The Last Dress from Paris(34)

“Is this okay?” Anne is holding aloft a petite silk black-and-white-spotted neck scarf.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Anne.” Alice is howling with laughter now. “An entire room full of the most exquisite couture Paris has to offer and you choose that?” She’s exaggerating, of course. The scarf in question is from Chanel, an unnecessarily extravagant gift from a political wife hoping to win favor.

“Sorry.” Anne is laughing, too, now. “I didn’t want to be too presumptuous.”

“Well, your punishment for choosing so badly is that you must keep the scarf, I never want to see it again, but you must also take the lavender-green tweed suit I sometimes wear it with.” Alice starts to hunt for it along the rail as Anne shakes her head. “Don’t even think of arguing me out of the decision.” She knows full well how much Anne adores the suit. Last time Alice wore it, Anne actually sat down to admire her in it, despite their both knowing Albert was waiting downstairs. “I hope Sébastien loves it as much as you and I do.

“Oh.” Alice stops abruptly. “The Maxim’s is back already . . .” She catches herself too late.

“Yes, I had it cleaned. I hope that’s okay?”

“Of course, yes, sorry, I just wasn’t expecting to see it back so quickly.” Alice isn’t making any sense. Anne always has her items cleaned immediately, never giving Alice cause to question the timing.

“I should update the cards . . .” Anne pauses as Alice turns and walks away from her, back into the main bedroom.

“Yes, I would like you to update the card, please.” Alice can hear the slight nervousness in her own voice. She has wanted to confide in Anne on the subject of Antoine since he first attended their drinks party, and now that they have met alone it feels more . . . legitimate, like there is more to say on the subject. Telling her will make it real, incontrovertible, and that feels right after everything that was said in the church. There are also the practicalities to consider. If she intends to see Antoine again, she will need Anne’s help, and the one thing she cannot do is lie to her friend, even if it is merely bending the details about her whereabouts.

Anne follows her, heading for the desk and the small black box where the cards are kept. “I’ll just grab the relevant one. So the date would have been . . . ?”

“It’s not the date that’s important this time, Anne, but who I was with. Please come and sit next to me.” There is no one more qualified for the job of understanding confidant. Alice just hopes her judgment is right, and Anne won’t think any less of her. She’ll be incapable of hiding her true feelings if she does.

“I met Antoine du Parcq there. You may remember he was invited to the embassy for drinks earlier this month, with his parents? The night I last wore the Cygne Noir.”

“Yes, I remember.” Already Anne looks concerned, unsure of what this conversation is about to reveal.

“Well, we talked only briefly that night. But I was captivated by him. I think he felt the same too.” She is speaking slowly, trying to choose her words carefully. “He said he saw something different in me, Anne. Do you know how wonderful it felt to hear that?” Alice’s eyes shift toward the box of cards. “Then quite unexpectedly we bumped into each other at the Dior show. That’s when he asked me to meet him again. Just the two of us. He suggested the church at Saint-Germain and said he would wait all day if he had to.” Alice’s face has lit up with the memory of it. “And so I went. That’s where I wore the Maxim’s.”

“And what happened?” The two women are seated next to each other on the small chaise at the end of the bed, Alice the only one smiling.

“He said a lot of things I needed to hear. He was painfully honest, not caring if he offended me at all. But he wasn’t judging me, Anne . . . ‘I need you as much as you need me.’ That’s how he put it. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Alice . . .”

“He seems to understand a lot of what I’m feeling without my ever having shared it with him, with anyone, even you, Anne. And more than that, he trusts me with his own feelings too.”

“I haven’t been blind to it, but I can’t pry. You didn’t need to tell me. If the subject ever arose, it had to come from you first, I hope you understand that?”

Alice nods, noticing how Anne holds eye contact, encouraging her to continue.

Alice takes a deep breath.

“To use Antoine’s word, because it is precisely the right one, I feel . . . trapped. Deceived.”

She is too far into her confession to stop now. “Albert isn’t the man I thought I was marrying. I wouldn’t have married this Albert. He doesn’t care about me at all—and there is very little I can do about it.”

Anne smiles gently, like this is no surprise at all, like she has spent the past year privately questioning the choices Alice has made.

“And you’ve tried to talk to him? To explain how you feel?”

Alice lets the question hang between the two of them for a few moments. “You’ve seen enough of Albert, I think, to understand the futility of that approach. But yes, I have tried, many times.”

She feels Anne’s hand tighten around hers.

“I have to ask, Alice—do you think this is wise? Shouldn’t you try to solve your problems with Albert before you complicate the situation by allowing someone else to get close to you?” Alice feels the warning in Anne’s eyes, but not strongly enough.