The Perfect Happiness(25)
“Is there anything for me to eat?”
“There’s some soup in the fridge. That’ll be good for your throat.”
“What time will you be back?”
“I don’t know. Fourish.”
“Okay.” He looked disappointed.
“You can always come with us. It’s not very strenuous walking around Birdworld.”
He put his hand to his throat. “No, I’d better rest. You know what my sore throats are like.” He hunched his shoulders, looking sorry for himself.
“Why don’t you watch a DVD or something? You need to give your body a chance to recover. I’ll make you a hot drink before I go.” He seemed to swell beneath her apparent concern.
“Perhaps I will have a spoonful of that Manuka honey.” He didn’t make a move to get it.
“Good idea,” she said getting up dutifully. “That’s meant to be excellent for sore throats.”
Angelica didn’t really want to go out on her own. She would have liked Candace to go with her, but Candace spent every weekend at their house in Gloucestershire. Kate and Letizia were bound to be doing something more glamorous. Then she had a bright idea. She’d ask Scarlet. She was the sort of girl who relished a plan cooked up at the last minute, and William was notoriously easygoing.
As fortune would have it, Scarlet thought it a fabulous idea. She suggested all going together in her BMW, as it had ample room for two adults and four children. When she rang the bell, Olivier answered to find her in a denim miniskirt and pale brown suede boots. His mood lifted at the sight of her tanned thighs, and for a moment Angelica thought he might change his mind and come with them.
“I’m a little under the weather,” he explained, torn between his desire to see more of her legs and his inclination to sulk in front of the television feeling sorry for himself.
In the end it was Scarlet who made the decision for him. “I don’t want you infecting my children with whatever undesirable bug you happen to have,” she said firmly. “I think you’d better go back to bed and sleep it off.”
Olivier watched them drive away, wondering what he was going to do all afternoon without Angelica to look after him. He resented her for deserting him when he was ill. The least she could have done was rustle up something more interesting for lunch. As it was, he faced boring old soup. He brightened a little at the thought of dinner, certain that she would cook something more inspiring to make up for having abandoned him.
“I bet you’re pleased to be out of the house,” said Scarlet as they drove down Holland Park Road.
“He’s like a bear with a sore head.”
“More like a sheep!”
“I know, he’s pathetic when he’s sick. He brings out the worst in me. I’m irritated that he can’t look after himself and guilty that I’m not nursing him as I should.”
“All men are the same. It’s Man-Flu. When William’s sick, he starts talking like his old nanny. ‘I think I need a little Vicks on my chest and a little lemon and honey.’ Everything in the diminutive and delivered in his most wretched voice.”
“Do we blame their mothers? Are our sons going to end up the same because of our overindulgence?”
“I hope not, but I fear so.” Scarlet glanced at the four children in the back. The boys were playing Nintendo, the girls flicking through Isabel’s owl book.
“I don’t know whether Olivier’s more annoyed that I’m abandoning him for the day, or that I haven’t cooked him anything for lunch.”
“Oh dear, what’s he having?”
“Soup.”
“Shame on you, Angelica!”
“I know. I haven’t got round to filling the fridge. I’ll find something more substantial for dinner, even if it means ordering out. You know what’s annoying, though?”
“That he wouldn’t cook for you if you were ill.”
“Exactly. It’s all one way. I’m the one who has to buy the food, put meals on the table, take his jacket to the dry cleaner—which reminds me, I still haven’t picked up his Gucci jacket and trousers. Damn!” She sighed in frustration. “There’s so much to do and so little time in the day! I have to think of all the domestic stuff, and yet I have a career, too.”
“William’s the same. I’m at the office all day, juggling my clients and my children, and yet he expects dinner on the table when he gets home—and not just soup and salad. That’s men for you. Especially an old-fashioned man like Olivier.”
“A Frenchman like Olivier.”
“At least you have that sexy French accent to listen to on the pillow.”