five

When I left Claude Dupontel’s house a week earlier, I had slipped his card into my coat pocket. Every day since then I had felt it, turning it over and over, without ever making up my mind to call him. It was only on the ninth day, as I was coming out of a heated meeting where my boss had told me off in front of everyone, that I decided this couldn’t go on: things had to change. I didn’t really know how or where to start, but I suspected that if anyone did, it would be Claude.

I called him during my lunch break. My stomach was still churning from that morning’s meeting.

The phone rang several times before he picked up.

“Mr. Dupontel?”

“Speaking.”

“It’s Camille . . . Do you remember me?”

“Of course. Good morning, Camille. How are you?”

“Good, thank you. Well, actually, not all that good. That’s why I’m calling.”

“Oh yes?”

“You offered to tell me a bit more about your happiness method. I’m really interested in it, so if you’re free . . .”

“Let’s see. Would this Friday at seven p.m. be any good?”

I quickly wondered what I could do about Adrien and decided that he could stay home alone for a while, just until his father got back from work.

“OK, I can manage that. Thanks so much. I’ll see you on Friday then.”

“See you on Friday, Camille. Take care.”

Take care. The words were still echoing in my mind as I walked back to the office. It was so nice to have someone be concerned about me. An ounce of kindness in a world of selfish boors—a world I knew very well, as I was the only woman in a team of eight salespeople. The insults flew round the office all day, schoolboy humor that was often cruel. I found it exhausting. I really wanted something different. For relationships to be more honest, perhaps. Of course, I was very pleased to have a job at all. Nowadays having a permanent position was a luxury, as my mother never ceased telling me.

Ah, my mother. My father had left her soon after I was born, and even if he hadn’t completely vanished—he occasionally sent her money—she had struggled to get by as a single mother and had always given me the impression she was hard up. So when the moment came for me to choose a career, there was no option except to go down whatever path she thought would be the most profitable. Something that would be lucrative, so that I would be financially independent whatever happened. I had always been passionate about drawing, but I had to put aside my creative ideas and force myself to enroll in a business studies course. I had found my career path—on the surface, at least—but inside me, something wasn’t right. Consigning your childhood dream to the garbage is a sure way to put your heart out of joint.

The day I graduated was without doubt the happiest day of my mother’s life, apart from when I was born. I was going to have a brighter future than hers. Her joy was a balm for my misgivings, so that in the end I persuaded myself that things weren’t so bad. My career started very well: I was good with other people. Then my marriage and Adrien’s birth put a brake on my ambitions. I decided to go part-time to be able to enjoy my son. I naïvely thought this was the best solution, without realizing all the drawbacks: apart from having to do in four days what others did in five, I got the distinct impression that I had fallen in the estimation of my colleagues and superiors. I was devalued in a way I thought was unfair.

My permanent job had coincided with a permanent relationship. Twelve years’ plain sailing—with a few ups and downs, of course, but no great storms. On the verge of turning forty—thirty-eight and a quarter, to be precise (my god, why do those grains of sand seem to slip faster and faster through the hourglass?)—I had achieved a reasonable amount: a husband who had stayed with me (I had apparently escaped the family curse of the abandoned wife, but I occasionally felt it was hanging over me like the sword of Damocles); a wonderful child (wasn’t his boisterousness simply a sign of how he was thriving?); and a job that more than fulfilled its purpose in terms of financial rewards, with the added bonus from time to time of enabling me to secure a client of my own.

So everything was more or less all right. More or less. And it was precisely this “more or less” that made me so keen to go and see Claude Dupontel. A simple “more or less” that concealed some big “why”s and brought with it a whole series of reassessments. As I was about to discover.

On the day of our appointment, I found myself outside an elegant nineteenth-century stone building with cast-iron balconies and decorated moldings. A caryatid seemed to look askance at me as I went in through a big doorway and reached a luxurious vestibule. I was so intimidated I almost crept into the interior courtyard, which was beautifully paved and filled with a whole range of stylish greenery. A haven in the urban jungle. “The first door on the left at the far end of the courtyard,” Claude Dupontel had told me.

