The Last Dress from Paris(78)
“Can you stay a little longer today? Please?” Antoine whispers into her ear, his breath mimicking the soft trace of his fingers down over her hip and onto her thigh. As her consciousness slowly unfolds back into the present, she stretches before curling back into him.
“I can’t. I’m due in a meeting today about the Queen’s birthday celebrations. I can’t miss it. It’s been in everyone’s diary for weeks.”
“It’s months away. Please.”
“I know it is, but there’s so much to do. Albert wants all the fanfare, obviously. And he’s expecting me, Antoine. I need to be there.” She immediately regrets mentioning his name as Antoine flashes his eyes skyward, clearly frustrated that Albert is still commanding her time, getting what he wants, when he wants it.
“There is something I want us to do together.” He climbs out of bed and crosses the room to the window, gently easing the curtains open and casting a thin veil of watery winter light across himself. Alice allows her eyes to slowly travel over him, to appreciate the muscular curve of his legs, the tautness of his chest and torso, the manly rounding of his arms as they flex to pull the curtain. Even all these weeks on, she still can’t look at him without feeling the swell of pleasure ripple up inside her. She only has to close her eyes, plunge herself into a private darkness, to remember how he feels, how he makes her feel, knowing she never wants to let either sensation go.
“What is it? Maybe I have time before I go. But I can’t be late, Antoine.”
“Wait here.” She watches as he heads for the door. “I won’t be long.”
Alice props herself up on her elbows and winces at the headache spreading out across her forehead. She has been drinking too much recently. At home, to numb herself against the daily ordeal of Albert’s moods. And here, rolling around with Antoine, always one eye on the clock, one part of her brain rehearsing the story she’ll tell Albert later. She makes a mental note to cut down, which won’t be easy so close to Christmas, and with it the grim prospect of her and Albert being forced to spend more time together. She hasn’t dared to raise the subject with him. She has fantasized he’ll spend Christmas in London with family, leaving her and Antoine free to enjoy it together. But with no mention of any such plans, she’s accepted the chances of that happening are slim. The only thing worse will be if he insists that she travel with him.
Should she simply have left Albert as soon as the reality of her situation dawned? If she had acted sooner, might she be happier now, more settled? But left him for where? With no source of income, she would have had to rely on her parents to facilitate her return to England; would they have financed her escape? She’s not confident the answer to that question is yes. And what of the life she would be returning to, where everything would fall back under their control and where, unimaginably, there would be no Antoine? To expose herself without an airtight solution would have been reckless. If she had moved in with Antoine, his parents would have severed all support. How would they have lived? No, she’s used to coping; she can cope with this a little longer.
Her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of Antoine dragging something heavy up the stairs, and when he lunges back into the room, she sees it is a Christmas tree, its fresh, piney scent immediately filling the room, Antoine laughing. And before she can work out why, Alice feels a wave of emotion collapse on her, and she’s inexplicably on the verge of tears.
Is it because this should be a perfectly romantic landmark moment in their relationship? A young couple in the passionate grip of new love, about to spend their first Christmas together. If only it were that simple. Is it because she has no memory of ever decorating a Christmas tree as a child? It was something that magically appeared overnight when she was in bed. A job the housekeeper took care of, it never occurring to her parents that she might like to share the joyful task with them like other children got to with their families.
Or is it because she knows that however blissful the next hour might be, that’s all it will be today, and she will have to return to the residence and Albert? While Antoine wrestles the tree into position, she buries her face in the bedsheet, not wanting to ruin the moment for him with her tears.
“I got it yesterday.” He beams. “I wouldn’t normally bother, but I wanted us to decorate it together.” He balances it against the wall and offers her a paper bag that she knows will contain their usual patisserie and coffee.
Alice smiles, but there is a horrible uneasiness taking root inside her this morning. She loves what Antoine is doing, trying to make this look and feel as normal as possible for them. But as hard as he may try, she can’t shake the fact that this is make-believe, that they won’t open presents together on Christmas Eve like thousands of other couples across Paris. That they may not even get to see each other at all if Albert stays put.
“It’s such a lovely thought” is all she can manage. The smell of the freshly brewed coffee is making her stomach turn, and she knows she won’t drink it. Even the warmth of the buttery pastry spreading through the bag is unappealing. “Will you spend Christmas with your parents?”
“No! I want to spend it with you, Alice.” He’s moved back over to the bed now, his face belatedly concerned that this might not be possible.
Alice tries to divert the subject away from herself. “Surely your mother will be expecting you there. How has she been since, well, you know? You haven’t mentioned her much since the night of the Monet exhibition.”