Chapter 24 Aimée
Later in the afternoon, thinking of ways to inspire my husband to feel more positive about the house purchase, I head upstairs to see Aimée.
Love is a strategy to keep people close to you, and to make those you use feel that their support has value, but even love needs to be sweetened sometimes.
My approach might be unconventional, but treats work with dogs, so why not husbands?
As I walk past our bathroom, I hear the sound of water running and glance sideways. The door is ajar and I see Aimée’s on the toilet scrolling through her phone.
I open my mouth to speak. She looks up at me. No change in her facial expression, no surprise, no embarrassment. I think, fundamentally, it’s laziness rather than a political statement.
‘Aimée, may I have a word?’
‘While I’m peeing?’
‘We tend to close the door in this country.’
‘Doors, minds, legs,’ she says, with a flamboyant gesture.
‘When you’re ready, do come down.’
Eight minutes later, Aimée flounces into the kitchen and drags a stool across the floor, as I suppose lifting is also a terrible British time-waster. I am stroking Purdy, who is purring loudly.
Having consulted the finest minds on the topic (Cosmopolitan), it seems likely that Stephen’s sexual deterioration is due to a debilitating cocktail of stress, depression, bereavement and financial concerns.
I have, therefore, created a plan to reanimate our love, spark his testosterone production, and re-engage him with our primary projects, namely, Hampstead and a third child.
For this, I need Aimée’s help. She stares at me with barely disguised boredom.
‘What now? Is the jam jar lid not on tightly enough?’
‘The jar is not correctly closed, but it’s something else.’
‘What? The fridge door is slightly ajar?’
‘Sometimes in all types of employment, you need to go the extra mile.’
‘No,’ says Aimée, with the same defiant expression Nelly uses.
‘But you don’t know what I mean,’ I say.
‘I don’t do extra miles. No miles more. You want me to clean. Non! I have said already.’
‘It’s not cleaning. It’s Stephen. He’s going through a difficult patch.’
‘He seems happy.’
‘Yes, but that rather proves my point, doesn’t it? If he’s reached Gallic levels of happiness, we’re at crisis point.’
‘This is not misery!’ she says, gesturing to her visage. ‘This is intelligence. Life is tragic because we think. That is why we are second only to Finland in suicide.’
‘Something to be proud of, I’m sure, but we’re getting off the point. Stephen used to be more enthusiastic, attentive – loving, even. But since his father died, he’s just gone limp.’
‘Limp? What is limp?’
‘The opposite of stiff,’ I say. ‘He’s lost his desire. He stares into the distance. He shares increasingly liberal views. He doesn’t look after business.’
‘Maybe he’s unhappy with his marriage.’
‘Yes, but more importantly, I’m unhappy with our marriage. He’s like a car battery that’s gone flat, and I was wondering if you might help recharge him?’
‘I’m not a battery charger.’
‘You’re a beautiful young woman, and he’s suffering a premature middle-age crisis. I wonder if you would show interest in him – flirt, catch his eye, say nice things about his eyes or muscles. Maybe even dress provocatively. You’re French, I’m sure you’ll find such things come naturally.’
‘You want me to seduce your husband?’ she says, with a serious expression that seems to suggest that this is not an unusual request.
‘No. Just pretend you find him attractive, you know.’
‘But I don’t. He’s not. He’s a suit. He’s a bore. He’s got too much nasal hair.’
‘That’s why I used the word pretend.’
‘Why would I do this?’
‘I’d pay you extra. A surcharge, so to speak.’
‘How much?’
‘An extra hundred a week, and if he becomes attentive again, a bonus.’
‘What must I do for this bonus?’ she asks as Purdy raises her head to enquire about the cessation of stroking.
‘I’m not asking you to sleep with him, just to awaken his senses. Make him desire you.’
‘And what do I do with him when he’s unable to resist me?’ she says and purses her lips as if this is a foregone conclusion.
‘You just walk away and let me take over.’
‘You’re taking a big chance. He will fall in love with me,’ she says, pouting. ‘Everyone does.’
‘I can only imagine how terribly difficult it must be to be so attractive, but it would really help.’
‘Two hundred,’ she says and flounces out.