The Last Dress from Paris(85)

“It’s an awful thing to admit, Lucille, but seeing how devoted she is to you only makes it worse. The fact she sent you to Paris—a city that obviously means something to her—and never me hurts. From the moment you were born, she wanted to see you all the time. No matter how often we had her over or took you to visit her, it was never enough. She showered you with an affection that was completely alien to me. It got to the point where your father and I had to invent reasons why she couldn’t pop round—you’d had a bad night’s sleep, or you were running a temperature—just to give us some breathing space.”

“Why do you think that was?”

“I’ve no idea, but I suspect Granddad knew. He caught the irritation on my face one afternoon on another of her impromptu visits and took me to the side. I can’t remember his exact words now, but he asked me to be patient with her. Said that if I knew why she was behaving the way she was, I would understand. That was as much as he would say on the subject. He was devoted to her, and I knew he would never betray any confidences she’d trusted him with. They were never more than friends when they first met and spent time together in Paris. It wasn’t until later, when she walked into one of the smart hotels in Wimbledon to collect some cakes for an afternoon tea, that he emerged from the kitchen to hand them to her. I remember him telling me how he never did that. A member of the waiting staff should have given them to Mum. But he said he had an overwhelming feeling that forced him from behind the scenes that day.”

“Oh, wow, really?”

“Yes, when he saw her, stood there with no idea their paths were about to cross again, his heart nearly exploded in his chest, he said. They were reunited after more than five years apart and fairly inseparable from then on—until she finally lost him.”

Mum’s recollections fit perfectly with the man I remember making fresh shortbread for Granny every weekend, filling their home with a warm, buttery smell that will forever remind me of him.

“Anyway, I expected that her interest in you would wane in your first few months, but it never did. She’s as fascinated by you now as she ever was.” I can see the hurt is still there, as fresh for Mum today as it might have been thirty-two years ago.

“And you grew to resent me?” It’s a hard question to ask her, so I do it softly, letting my voice tell her that I understand if the answer is yes, I just need to know. She’s being more open and honest with me this afternoon than she’s ever been and might ever be again.

“I didn’t think of it that way at the time, but maybe just a little, yes. You have to understand my own mother had been so distant from me, I just couldn’t grasp what this tiny baby in my arms possessed that I never did myself. Eventually, of course, I put it down to her simply making amends with her granddaughter. That she was determined to set right with her actions what she was never able to voice to me. Does that make sense?”

“It does, Mum, but can’t you see how the cycle has repeated itself?” I reach both hands across the table and she takes them. “How you have kept me away? How if the two of you had resolved all this years ago, our relationship might have been better?”

“I’m so sorry, Lucille. I want you to know that I do love you and I always have. I am going to do everything I can to make things better between us. If you will let me? If I’m not too late?” She starts to quietly cry, something I have never seen my own mother do. Her bottom lip is quivering, and I know she won’t take her eyes off me until she has my answer.

“Of course it’s not too late, Mum. But it’s not just about you and me. I think you need to make your peace with Granny, too—and she does with you. Before it’s too late.”

She nods and I know she means it. There’s no smart comment or caveat or even a raise of her lashes to the sky. I find my thoughts turn to Veronique and how right she was when we shared the plate of charcuterie and a bottle of wine, just after Mum lost her job and pleaded with me to return home. She said there would be a reason behind Mum’s behavior and how careless it was for me to judge her until I knew it.

“Good old Veronique,” I mutter under my breath, but Mum catches it.

“Who is Veronique?” she asks.

“Someone a lot wiser than I am,” I say through a half smile.





22





Alice


   DECEMBER 1953, PARIS


“Congratulations, Madame Ainsley, you’re going to be a mother.”

Alice immediately feels her legs weaken, her center of gravity swim away from her. The backs of her knees make contact with the bed behind her, and she takes a seat there.

“Really? Are you sure? I mean, absolutely sure?” In the days she’s had to ponder the outcome of her doctor’s first visit, not once has she allowed her mind to wander to this conclusion. She was expecting to hear words like anemia, exhaustion, stress, and alcohol intake pass his lips this morning.

Not this.

She glances at Anne, but judging by the downcast look of acceptance on her face, this is not as big a surprise for her. She watches as Anne takes a long, deep breath to keep her emotions in check. This is difficult news for her to hear.

It’s true, Alice and Antoine have been far from careful—careless, in fact—at protecting themselves. They’ve been so lost in each other, never pausing to consider how a moment together today might affect everyone for a lifetime. But her body wanted this. In the dark emptiness of her belly and the deep recesses of her heart that Albert has never wanted to touch, she truly wanted this.