The Last Dress from Paris(106)
Then she moves, as fast as her luggage will allow, to release the energy that will otherwise become a cry, then a scream that will never stop.
29
Lucille
WEDNESDAY
LONDON
“Are you looking forward to getting home?”
Veronique is sitting opposite me in a chic café in Wimbledon Village, the sort of place where unsliced cakes sit under giant glass cloches and are photographed but rarely eaten. It’s just around the corner from Granny’s place and a short walk downhill for Veronique to the train station.
“Yes, for a decent slice of tart if nothing else!” She turns up her nose at the synthetic creation in front of her, and I have to agree it doesn’t come close to what Paris has to offer. “Would you like me to come with you?”
“Thank you, but no. I feel like I should do this alone.” I’m picking at the tart with my own fork, despite its disappointment.
“I agree. I just wanted you to know the offer is there, if you need it.” She takes my arm across the table and gives it a reassuring rub. “When is your interview? Perhaps we can meet beforehand for a run-through?”
“That would be great. It’s next week. I’m arriving in Paris on Wednesday morning, and the interview is Thursday afternoon.”
“Well, you must stay with me, then, don’t pay for a hotel. Unless . . .”
She knows why I won’t accept her offer, even before I start to giggle.
“Of course, silly me. You’ll be staying with Leon. That’s great! I’m so happy for you, Lucille.”
“Well, let’s see. It’s early days, but I’ve got a very good feeling about him. He makes me forget myself in the loveliest way.” And I deliver a toothy grin across the table to her to prove it.
“And how about this morning? How are you feeling about your chat with your grandmother? This is it, isn’t it? The last piece of the story?” Her smile doesn’t match mine. She looks nervous on my behalf, her mouth tight, her shoulders raised a little.
“I just want to understand how it all ended and what happened to her baby. Where she might be and whether there is even the slightest chance we might meet one day. Wouldn’t that be incredible, if we could?” I drain the last of my coffee, feeling the much-needed surge of caffeine hit my veins.
“It really would. Paris will have delivered so much for you then.” She smiles in that self-assured way of hers, like her thoughts are always one step ahead of my own. “I thought you should have this.” She reaches into her bag and hands me the letter that is addressed to Alice, the one she found with the others from my granny to her mother, that made less sense to her at the time. “I should have given it to you on the train. I think your grandmother might like to read whatever is in there.”
“Of course, I had completely forgotten about it. I’ll give it to her today.” I wedge it into my own bag. “You know, it’s funny, I always thought Paris was a bit predictable before Granny sent me. Somewhere you went when you weren’t imaginative enough to think beyond the obvious. For new lovers who want to play it safe, to follow the same path as so many before them, or middle-aged, married couples who can’t remember what it is to be adventurous. How wrong I was! Now two of my absolute favorite people in the world live there.” I feel my cheeks warm a little and hope she doesn’t mind me gushing over her, but I want her to return to Paris knowing the impact she has had on me. “I owe you a huge thank-you, Veronique. The trail across Paris would never have got started without your help.”
“You would have worked it out.” She’s being generous.
“Maybe, maybe not. But it’s highly unlikely I would have made it to the V and A, and I certainly wouldn’t be considering a job in another country if it weren’t for you. You’ve done so much for me. This has all been so overwhelming, so life changing. Thank you.” I stand and hug her, and she reciprocates with a deep, firm embrace that feels wonderful and right, and that she’s in no hurry to release me from.
“Well, you better get going, and I have a train to catch. Take care of yourself and say hello to Leon for me.” She winks, kisses me on both cheeks, then breezes away, unwittingly dragging the envious gaze of several women up from their phone screens and out the door with her.
* * *
? ? ?
Granny is still tucked up in bed when I let myself in. I drop my bag and jacket over the arm of a chair in the sitting room and tiptoe in through her bedroom door, pulling a seat up next to her side of the bed. Her eyes ease open.
“Is everything okay, can I get you anything?” I check the time on her bedside clock. It’s ten thirty a.m.; Natasha will have been and gone already, so we’ll be free from interruptions.
“I’m fine. Just tired, that’s all.” Natasha has propped her up on two plump pillows, pulled the covers tight across her chest, and tucked them neatly under each arm. Granny’s hands are clasped in front of her. She looks ready, but am I?
“Are you sure you’re up to this? We can always chat another day if not.” It sounds like I’m trying to give her an out, but really it’s me who is backtracking, knowing that in about half an hour from now, I will know everything there is to know. I’ll have an even deeper understanding of this wonderful woman and who I really am. If Granny senses my nerves, she’s typically having none of it.