No sooner had I rung the bell than a small, slender woman opened the door, as if she had been behind it, waiting for me.

“Are you Camille?” she asked directly, with a broad smile.

“Er, yes, that’s me,” I replied, slightly taken aback.

She asked me to follow her down a long corridor. I had the impression she was shooting curious, amused glances at me. As we passed a mirror, I couldn’t help checking to make sure my lipstick wasn’t smudged and that there was nothing odd about what I was wearing. I couldn’t see anything wrong.

She left me in a waiting room filled with soft, deep chairs, telling me that Mr. Dupontel would see me in a moment. I became absorbed in the modern art decorating the walls, enjoying the intertwined shapes and subtle play of colors. The assistant reappeared a few minutes later, with another client. A young woman who I guessed could be no more than thirty sat in an armchair on my left. A stylish brunette. I envied her svelte figure and chic appearance. Catching me looking at her, she smiled.

“Do you have an appointment with Claude?”

“Yes.”

“Is this your first time?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll see, he’s extraordinary. He’s worked miracles with me. Of course, his method is a little surprising at first, but then . . .”

She leaned over toward me, obviously intending to go on, but at that moment the door opened and Claude Dupontel appeared.

“Ah, Sophie, there you are. Good evening, Camille. We’ll only be a second. We just have to deal with something briefly and then I’ll be with you.”

The young woman called Sophie jumped up as though Claude were someone she would follow to the ends of the earth. I heard her laughter tinkle along the corridor: they seemed to get on like a house on fire. The door to his office closed behind them. It opened again shortly afterward, and once again I heard her tinkling laugh. Now it was my turn.

I stealthily wiped my hand on my coat, hoping to get rid of the telltale traces of moisture. How stupid to get nervous because I was visiting him like this—I was only curious.

“Camille? Come with me, it’s along here . . .”

I followed him into his office, which was again surprisingly elegant.

“Please, take a seat. I’m delighted to see you,” he said with a smile that matched his words. “If you’re here, it must be because you want to change certain things in your life. Is that right?”

“Yes. At least, I think so . . . What you told me the other day really intrigued me, and I’d like to know more.”

“Briefly, I need to warn you that it’s not a conventional counseling method, in the sense that it takes more of a practical approach than a theoretical one. We start from the principle that it’s not within these walls that anyone who wishes to change will discover the truth or understand the meaning of her life. No, it’s only through action, through actual experience. Apart from that, the method draws on the teachings of several schools of philosophical, spiritual, and even scientific thought. It adopts the most tried-and-tested personal-development techniques from all round the world. It’s a summary of what mankind has found most useful in order to evolve positively.”

“OK, I get it. ‘Understanding the meaning of life.’ That resonates with me, of course, but isn’t that what we all want? It’s like the Holy Grail. But it’s incredibly hard to find, and I’ve no idea where to start looking.”

“Don’t worry. ‘Giving your life meaning’ is the common thread of all change. In practice, you advance stage by stage.”

“Stage by stage?”

“Yes. It’s obvious that you don’t become a black belt of change overnight. That’s why I apply the ‘theory of small steps’ to help my clients progress gradually. When we talk of change, lots of people imagine something huge and radical, but decisive life changes start with small, apparently insignificant transformations. It may be that sometimes my advice sounds self-evident, almost too obvious. But make no mistake: it’s not managing to do things once that’s complicated; it’s doing them every day. ‘We are what we repeat over and over,’ according to Aristotle. That’s so true. To become a better, happier, more balanced person calls for regular work and effort. You’ll find that the difficulty isn’t knowing what you ought to be doing to feel better, but to commit yourself completely and to move from theory to practice.”

“And what makes you believe I’m capable of it at all?”

“I’m not the one who has to believe it—you do. But rather than asking yourself if you’re capable of being happier, start by asking yourself if you really want it. Do you, Camille?”

“Er, yes . . . Yes, I think so.”

He smiled kindly, then asked me to come and look at the clippings pinned to the wall near his desk. I joined him.

There were photographs of happy people, apparently enjoying whatever it was they most wanted to do; postcards sent from far-flung, exotic locations; all kinds of thank-you notes.

