The Last Dress from Paris(36)
Perhaps it’s telling that her first thought, her very first feeling, is one of utter stupidity. How could he, yes, but how could she not have fully understood his capability? His brazenness? Tears fill Alice’s eyes. She feels their heat on her cheeks, fueled by anger more than sorrow.
All those hours questioning her own behavior, when he clearly applies no such self-assessment. Perhaps the despair will come later in the quiet of another night alone when she will look again at the splendor of her bedroom and know she could live with much less, with a man who truly loved her. For now, it’s more a boiling frustration. Of course, a man prepared to lie about his immediate hope of becoming a father, to flatter her desires, ones he only ever claimed to share, will think nothing of giving himself to another woman.
Alice wonders what lies he’s telling her, even as the wheels of their car are moving across the congested Paris streets. Perhaps he’s telling her the truth, he’s not sleeping with his own wife and hasn’t been for months. Alice won’t torment herself any further. She forces her breath to slow and closes her eyes, turning everything black until she feels a stillness, a resolve, the smallest release to think about her own needs. Is this how her own mother felt the first time she knew—before she decided to commit herself to a life of being second best?
Alice doubts she has the strength to be that dutiful.
* * *
? ? ?
Alice asks her driver to take the fastest route from the embassy, cutting between the Grand and Petit Palais, over the Pont Alexandre, and face-to-face with one of her favorite views in Paris—the H?tel des Invalides, its central golden dome towering above the low city skyline. From there they speed down the wide boulevards that border Montparnasse before bending back north to enter the park on the west side.
“Collect me from here in two hours, please.” She confirms her return journey with the driver before making the short five-minute walk south across the park to the children’s carousel, where her note suggested they meet.
She can hear the laughter and screams of the ride’s passengers long before it comes into view. As she gets closer, she notices how its horses have seen better days. There are deep cracks in their legs, chunks missing from their wooden flanks, and paint peeling from their multicolored manes. But not one of the red-cheeked children astride them, enjoying their magical gallop, could care less. Alice smiles.
The noise takes her back for a moment to the seafront at Holkham Bay, the coastline closest to the family house in Norfolk, and how she envied the gaggles of children who always seemed to have someone to play with. She remembers the house always feeling so cold, not just the drafty corridors that were never heated, but the lack of laughter, no siblings to cause trouble with. She looks at the children flying round on the ride, bundled up to keep warm. She feels like she spent her entire childhood in a winter coat thanks to a nanny who felt fresh air was a cure for everything—illness, boredom, disobedience. The children today lean their bodies away from the horses, playing jeu de bagues, swinging a wand in their hands, attempting to hook iron rings as they pass around while an elderly man manually cranks the ride into action.
“You want a go?” comes a voice from over her shoulder.
Yes, she does, actually, despite knowing she won’t get one.
“Antoine, hello. I wasn’t sure you would . . .”
“Why wouldn’t I?” He steps closer, immediately shrinking the space between them, sending her heart up into her mouth. “I have been hoping to see you again.” He is wrapped up warm in a long black wool coat, his collar turned upward to frame his face beneath a homburg. It’s a beautiful blue-sky day, but the cold bite is lurking in the background. She imagines what it might feel like if he opened his coat, pulled her into his chest, and closed it around the two of them. She’s so absorbed by the image she can’t speak, and they stand, looking at each other, wondering where the possibilities might take them in the next couple of hours.
“Shall we walk?” Antoine tilts his head away from the ride as Alice realizes she would probably say yes to anything he suggested right now.
She doesn’t walk anywhere anymore. Nothing about the impracticality of the clothes she wears or her weekly schedule of commitments allows her to. There are people to do everything. To collect things, buy things, return things, to respond to any errand that may need doing. Antoine instinctively reaches for her hand, then changes his mind, looping his arm through hers in a gesture that could easily mean mere friendship.
Despite its relative bareness at this time of year, the park still looks beautiful. They pass apple and pear orchards, still bearing fruit in late October, and beehives dotted among the bushes, before they reach the orderly ranks of chestnut trees that file toward the view of the central fountain and the Senate buildings beyond. Alice is trying to soak in the views, but it’s hard when he is so close to her and she can hear his breath moving in and out of his chest.
Most people have chosen to sit facing the building, but Antoine walks on farther. He takes her beyond the lake that’s circled with children launching their tiny sailboats into its cold water and guides them both to a bench, where they sit with their backs to the Senate.
“May I buy you some tea?” he asks, looking around to see how far off the nearest seller might be.
“I would love one, but please let me get it.”
“Okay.” He’s smiling like he understands what a novelty this is for her, and she’s grateful he isn’t about to make a chivalrous attempt to stop her from enjoying it. There is a small café to the right of the Senate building, so that’s where she heads, leaving him watching her from the bench. She disappears inside for a few minutes, and when she steps back out into the park, he has procured a small sketch pad and is studying her. She slows her pace, allowing him as much time as possible to capture her. As she rejoins him on the bench, placing two metal cups of hot tea at their feet, she can see he has marked the outline of her navy dress perfectly.