a good kisser; he always had been. He pulled her shirt out of her jeans and slipped his fingers inside. She felt his hands undo the clasp on her bra and then the sensual feeling of his thumbs on her nipples. It had been so long, they responded eagerly to his touch. She threw back her head and allowed his bristly chin to scratch the delicate skin on her neck as he kissed her. Aware of the danger of being caught by a sleepy child, Angelica wriggled out of her jeans and panties and sat astride him again, slipping him inside her with a well-practiced hand. They lost each other for a while, alone in their pleasure, until they reached the peak together. They remained entwined a moment longer, hearts racing, heads spinning with the sudden rush of adrenaline.
“That was spontaneous,” she said, kissing his temple. It was damp and salty.
“It is like we are young and in love again.” He stroked her hair. “We should make love more often.”
“Life is busy,” she said, climbing off and reaching for her clothes.
“We should make time for the important things. Now what’s for dinner?”