The Last Dress from Paris(33)
Alice tried to broach the subject with her own mother once. She wasn’t seeking her view on Albert specifically, but more on Alice’s role as a high-ranking diplomatic wife. Is it guileless of her to expect his loyalty? Should she gently question and confront him on where he is and what he’s doing? She can’t bear feeling so unsure—of herself, of her marriage, of the man she loved enough to marry. Didn’t she? Doesn’t she still? Is it that her feelings for him have receded, or is she pulling back to protect herself because she feels rejected, squashed under the weight of his all-consuming ambition? She misses what they had, however fleetingly they had it. When he would bother to ask how she was and be interested in her answer; when he would absentmindedly reach for her across the breakfast table, look at her like she was everything he ever wanted. Why did it all stop almost as soon as they unpacked their lives together in Paris? Did she do something wrong? Whatever the truth of it, her self-doubt feels like it’s breeding inside of her, growing stronger by the day.
Her mother spoke of the burden a woman must bear and how we do what we do for the love of our husbands. It was foolish of Alice to ask, she reasoned afterward. She’d seen the sacrifices her mother had made to ensure her own marriage was unbreakable. Why would she advise a more outspoken approach for Alice now? She had learned the art of obedience early. Hers was not a childhood filled with hugs and kisses. She was rewarded for her compliance and her ability to amuse herself with the gift of another prim doll with piercing eyes and a shiny face, or with a trip to the beach with her nanny for another ice cream she didn’t particularly want.
As Alice watches Anne prepare for the day ahead, she remembers how much she and Albert laughed in Italy. It still makes her smile. The slightest thing seemed to set them off. A foolish mispronunciation at the food market that led to great confusion. An overly officious waiter. They had fun. He had fun. How did that man become the one who knocks on his own front door so the staff can let him in? It feels like something has switched off inside of Albert. Like he ticked romance off his to-do list on the honeymoon, and now there are better, more important things to focus on that don’t involve her. Now they have been swallowed up, into the big bureaucratic beast that is the British government overseas. The alternative is almost too shocking to contemplate—that it was his behavior in the run-up to his proposal and on their honeymoon that was the act, and the real Albert is the man she now finds herself married to.
But why show her that man if he never intended to remain that way? She thought at first the Albert she saw in Paris was the impostor. A newcomer who was keen to stamp his authority on his new position, responding to his seniors who made clear the need for a strict hierarchy between his personal and professional life. Now she has to wonder, was his acting performed in Italy, the first scenes unfolding in her parents’ drawing room when he needed her to believe he could be kind, loyal, and passionate? The awkward exchange on their wedding day with his mother and sister remains unexplained. Was his final act the promise of the babies he knows she longs for, delivered when her heart was full of excitement, her head swimming from the flow of Bellinis magically arriving at their honeymoon table? Much like the role Albert vowed to find for her, the promise of children has slipped away, relegated by Albert to something the future may hold when the important business of the day has been dealt with.
Anne lifts and plumps the pillows behind Alice’s head and helps her sit up before placing the tray across her lap.
“Is there anything specific you need me to do for you today, Alice?” Anne perches on the edge of the bed, awaiting instructions, her usual small lined notepad and pencil in her hands.
“I just need the driver later to run me over to the Jardin du Luxembourg at three p.m., please. No need to bother Albert with this. He has a lunch from one p.m., so that’s the last we’ll see of him until this evening.”
“Of course, Alice. And do you know what you would like to wear today, or can I suggest something?”
“The Batignolles, please, with my fox fur gloves and a hat. Perhaps you can pick which one you think looks best?”
Anne visibly lights up at the opportunity to show off her styling skills, relishing the trust Alice is showing in her. And it only makes Alice want to do more to please her.
“Why don’t you choose something for yourself, too, while you’re there?” She smiles, nodding her head, trying to convey it’s a serious suggestion.
“Sorry?” Anne glances back over her shoulder, confused. “What did you say, Alice?”
“Why don’t you borrow something? Whatever you like, I don’t mind. Surprise Sébastien and wear something special for dinner tonight. We’re not far off the same size, there’s plenty in there that will fit you. Really, whatever you like. And I’m in no hurry for it back.”
“I couldn’t, Alice, it wouldn’t be right. It’s very kind of you, but honestly . . .”
“If you don’t choose something, I will, so go on, help yourself.”
And it’s like Alice has fired a starting pistol. Anne launches herself at the dressing room, then stands there, looking from one end of the rails to the next, hands held in front of herself, not knowing what to touch first.
“Go on!” encourages Alice. “Don’t disappoint me, Anne!”
When she does eventually start to move apart a run of tweed jackets in various shades of black, she does so with immense care, her eyes studying every button and appliquéd detail, delivering a range of appreciative noises that make Alice laugh quietly to herself. She would have made the suggestion much sooner if she’d realized how much joy it would bring her friend.