“Just like you, all these people had their doubts at the outset. It’s only normal, to begin with. What you need is to really want to take the leap. Do you feel motivated to change, Camille?”

I tried to delve into my innermost feelings.

“Yes, yes I do. Even if it scares me a little, I really want things to change. But how? That’s what I’m not clear about.”

“That’s typical. To help you have a better idea, are you willing to carry out a little exercise that doesn’t commit you to anything and will only take a few minutes?”

“Yes, why not?”

“Good. Then I’d like you to write down everything you’d like to change in your life. And I mean everything, from the most trivial to the most essential. Is that OK?”

“Yes, of course.”

He sat me down at a small writing desk in a corner of the room, where sheets of paper and pens of all kinds were waiting for the candidates-for-a-better-life.

“I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be back in a minute,” he said, smiling encouragement.

I found this a fairly simple exercise. I spooled through the film of my life and began to note down anything that occurred to me. I was pleased to see how easily the ideas flowed but rather less happy to realize how long my list was becoming. As I wrote, I became aware of all the frustrations that had been building up, and it came as a shock.

When Claude Dupontel reappeared, he had the good grace not to raise his eyebrows at the length of my list. All he said was, “That’s very good.”

I couldn’t help but feel that little stab of joy that schoolgirls get when they are praised by their teacher.

But then I thought, That’s nonsense! There’s really no reason to be so happy that you’ve got such a long list of frustrations.

He must have read my mind, because he said, to reassure me, “You can be proud of yourself. It’s very hard to be brave enough to put down on paper everything that seems wrong with your life. You should congratulate yourself.”

“I have difficulty being proud of myself in general . . .”

“That’s something that can soon be changed.”

“From where I sit, that’s hard to believe.”

“Yet it’s the very first thing I’m going to ask of you, Camille: to believe that. Are you ready for it?”

“Oh . . . Yes . . . I think so. Well, I mean, yes, I’m sure!”

“That’s the spirit! ‘Change is a door that can only be opened from the inside,’ as the saying goes. Which means, Camille, that you are the only one who can decide to change. I can help you. But I need you to be totally committed.”

“What do you mean by ‘totally committed’?” I asked, vaguely disturbed.

“Simply that you become completely involved in the process. Don’t worry: nothing I propose will ever be dangerous or more than you can manage. We’ll work together within an ethical framework that respects how you are progressing. The only objective is to help you make those positive breakthroughs that will lead to change.”

“What if at some point I decide I don’t like the method?”

“You’re under no obligation to continue. If you want to stop, you can. But if you decide to continue, I’ll ask you to commit yourself four hundred percent. That’s how the best results are achieved.”

“How long does this kind of counseling last, as a rule?”

“However long it takes someone to refashion his or her life project so that it brings happiness.”

“Hmm. I see . . . One last question. You haven’t said how much all this costs, and I don’t know if I’m going to be able to afford it . . .”

“As far as money goes, routinology operates in a very special, even unique manner, but one that’s been proved to work. You will only pay me what you think you owe me, and then only when you have succeeded. If my method fails and you’re not satisfied, you won’t have to pay a thing.”

“What? But that’s completely crazy! How do you make a living like that? And how can you be sure that people will be honest enough to pay you someday?”

“That’s the way you see the world at the moment, Camille. But I can assure you that because I have faith in things like trust, shared knowledge, and unconditional support, the people I’ve helped have been more than generous once they have achieved their goals. I believe in every person’s potential to succeed, as long as they show respect for their own nature and most cherished values. All you have to do is make your life project properly fit in with who you are. That demands a real commitment and a lot of effort. You will have to be methodical about it—but it’s worth it!”

“Have you ever failed?”

“Never . . . Right, we can stop here for today. I’ll let you think all this over at your leisure. One option would be for you to embark on the first stage to see what you think of it. If you get results, you carry on. If not, you stop.”

“I’ll think about it. Thank you, Claude.”

He led me back to the door and gave me a firm handshake, that of someone who knows what he wants in life. I envied him.

“I’ll let you have my decision very soon. Good-bye, Claude.”

“Take your time. Good-bye, Camille.”