The Last Dress from Paris(69)
Then I feel the fabric and foundations of my own life start to splinter and shift. If my grandmother isn’t the woman I thought she was, then who am I?
How do I fit into all of this? Everything around me seems to still and quieten.
I think of my family—small, broken, disappointing. But there was always Granny Sylvie, who delivered strength and kindness and truth; at least, I thought she did. Do I still believe that when there is so much I don’t know about her and the life she led, this wide expanse of secrecy revealed so late?
“I really hadn’t guessed at all until then,” I say. “But we found a photograph that was taken on that very night. A photo of you.”
What was she even doing in Paris? What was her life like here? How does my grandfather fit into all of this? How much does Mum know? Why did she return to London?
Was she happy?
“Ah, so many people. So many cameras clicking. I was never going to come away unscathed. But it was worth it. I have many deep, deep regrets, Lucille, but that night is not one of them.”
There is so much we need to discuss, but it’s five minutes until the train doors will close and Veronique will be forced to leave without me. I hear announcements over the platform loudspeaker and watch Veronique wildly gesticulating for me to get on the train.
Granny’s fragility and the seconds passing too quickly stop me from firing all these questions at her, and I resign myself to having them answered in person, when I am back in London.
“What do the A and A stand for, Granny? That’s the bit I still don’t understand.” I have no choice now but to clamp the phone between my ear and shoulder and start to run, dragging the rest of my belongings behind me.
Again, she falls silent. I try not to rush her, but my heart is starting to bang in my chest.
“Alice.”
“And . . . ?”
“Alice and . . . Antoine.”
I hear her small, quiet, controlled sobs, and more than anything, I want to be by her side, holding her hand and telling her that whatever happened, it’s okay. I love her just as much as I ever did.
What could have happened to her that, all these years later, still reduces her to tears? The possibilities are frightening. “I don’t think I’ve said his name out loud since I left Paris all those years ago.”
“I’m so sorry this is upsetting for you.” I try my best to soothe her. “But has this at least helped, Granny? Will the dresses bring you some sort of closure?” I really hope so, for her sake.
She’s stopped crying, and there is purpose in her voice. I’m at the train door and Veronique is heaving my case from me, pulling it into the carriage and disappearing to dump it on the luggage rack. I can’t help but turn back for one last glimpse of Paris before I head home.
“Oh, this is only just the beginning, darling.”
“What do you mean?” I freeze, one leg on the train step, one still on the platform.
“It was never really about the dresses at all. I’m sure you know that deep down, Lucille. There is so much more to this. Only your grandfather knew the full story, and he took every word of it to his grave.”
“I don’t understand. What more is there?” A guard is marching up the platform toward me, but I’m frozen to the spot, straining not to miss a word Granny says in the chaos surrounding me.
“It’s what the dresses helped to create that’s important, the bigger secret that lies within them that really matters.” As she speaks, I can hear the smile in her voice as she drops this revelation on me, like it should be blindingly obvious, like I am mere seconds from it all finally making perfect sense.
“The reason I had to let Alice go and become Sylvie. That’s what I need you to find.”
I thought I was done, finished. That I had completed my task and she’d be pleased with me. I was looking forward to seeing the smile on her face when I visited with the dresses in a couple of days. Now I wonder if I should be staying in Paris.
“Mademoiselle!” The guard is level with me now.
“I’m coming home. The last dress from Paris—the one made from the special toile de Jouy fabric. It’s at the V and A. I’m going to see it.” I spit the words out as fast as I can as I wave at the guard.
Her voice is very calm and measured then. “I haven’t spoken about any of this for over sixty years, Lucille. I couldn’t, not without hurting the one person who had remained loyal to me for a lifetime. I have no right to ask, but I am asking it of you anyway. Please, finish the story. Finish my story for me. I am running out of time.”
Veronique’s hand is on my arm, and she pulls me onto the train as the guard slams the door behind me. I realize as metal hits metal that there will be no ending unless I can complete her story.
“The final dress at the V and A will help you. It’s different. Everything you need to know is in that dress, Lucille.” And then she’s gone and I am at a complete loss, feeling for the first time in my life like my connection to Granny, someone I have loved so dearly for so long, is somehow no longer strong or solid.
* * *
? ? ?
Mercifully, we have an entirely empty carriage back to London all to ourselves. No irritating fellow travelers loudly crunching crisps, prattling on to a loved one on their mobile about whether there’s enough cheese in the fridge to make a decent omelet tonight. It’s just me, Veronique, some trashy mags, a vast array of snacks (including liberated financiers), and a half bottle of fizz between us. I decide not to ruin the experience by moping for the next two hours, but it’s not easy, and I feel lost from my conversation with Granny.