The Last Dress from Paris(8)
“Everything is just as you wanted it, Albert. I’ll leave you to change, and see you downstairs. Chef has everything ready in the kitchen, and if there are any early arrivals, I will be there to greet them.”
“Very good.” Albert doesn’t look up as she exits the room, leaving her with the feeling he prefers to be alone.
* * *
? ? ?
In these last precious moments of peace before the room erupts into animated conversation and loud introductions, Alice’s mind drifts back to the protocol talk she attended before she and Albert were posted to Paris. Far from reassuring her, it only made her more nervous about the important task ahead and how much Albert would be relying on her. Never interrupt a flowing conversation, but always be armed with ways to start one, look out for people standing alone, respond in the language you are spoken to . . . on and on it went. She listened, took notes, saw the sense in it all, and then decided the only way she could do this was to be herself. It would be her guide, not her bible. As an only child of socially ambitious parents, Alice knows she brings valuable experience to the role too. Hours spent rotating through her parents’ cocktail and dinner parties, refilling guests’ champagne glasses, and absorbing the ebb and flow of good conversation. Alice watched how her mother orchestrated one conversation while deftly signaling to her husband if someone needed saving on the other side of the room. It always amazed Alice, how a woman who was often so distant in her daily life came alive in the evening when there were hearts to win, egos to placate, and personal advancement to be gained. Perhaps it was the fact their comfortable Norfolk home was in the shadow of the larger country estate it belonged to, the one her father was employed to manage, that made her parents strive for more. It certainly enticed a selection of guests who hoped such proximity to wealth might open doors for them too.
There was no greater feeling for Alice, as those guests drifted home, than if she could impart some overheard gossip or useful information she’d caught while circulating the room. Her mother would bathe her in rare praise, her father might offer a good job, darling, and she’d know she had pleased them. She had earned her place at the party and would head for bed, tired but happy.
One evening it was Albert, a guest of the main estate, who stepped over their threshold with an armful of fresh-cut roses for her mother and a bottle of expensive Scotch whiskey for her father, showering them and their home in compliments when it must have all seemed so modest compared to his own.
His credentials circulated the room before he did—educated at Eton and then Oxford, where he got a first in history and a reputation as an accomplished writer and uncompromising debater. There followed a swift rise through the ranks of the diplomatic service and foreign office in London and a punishing schedule of international conferences and appointments.
His appearance completely changed the dynamic of her parents’ drawing room. Guests, no longer satisfied with their usual companions, would practically line up to talk to him, and he graciously obliged. The fact he was economical with any personal information beyond having a younger sister, both the offspring of wealthy Gloucestershire landowners who had tragically lost their father to tuberculosis when Albert was in his early teens, only made them warm to him more. From that moment, her parents never invited any unattached women on the nights Albert dined with them.
Alice grew up in adult company, and so a drawing room full of unfamiliar faces is not going to intimidate her tonight. But is she still capable of pleasing Albert in the way she used to? Maybe she was enough for him before they were married, when the stakes were low, the expectations of her even lower. Does he see her in their ballroom in Paris and believe she is beyond her capabilities?
“A glass of champagne, Madame Ainsley?” Patrice is floating a silver tray in front of her with a single chilled coupe at its center, knowing full well she’ll take it. She might not get much chance once everyone arrives, and her spirits could do with a little kick start. Patrice replaces the tray on a sideboard, and then takes up his position in the lobby so he can announce each guest as they arrive. Terribly overformal, Alice thinks, but quite a useful reminder of who’s who when her memory faces an inevitable blank. And in the sea of sixty faces tonight, she is even more grateful for Patrice and the faultless performance she knows he will deliver.
“The secretary-general of the élysée, Monsieur and Madame Bateaux.” Patrice makes his first introduction, and with Albert nowhere to be seen yet, it is up to Alice to take charge. Thankfully the couple are already known to her. She sweeps across the drawing room in one swift movement, planting an affectionate kiss to either side of each face.
“My drawing room is already one hundred percent more elegant for having you in it, Chloe!” Alice stands holding both Chloe’s arms out to the side, forming an intimate circle between them, admiring the vision before her. A full-length deep crimson gown, the color of the boudoir, scattered with delicate pearl beading so the entire dress glistens under the chandelier.
“Dior, of course!” coos Chloe. “Who else? Why haven’t you invited him here yet? Oh, please do. Just a little lunch for a precious few of us. Afternoon tea in your Salon Vert? Have you met his wonderful Camila yet at avenue Montaigne? The best vendeuse in the whole of Paris, in my opinion. She can make anyone look like a lady.”
“Oh, marvelous idea, so he can extract another year’s wages out of me,” adds the secretary before Alice has a chance to respond.