The Last Dress from Paris(51)
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As she approaches their bedroom door, she has no idea if Albert will be there on the other side, intending to carry on as if their exchange in the billiards room never happened. She pushes the door open, bracing herself for more of his cold judgment, but, to her great relief, it is Anne she sees, already busy with the day’s jobs.
“Good morning, Alice. I can be out of your way in a few moments. Have you had any breakfast? Is there something I can ask Chef to make for you?” Anne turns to see Alice crumple onto the bed, sobbing into the smooth coolness of the covers, the overwhelming tiredness of a missed night’s sleep weighing so heavily on her now.
Anne takes a seat next to her, placing a hand on Alice’s arm.
“What can I do, Alice?” There is no panic in Anne’s voice at all. “How can I help to make things better?” It’s as if she knows exactly why Alice is crying, like this is the only logical conclusion to the warning she wishes Alice had listened to.
“There’s nothing anyone can do, Anne.” Alice’s voice is loaded with defeat. “It is all my own fault and only I can make things better, although Lord knows how.” Alice lifts her head from the bed, wiping the tears away with the soft pads of her fingertips. Anne raises a hand and gently pushes a lock of wet hair off Alice’s face.
“You know you can trust me. If there are things you need to say, Alice, if it helps to say them, it will never go beyond the two of us.” Anne’s smile is so understanding, almost begging Alice to share her most guarded thoughts.
Alice looks at her devoted maid, so grateful not to be alone in this moment. Why does she feel so full of shame when she knows what she has done is certainly far less than Albert has himself? Is it because she knows she wants more, to cross that imaginary line that will change everything?
“I can see how terribly lonely you are, Alice.” Anne is trying her best to coax a few words out of her, and it doesn’t take much effort.
“I am. I’m surrounded by people practically every night of the week, but none of it is real, is it? I just wanted some genuine company, Anne, I wasn’t expecting it to . . .” Her words tail off. She doesn’t want to insult Anne by saying what she knows isn’t true.
“I understand. Everyone needs to feel loved and valued—you are no different. What else matters, really?”
Alice takes a moment to really look at Anne. The natural kindness in her face, the delicate creases around her eyes from the long hours she works. The modest but always immaculately pressed navy cotton day dress she wears when she is on duty.
“Tell me about Sébastien, Anne. Is he well?” At the mere mention of her husband’s name, Anne’s face lifts, all the concern she is feeling for Alice replaced by a love that sits so comfortably in her features.
“He is, but working so hard at the Banque Transatlantique. He’ll be fully qualified soon.”
“And how many years have you been married now?”
“Seven. We met at school, so it feels much longer in one sense, but our years of marriage have flown by quicker than any others.” Alice can see Anne is being careful not to elaborate. She won’t sit here and crow about the joys of her own marriage when she understands how unhappy Alice is in hers.
“You’ve never mentioned children. Will they come soon?” Alice can’t help but let a little sadness taint her words, knowing the gift of babies does not lie in her own immediate future.
“Well, I’m not sure we . . .” Anne is suddenly struggling to find the words.
“Don’t worry, I’m not asking as your employer. I would miss you terribly, but that’s not why I ask.”
Alice watches as Anne shifts position on the edge of the bed, no longer comfortable in this conversation.
“I know, it’s not that, it’s just that . . .”
Alice gives her the space to elaborate, and she can see Anne is trying to work out how to phrase something she is not used to speaking about.
“We would both dearly love a family, more than anything. As soon as we were married, we prayed we would be lucky enough. A boy first, that’s what we hoped.” She sweeps her hands up over her face, tracing her fingers under her eyes, trying to rub away the hurt. “Then a girl. Even more if we could. We agreed four would be the ideal number, which just seems horribly greedy and foolish now.”
Anne’s eyes have filled with tears, and Alice can feel a bubble of pain expanding in her own chest. “It wasn’t to be. And so far, there hasn’t been a doctor in the whole of Paris who can tell us why.”
“Oh, Anne, I am so sorry. I had no idea. I would never have mentioned it if I had known.” Alice reaches out to take Anne’s hand in hers.
“No, I’m glad you did. It’s hard for me to talk about it, but sometimes I feel I have to, or the sadness is too much to bear. I am growing to accept it, I have no choice, but the feeling of loss never leaves me, or Sébastien. Something will always be missing for us.”
“You’re still very young. Isn’t it worth continuing to try? You often hear about couples who get lucky eventually.”
“Perhaps. It’s just so hard to cope with the constant disappointment every month. To allow myself to dream. To think all those positive thoughts and to completely convince myself that this time it could happen, and our little family will be off and running. Only to be knocked sideways again. It’s very hard for Sébastien to see me so sad so often too. We wonder if it might be easier to let go. To accept it’s not something we have been chosen for. I am very grateful to have a man who loves me as passionately as he does. Maybe I should accept he has to be enough.”