The Last Dress from Paris(64)

“Who is that? It’s not even eight a.m. yet!” Still the hammering continues. Antoine slides from the bed naked, pulls back the voile, and looks down into the courtyard below. He says nothing, but stares for a few moments as if trying to be sure of what he is seeing. Then Alice sees him shake his head and turn slowly toward her.

“I don’t believe it. He has sent someone for you.”

“What?”

Alice forces her tired, unwilling body up, wrapping it roughly in one of the bedsheets, and moves toward the window. Antoine holds an arm out, preventing her from being seen, but she is close enough to recognize the man waiting for her below. Patrice.

“How could he?” Her eyes immediately fill with tears. She’s far too tired to think straight, but she knows this is a callous and deliberate move by Albert. To send a close member of staff, one she has to face every day of the week.

“You don’t have to go. I can easily go down there and tell him he’s had a wasted journey.”

“And then what? Albert turns up here?” She can feel the rising panic start to throb in her chest.

“He wouldn’t dare.”

He wouldn’t be bothered, she thinks. “Or worse. He sends your mother.”

Alice can see that possibility has far more impact as Antoine’s face twists and recoils at the mere thought.

“He wouldn’t.”

“Yes, I think he would, and she would probably jump at the chance to ingratiate herself. How else do you think he knows where I am this morning?”

Antoine drops one hand to his hip and places the other on his forehead, trying to think this through. Neither of them is well equipped enough this morning to come up with the best course of action.

“I’ll help you back into your dress.”

If only she had something else to wear this morning. The thought of returning to the embassy residence in last night’s dress, heavy with the memory of all that happened in it, is excruciating.

“No. You go downstairs and tell him I’ll be ten minutes.”

As Antoine somewhat reluctantly pulls on a robe and disappears downstairs, Alice goes into the bathroom to freshen up. She splashes cold water onto her face, then uses her wet fingers to tame her hair back behind her ears. She attempts to remove the more obvious traces of last night’s smudged makeup with some damp tissue and uses some of Antoine’s cologne. She only manages to secure some of the fastenings at the back of her dress, but it’s enough to keep it up, and her fur will hide the rest.

“When will I see you again?” Antoine holds the bedroom door open for her.

“Soon, I hope. I’ll think of something.” All she wants to do is collapse back into the bed behind her, pulling Antoine in with her.

“I love you. Please don’t keep me waiting too long—I’ll worry.”

They kiss, but it’s more tense this time, all the freedom of last night’s passion deserting them now, replaced by the prospect of consequences. Alice is acutely aware that in about twenty minutes she will be face-to-face with Albert again, and she is hardly dressed or mentally sharp enough for a showdown. She steps out into the sobering morning sunlight to see the reassuring smile of Patrice. Something in it suggests that, if not necessarily on her side, he at least understands the malice at play in Albert’s decision to send him here this morning.

“Good morning, madame.” Patrice’s professionalism is never unappreciated. “The car is parked just out on the main road. Can we stop to get you anything on the way back?”

“Thank you, Patrice, but that won’t be necessary.” Alice pulls the fur in tighter across her body and buries her hands deep in its pockets, where the fingers of her right hand connect with something small and smooth. One of her pearl earrings—but not the pair. Oh goodness.

She can’t go back inside now, so she makes a mental note to retrieve it later. Then she settles into the warmth of the back seat, wondering how Albert intended her to feel at this point—like a disgraced adolescent summoned home after missing her curfew, but knowing her punishment is likely to be considerably more severe? And yes, she fears his anger . . . but not enough to regret her decision to spend the night with Antoine.



* * *



? ? ?

As they enter the residence, Alice can hear Albert’s loud voice echoing around the main ground-floor hallway. What is he doing? As she steps in through the garden doors, Patrice a few paces behind her, she sees he has gathered several of the household staff and appears to be briefing them on plans for a forthcoming dinner. They all look just as confused as she is. This is not Albert’s domain.

“Ah, there you are, darling. I was expecting you much sooner. Where have you been?”

And then she understands. He wants her to have an audience. To have to stand there, her dress balancing precariously under the fur, feeling the awkwardness of every member of staff forced to witness her return home.

She can feel Patrice pause behind her, perhaps for once not knowing how to react. Should he save Alice and cause a diversion, only to scupper Albert’s plan and risk angering him? A few unfilled seconds hang between them all. Then she sees Anne’s pained face at the back of the crowd, about to break ranks. Alice must speak now, or it will be Anne whom Albert is cross with.

“Oh, you know very well where I have been. I will give you all the juicy details later. But for now, do excuse me, everyone, I need a bath and a sleep.” Then, with her head held high, she makes for the staircase, Anne following closely behind.