The Last Dress from Paris(9)
“And look at you, Alice. If I am deemed half as chic as you, then I am happy.” In lieu of a compliment from Albert, it’s just what Alice needs to hear.
“Come and save me from all this giddy nonsense, will you, Albert!” The secretary has spotted Albert entering through the double-height doors and is keen to capitalize on the opportunity to monopolize him.
Within half an hour, the residence drawing room is full, any artificial smiles are starting to fade as duty turns to fun, and Alice is circulating, careful to spend a few minutes with everyone before she can return to the comfortable company of Chloe. She mustn’t allow herself to be distracted by the beautiful gowns. One has feathers floating over the lightest multilayer skirt; oversize blush-colored bows are cascading down the front of another; tiers of white ruffles are worn by the fiancée of one eminent diplomat. There are jackets shaped as if they have just been lifted from the most perfect female curves, and another evening gown with elaborate embroidery and expertly reimagined blooms in the prettiest colors of an English garden.
Keeping one eye on the flow of canapés so she can nod to Patrice when another service can begin, Alice moves. She’s always staggered by how much is eaten at these gatherings. Three hours of constant nibbling before most guests will go on to dinner reservations elsewhere.
Alice decides to seek out one of the senior professors at the Sorbonne who is joining them this evening. Having tried and loved a taster class in modern French literature last month, she is keen to hear about next year’s program of lectures, hopeful that something will spark her interest and fill some of her hours between entertaining and managing the staff.
“Dearest! Last time we met you were undecided—is it going to be the still life drawing class or the history of European art lectures?” The professor scoops his arms around her with none of the formality that so many others feel compelled to once inside the residence. “They are all filling up, you know. If you wait much longer, you’ll be disappointed.”
“Maybe I’ll do both!” Anything has to be better, thinks Alice, than mindlessly wandering the halls of the residence seeking out ways to busy herself. Although even as she is saying it, she knows full well Albert will complain if she spends too much time away. The more official role, one not confined to entertaining, that he promised would be hers has failed to materialize despite many reminders on her part.
Alice sees then that she has managed to maneuver herself back-to-back with Albert, not that he has noticed. He’s barely spoken a word to her since he arrived home. Her ears prick at the mention of her own name, and she cranes her neck, unsuccessfully trying to identify the elderly man Albert is speaking to. Patrice is not in her line of sight so is no help to her.
“And how has Madame Ainsley settled in? Enjoying Parisian diplomatic life, I hope?” It’s always comforting to Alice when, having secured some of Albert’s not easily afforded time, someone bothers to ask after her. Although she knows Albert will think it a wasted opportunity to be discussing matters of such little concern.
“Seamless, as expected,” Albert shoots back. “Alice is made for this kind of thing, although I am under no illusions, it was obvious from day one that everyone prefers her to me.” There is no jollity to Albert’s tone. His words fall flat, and if he is hoping to be contradicted, he’s going to be disappointed. “It is Alice they all hope to be seated next to at dinner.”
“Well, then you can consider yourself a very lucky man, Albert. You have a wife who is not only beautiful and clever but adored too. Your only job is to remember to appreciate her.” Whoever Albert is speaking with seems not to entirely appreciate the easy arrogance of Albert’s boast, or the simmering jealousy he’s barely bothering to conceal.
“I’m not sure luck has anything to do with it. I secured what I needed. She is the most efficient, least offensive person I know. No minor feat in these surroundings, wouldn’t you agree?” It’s said with a gentle ripple of laughter that does little to convince, and Alice hears the older gentleman say something about confirming a dinner reservation and move on.
Her cheeks warm and redden. It wasn’t a discreet conversation, and she wonders if the professor has heard it too. If he has, he’s being very gentlemanly and pretending otherwise, using the rotation of canapés as a handy excuse to look away, affording Alice a few moments to try to make sense of what she overheard. Theirs was never a formally arranged marriage in the traditional sense; there was still a proposal that she could choose to say yes—or no—to.
But there was also no doubt of her parents’ expectations, how heartily they approved of Albert and the success he confidently owned in their company. How their hopes for a marriage were shared with friends long before it was appropriate to do so. And wouldn’t her parents want the best for Alice? A husband who would honor their wedding vows? Surely Albert had been chosen for his integrity as well as his wealth and obvious ambition? If her father felt any guilt about his own shortcomings as a husband, wouldn’t he ensure his only daughter was spared the same pain? She had trusted their endorsement, had no reason to doubt it.
Always the strategist, Albert laid the terms out very clearly for Alice, before and, with crushing practicality, immediately after his proposal. She would lead a privileged life, but never a purely decorative one. He knew Alice was capable of more, and he wanted her on his team, in the boardroom as well as the dining room. His delivery may have been unexpectedly functional, but it was nonetheless appealing. A chance to impress her parents, to spread her wings, to use her brain, to contribute something meaningful with the education her parents gave her.