The Perfect Happiness(24)

6



Being generous and loving spreads happiness that is then returned to you tenfold.

In Search of the Perfect Happiness



Olivier had gone to the spare room again, so Angelica lay in bed alone, composing her next e-mail to Jack. She wished Joe or Isabel would come to keep her company. She missed the gentle sound of their breathing and the warmth of their bodies beside her. She didn’t miss Olivier; he smelled of Vicks and snored.

By Saturday morning she had caught Olivier’s sore throat. She heaved a sigh and staggered into the bathroom, her eyes heavy with sleep, and rummaged in the medicine cupboard for some Day Nurse. Unlike Olivier, she wouldn’t moan and groan, but treat the symptoms with the right drug and push through her day with typical British stoicism. She knocked back a little cup of orange liquid and retched at the taste.

She returned to bed and squeezed in between the children, who had come to join her, a pillow over her head to drown out the sound of Bug’s Life on the television. She thought of Olivier asleep upstairs and felt her heart harden. He accused her of running around Kate like a lady-in-waiting, but she was expected to run around him like a devoted mother.

They had met at a summer wedding in Paris and spent all night dancing in the cobbled courtyard beneath a canopy of stars. Knowing how much she loved books, he always went out of his way to find her things he thought she might like to read. He had been spontaneous then, always one step ahead of her desires, surprising her with his thoughtfulness. He had taken her to the opera and the ballet, out for dinner at the Ivy, for romantic weekends in the Georges V, holidays on the Riviera. He had bought her little presents whenever he had traveled abroad on business, and left notes on her pillow telling her how beautiful she was and how much he loved her. Occasionally, his notes had been more imaginative: Claridge’s, 3:30 p.m., room 305 and they had met like strangers and made love all afternoon, ordering dinner from room service. Then they had married and had children, and she had morphed into his mother. He no longer took her out for dinner or arranged treats, but complained about his throat or his stomach or whatever was troubling him, and asked her advice on which medicine to take. Yes, she had morphed into his mother. No wonder Jack made her feel attractive; it wasn’t very hard to make her feel like a woman.

It was a bright, clear day, so she took the children into Kensington Gardens. The sun was warm and the park filled with children on scooters, people walking their dogs, joggers running along the paths, cyclists weaving down the Broad Walk. If only the summer had been like this, she thought, basking in the heat. Isabel and Joe made a beeline for the Diana Memorial Playground, scaling the mast of the pirate ship like monkeys. She sat on a bench and watched them, marveling at how much they had grown over the summer months. Then her mind sprang back to Jack and the e-mail she was going to send him. The anticipation of a reply was enough to cure her sore throat.

When she got home, Olivier had left a message on the kitchen table. “Gone for coffee. Be back at midday. What shall we do for lunch?” She imagined him sitting in Starbucks on the High Street reading the papers and munching on a croissant, wrapped in his scarf and jacket, and wished she had the nerve to take the children off to Birdworld, leaving him to organize his own lunch. Instead, she left them climbing the magnolia tree in the garden and went up to her office.

Poised over the computer, she felt her irritation dissolve in the excitement of this small, secret act of defiance.

Dear Dog on Porch, You see how difficult it is to put these things into practice!



As a little aside and something else to get your teeth into, isn’t suffering part of this great school of life? Doesn’t it make us wiser, stronger, and more compassionate? If life was a blast without pain or sorrow, would we die any better for having lived?



It’s a beautiful day here in London—I hope the sun is shining on your porch and that all the rabbits are safely in their burrows. From your ever more confused Sage



She turned off her computer and joined the children in the sunshine, sitting at the table to watch them play. It wasn’t long before Olivier returned with the newspaper. As predicted, he wore a scarf to emphasize his ailing throat.

“I had a bad night. It was agony this morning, I couldn’t lie in. I’m feeling much better now I’m up and have had my coffee.”

“I was thinking of taking the children to Birdworld.”

“Good idea. I’ll stay here and take it easy.” She didn’t bother to mention that she, too, now had a sore throat. Olivier never liked to share the limelight when he was unwell.

“I might take them off now. We can have lunch there.”