The Last Dress from Paris(80)
She is the last one to take her seat in the library, and she tries to ignore the barely disguised look of disgust brewing across Albert’s face as she sits down, pen and paper at the ready in front of her.
“Where have you been?” he demands, much louder than necessary.
Alice swallows hard. Please, not now, not in front of everyone, she thinks, and not when she feels so incapable of a retaliation.
“With the florist.” She aims for light and assured, but her tone sounds fearful inside her own mouth.
“Which one?” He’s onto her. The confident stillness of his face and the tightness of his grip on his pen give away his looming anger.
“Le Joli Bouquet, I think I mentioned it?” The staff gathered around the table are starting to shift in their seats, unsure, like her, where this is going to end. She decides to push the meeting forward.
“Eloise, would you like to start us off with the guest list, please?”
Eloise opens her mouth to speak but is immediately drowned out by Albert.
“I thought they were closed on Thursday.”
Albert is not interested in the fripperies of entertaining enough to know whether a particular florist is open on a Thursday or not. He is merely trying to unsettle Alice. To remind her that every story she tells can—and will—be checked. She has no choice in the circumstances but to stick to her story.
“No, very much open. And selling some of the finest snowberries and eucalyptus. I’ve asked for some to be delivered next week.” She immediately sees Anne scribble on her notepad, knowing she will be writing a cryptic reminder to herself to place the order with the florist. “Eloise, do go on.” Alice pours herself a large glass of water and drains it in one go, immediately refilling the glass, prompting Anne to ask if she is okay.
“Yes, fine, thank you. Just a little tired,” she whispers back, noticing how the corners of Albert’s mouth have subtly shifted upward.
“We closed the guest list last week after everyone’s feedback, and we now have our final call of names,” Eloise informs everyone.
“And how many do we stand at?” asks Alice.
“Two hundred and fifteen. That’s one hundred and fifty for the formal drinks reception and an additional sixty-five joining us for the banqueting dinner. It’s going to be extremely tight, but if there really is no one we feel we can exclude at this point, then that’s the final call.”
“When will the invitations go out?” Alice can feel beads of sweat starting to gently tickle her forehead and reaches for the water again, noticing that her hand is shaking a little, the kind of depleted tremors she gets when she’s too busy and skips a meal. It takes both her hands to steady the glass enough to raise it to her lips, and she can feel Anne’s concerned eyes on her. She leans in closer to Alice.
“Would you like me to cancel your appointments this afternoon, Madame Ainsley? You really don’t seem too well.”
“No, no. I’ll be fine. Once we’re done here, I’ll take a nap. Sorry, Eloise, please go on.”
“The proof is with the private secretary at Downing Street now, more as a courtesy than anything else. So, assuming that is signed off before the Christmas break, we will post the invitations the second week of January, when everyone is very much back in the swing of it.”
“And let’s please try to plan some additional events at the Athénée. It’s my favorite hotel in the whole of Paris, and I know Olivier, the general manager there, would hugely appreciate the publicity. We’ve got such a great relationship with him now, let’s make sure it stays that way.”
“A lovely idea, I will liaise with them. We’ll be asking for these RSVPs by the beginning of February so Chef can start planning and get the necessary orders in well ahead of schedule.”
“Okay, which leads us nicely on to the menus. Have you given much thought to the canapés for the drinks reception, Chef?” Alice’s mouth is parched, and she can feel her throat cracking as she speaks. Albert shifts forward in his chair, keeping his eyes trained on her.
“I thought a wonderful mix of all her British and French favorites. We should serve champagne as well as her favorite cocktail, gin and Dubonnet. Then some bite-size roast beef and Yorkshire puddings, some game, of course, probably venison cooked in a Scottish whiskey sauce, before we move on to something sweet, perhaps chocolate, Earl Grey scented and served with strawberries, which will be in season by then. Maybe an orange-blossom crème br?lée?”
“That sounds like more than enough,” interjects Albert. “Don’t you think, Alice?” He’s directing the question at her because he can see full well that all the color has drained from her cheeks. She is holding her head in her hands and attempting to push her chair back to leave the room.
“Sorry, everyone, will you excuse me for a moment?” Anne helps her to her feet, and Alice is enormously grateful for her guiding hand. Less so for the glare Albert is now rewarding her with, knowing he’ll have to take the lead while she is away from the meeting.
“I’m not sure I have time to be bored senseless with this sort of thing,” Albert announces to the sound of his chair scraping backward. “Just make the best-informed decisions, which is what all of you are here to do,” he barks as he shoves past Alice and Anne on his way out of the room.