The Last Dress from Paris(7)
The wives will arrive swathed in mink or rabbit fur, smelling expensive, looking wide-eyed and ready to judge, enjoying the fact that all the pressure to please will be on Alice tonight. She knows they’ll be quietly questioning her on everything from her menu—this evening a delicately balanced selection of canapés that doesn’t unreasonably favor the British or French (British partridge, French Brie)—to her weight, her clothes, how many nights a week her husband sleeps at home, where she shops, how many bags she’s carrying when she leaves those shops, how much she drinks. Everything will be subject to scrutiny.
Alice makes a slow rotation of the drawing room. Has she done everything right? Will Albert be pleased? The silver is freshly polished. The whiskey and brandy selection has been restocked. She can return to her bedroom to dress with the help of Anne, who has already placed the gown they discussed Alice will wear tonight across the bed. Perhaps Albert will even join her here later, rather than spend another evening in the smaller bedroom along the corridor he seems to prefer when he is working late.
* * *
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A black strapless evening dress by Dior, a luxurious mix of silk satin and velvet. Alice held her breath when she registered the cost at her first fitting at the designer’s town house—a sum of money that eclipsed her entire year’s clothing allowance before their move to Paris. But Albert, a man who has never seemed to worry about the cost of anything, insists she must be dressed appropriately at all times, and that the bill is largely irrelevant. She was nervous at first, worried that others would see through her. A twenty-five-year-old woman, wearing a gown surely intended for a lady with far more life experience than she? Someone who could fill it with a body that had seen more and done more and was therefore more deserving of it.
But that was to totally underestimate the transformative power of this dress.
“And none of our guests tonight has seen me in this gown before, Anne?”
“Absolutely not. I have checked the record, Alice. It will be entirely new for them.” Everything Alice wears is noted on cards, also referencing the relevant guest list and therefore limiting the opportunity for social blunders of the sartorial kind. Alice knows she doesn’t really need to ask but can’t help herself. Anne hasn’t given her a moment of concern or disappointment since the day she walked through the door. Quite the opposite.
“I will help you, Alice,” offers Anne, already positioned and waiting next to the enormous dark wooden bed as Alice starts to slowly remove the more practical navy wool day dress she has worn today. Anne lifts it easily over her shoulders and returns it to a wooden hanger. “The bodice first, please.” The dress is in two parts. A strapless bodice that opens fully and is now facedown on the bed, revealing all the delicate inner workings that will give her the confidence she needs tonight. A run of seven slim vertical bones, held in place by fine net and supporting a lightly padded bust, negating the need for any additional underwear. As well finished inside as it is outside. The bodice is edged with a beautiful fold of rich black velvet that will sit against her skin and make the sheen of the satin glow under the soft candlelight of the drawing room.
Anne places it against Alice’s naked body, being careful to avert her eyes, and sets about fastening the run of thirteen hook-and-eye catches that are perfectly spaced down the back, each one pulling Alice’s body in a touch tighter. As she secures the final one into place, the bodice sits precisely as it should against Alice’s skin, dipping just below her shoulder blades.
Then Alice steps into the full heavy skirt, being careful not to catch her toes in the stiff underlayer of crinoline. Only then can Anne start the process of connecting the two garments with a complex combination of more hooks and eyes and zips so that no one would ever guess the dress is two distinct pieces. That done, Anne steps back to make her final adjustments. The panels of silk satin and velvet that make up the skirt are topped at Alice’s left hip by a giant bow that is padded so it holds its position, making Alice’s waist look even tinier than usual. The effect is regal, and despite the fact Anne has performed this task before and she knows it is not her job to express an opinion, a broad smile breaks across her face.
“Just beautiful, Alice,” she whispers.
“Thank you,” Alice manages through a huge exhale of breath, a clear indicator of her nerves about tonight.
“You will be brilliant, as always.” She gives Alice’s hand a quick, tight squeeze before she leaves Alice to add the final touches to her makeup, to push her short, controlled curls behind each ear, and put on the pearl drop earrings she has worn every day since Albert gave them to her on their wedding day.
Alice watches her leave the room, knowing there are a hundred things she would like to seek her advice on, woman to woman. Albert briefed her early on about the need to keep her dealings with the staff purely professional, never to cross the line. And she hasn’t with anyone other than Anne, being careful to use the more formal Marianne whenever he is within earshot.
Albert arrives back to the residence with twenty-five minutes to spare before their first guests are due, just time enough to freshen up and get into his dinner jacket.
“Is everything in order?” It isn’t the warmest greeting, but Alice wasn’t expecting one. He is preoccupied with the evening ahead, and perhaps he will make time to chat to her later when everyone has gone.