The Last Dress from Paris(38)
“You’re really going to keep me waiting that long?” Antoine looks toward her, unsmiling, tilting his head sideways, like he might dip forward to kiss her at any moment. Would she stop him if he did? He’s so close she can see the smooth, unblemished contours of his skin, the softness of his lips, the frustration in his jaw.
“I think I’ll have to.” She wants to tell him the wait will be every bit as hard for her, that she can think of nothing better than spending the rest of the day with him, but how can she? So Alice stands and gives Antoine one last smile.
“Wait. I wanted you to have this. I bought it before you arrived.” He hands her a beautiful postcard of the carousel. “A memento of our time together.”
Alice turns the card over to see one solitary kiss marked in pencil on the back. “I’m glad of one thing,” she whispers.
“Of what?” Antoine takes a step closer to her so there is barely room for the breeze to pass between them.
“I’m glad you don’t say those things to anyone else.” Then she retraces her steps back to the west entrance, where she knows her driver will be waiting.
9
Lucille
TUESDAY
PARIS
“I don’t want to sound unreasonable here”—Dylan’s voice is loaded with sarcasm—“but I’m struggling to understand why it’s Tuesday morning and you’re still in Paris when we had a nine a.m. meeting scheduled in my office. And now you’re telling me you’re not coming back today, and in fact you’re not even sure when you’ll be back?”
“Yes, Dylan. Sorry, it’s a long story. Family stuff that I need to sort. It really can’t be helped. I’ve never taken time off at such short notice like this before. I hope you know I wouldn’t unless I really had to.” Leon is standing in front of me, watching me squirm through the call. I need to hang up quickly before Dylan senses the mock seriousness in my voice.
“Well, I’m going skiing tomorrow, and you know how important this trip is. You’ve read my email about all the additional luggage needs, I assume, and that Serena’s mum is joining us now?”
“Yes, of course.” No, I haven’t, but I will, I will. “It’s all under control, please don’t worry.”
“I’m not going to worry, Lucille. Because that’s your job. It’s what you get paid for.”
“Yes, absolutely, yes, it is, and I’m telling you everything will be perfect.”
“Good, because the last thing I want is to find myself locked in a three-way of stress with my wife and mother-in-law.”
“Quite. No three-ways with the mother-in-law.” At this point Leon snorts so loudly I have to place my hand over the phone. “Leave it to me. I will run through all the arrangements again when I get back to my laptop later.”
I’m not even sure if he hears that last bit, as the line goes dead and I realize as I jab the off button on my phone that I don’t much care. A couple of weeks ago I would have cared a lot. The knot in my stomach would have sent me racing straight back to the office. Maybe it’s finally having some physical distance from it that’s making me realize quite how much Dylan’s moods affect my own. How long does a means-to-an-end job have to last? Because even the thought of returning to the toxic low-level fear that Dylan encourages to breed among the team is making my stomach tighten. And this, what I am doing here with Leon and for Granny, feels way more important than whether Dylan’s kids graduate to the green runs this season.
Obviously, I will make the booking changes, though, the second I am back to the hotel. I do not have a death wish.
Just as my phone is powering down, I see alerts for three missed calls from Mum, which is practically unheard of. Three calls in one hour is more than I typically get in a month. She’ll have a list of things she wants me to bring back from Paris for her, no doubt. Well, she can wait. We’re on a mission here.
“Let’s go!” shouts Leon as he removes his scarf and knots it around my neck, tucking his camera under his coat. “It’s freezing, have this.” And it’s like he’s there, curling himself under my coat collar. The smell of his scarf is soft and fruity and indescribably foreign, and I, slightly embarrassingly, think of his bedsheets. “You are going to love this park.”
* * *
? ? ?
Oh, and I do. As soon as we enter on the west side, I can see the vast orangerie building, and we head left toward it. We pass under a protected gazebo area before we reach it with small groups of people gathered around iron tables. They’ve slung moped helmets onto the floor and tied dogs that look cheated out of walks to the table legs. Everyone is wrapped up in heavy coats, scarves, and woolly hats, bent over in concentrated effort, and it isn’t until we get closer that I can make out what they’re doing.
“Chess!” I’m darting ahead of Leon now, looking for a space at one of the tables. One man is just rising from his seat and I slide into it, assuming his last partner will vacate, too, and let Leon sit down, but he doesn’t. He sits there looking at me quizzically.
Leon has yet to catch up, so I offer a rather pathetic “Yes? We play?” motioning toward the board in front of us. He laughs but starts to rearrange the pieces, which I take to mean we are on. Then, yes, he lifts a pawn, and it’s quick, each one of us taking turns to shuffle our pieces across the board before bringing our hands down hard on the timer that sits in between us. I am perched on the very edge of my seat, hyperalert to every move he makes. This guy is good.