The Perfect Happiness(9)
He laughed and glanced across the table at Olivier, now in animated conversation with Scarlet. “So what are the conditions?”
“They’re too many to list. We don’t have all night.”
“Which is a great pity.” He turned his eyes on her again and lowered his voice. “Loving your husband is dependent on how he makes you feel. So you love him on condition that he makes you feel alive, beautiful, and valued.” She was surprised by the wisdom in this analysis—Olivier wouldn’t even discuss such a subject. “If he ceases to make you feel good about yourself, you will cease to love him. You might not leave him, but the essence of your love will change.”
“You’re so right. Olivier has the power to make me feel good about myself or bad about myself. His love can wound me or uplift me. Unconditional love would love him no matter what, even if he didn’t love me at all.”
“Pure love loves even the hand that strikes it.”
“I couldn’t love like that.”
He leaned towards her conspiratorially, and she felt the flame of his charisma as if his body were made of fire. “I think it’s a great idea.”
“You’re very sweet to say so.”
“You should have been called Sage, not Angelica.”
She laughed in astonishment. “Most people don’t know that Angelica is an herb.”
“I’m a countryman. I know my herbs, flowers, shrubs, and trees. I know my birds, too. I love nature with a passion. I can’t be in a city for too long, the concrete depresses me.”
“I love nature, too. I just don’t spend enough time in it.”
“I suppose the park doesn’t quite satisfy.”
“No, it doesn’t. But I grew up in Norfolk. My parents still live there. It’s beautiful, by an estuary. There are all sorts of birds on the beach.”
“Ah, Norfolk, the bird-watching capital of Britain.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I love birds and I’ve been to Norfolk. I remember thousands of geese in winter, marsh harriers, bearded tits, avocets, terns, and the odd bittern.”
“You’re joking!”
He grinned, pleased that he was able to impress her. “Don’t they have the most wonderful names!”
“You recognize all of those?”
“Of course. As I said, I know my birds.”
“You really do.”
“Come to South Africa. We have all sorts of exotic breeds there: the little malachite kingfisher with her electric-blue plumage and the cheeky hoopoe who calls ‘poop poop poop’ across the garden.”
“Wow, you’re a fount of information. How come you’re so wise about life and nature?”
“If you love nature, you automatically ask yourself the big questions. You’re constantly faced with the death and rebirth of trees and flowers. And when you gaze over vast distances, that prompts you to think of your own mortality and makes you feel very insignificant.”
“I’m going to wipe the dust off my binoculars!”
“I’m glad I’ve inspired you.”
She sipped her wine thoughtfully. “You’ve really inspired me, Jack, and not just in the feathered department. I’m going to try to add a deeper layer to my books. I’m going to search for the perfect happiness.”
“You should. I’m not just saying so because I find you attractive. Most people go through life as if they were blind, mechanically, as you say, without ever questioning what it all means. Trust me, I ask myself that question every day.” His face darkened as if a sad thought had passed through his mind. “We’re all going to die. I’d like to find out what I’m doing here before I go. I’d certainly like my last years to be happy ones.” He drained his glass, which was promptly filled by a hovering waiter.
“Let’s talk about something happy. Tell me about your children?”
So Jack told her about Lucy, Elizabeth, and Sophie: the three jewels in his crown.
“I bet they’ve got you well wrapped round their little fingers.”
He laughed as he thought about their wheedling and manipulating. “They’re young women now. Even Lucy, who’s just fifteen, is going on twenty-one. It’s hard for a father like me. I want to wrap them in pink candyfloss and hold on to their innocence. I’m a terrible old rogue, so I suspect all the young men in their lives of the worst intentions.”
“Judging them by your own standards.”
“Exactly. I keep a shotgun under my pillow, and woe betide anyone who lays a dirty hand on one of my girls.”
“It’s going to happen, you know.”