The Last Dress from Paris(92)
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“Have a seat, please.”
Albert has asked Alice to meet him in the Salon Jaune drawing room on the first floor. It’s flooded with late-afternoon sunshine, spotlighted against the yellow silk wall coverings and bouncing off the imposing two-tier crystal chandelier that hangs heavy above them.
He knows it is one of her favorite rooms in which to sit, read, and enjoy a moment of calm reflection, and his demeanor this afternoon seems to match. He is noticeably more restrained, even relaxed. There is no pronounced tension in the veins across his forehead. His tie is loosened, and as she looks around the room, Alice can see the effort he has had someone go to. There are fresh flowers, her preferred pale old English roses, on the glass-topped wooden table in front of them, more, she notices, on two console tables dotted around the room. Afternoon tea is laid out. Perfectly cut, crust-free cucumber sandwiches, warm madeleines, scones generously layered with cream and jam, and a whole Victoria sponge that has yet to be cut. A tea service has been placed on a tray that Albert now offers to pour for her.
“Thank you, yes, please.” She watches him struggle with the tea strainer, unpracticed in this everyday ritual. But she stays seated until he places the teacup in front of her, a perfect pour of Earl Grey made undrinkable by the leaves swimming in it.
“How are you feeling?” His eyes flick to the space beneath her waistband. Alice knows he doesn’t care; the fact he’s asking the question merely means there is an agenda to this meeting, something she needs to agree to, which is unnerving.
“I’m well, thank you.” Alice eases her way into the conversation, unsure yet of its destination.
“Good. What can I get you to eat?”
“Nothing, thank you. I may have something later.” The smell of the sugar is making her head throb and her insides cartwheel with nausea.
She watches as he cuts a generous slice of cake, then forks a wedge of it into his mouth. She diverts her eyes from the jam that lingers on his upper lip, collected by his tongue, the crumbs that he clumsily brushes off his lap and onto the carpet, knowing someone will clean up after him.
“I have lots to tell you.” He’s smiling, presenting a completely different version of himself than the man she’s seen these last few weeks. The one who shattered heavy cut crystal inches from her face just yesterday. What is it he thinks? she wonders. That if he acts the part of the considerate husband, he’ll get what he wants from her? Has she always been that pliable?
“A press release will go out tomorrow announcing your first pregnancy. I have a copy of the draft here so you can see what information will be shared. I have added a quote from you.” He hands her a piece of embassy embossed paper and reaches for a madeleine. Her eyes travel swiftly down the words, registering key facts: her name, their wedding date, that the baby is expected in August, a request for the press to respect their privacy at this wonderful family time. Then Alice, declaring she has never been happier and how it has always been her dearly held wish to have a large family, ending with how blessed they are.
She can feel the bile start to climb up the back of her throat and is forced to take a sip of her tea to refresh her mouth. Her hand is shaking, and the teacup rocks loudly back and forth on its saucer as she raises it from the table.
“You’ll need to call your parents this afternoon and tell them the news before it breaks tomorrow.”
She nods silently before handing the paper back to him.
“And the other development, which will be announced a couple of weeks later, is that we are moving to America.” He doesn’t pause for her reaction before he launches straight into the details. “I have been offered an incredible role there, and naturally I have accepted. The team are working on all the relocation details now, but we don’t have long. They want us out there soon. One of the social secretaries will be contacting you tomorrow to run through some key events, you know, welcome dinners and drinks receptions mostly,” he adds with a casual wave of his hand. “They’ll need your input and thoughts on guest lists et cetera, and a bit of a steer on personal needs, arrangements they can put in place before we arrive.” He looks up from his cake plate and stares blankly at her.
“Why are you crying?” A note of irritation has returned to his voice.
Alice wasn’t aware of her tears until this very moment, but now the room is shifting out of focus, her eyes flooded by the fear and sadness that is overwhelming her.
“How can we just . . .” She’s clamoring to think of the words to sum up the seismic shift in their relationship over the past few months, but every time she tries to speak, the words shatter in the back of her throat.
“I’ve spoken to most of the staff, and they are fully briefed on the timings . . .”
“Albert . . .”
“None of them will be coming with us, so they will all need to find alternative positions, and quick. Marianne has already been sacked for the horribly disloyal and duplicitous role she has played in all of this. She can consider herself incredibly fortunate that I have honored her severance pay, but there will be no reference. Not from me.”
Alice feels the shock ricochet through her.
“Please, Albert, I’m begging you, don’t do this to Anne. None of this is her fault, and she needs this job.” She tries to keep the emotion from her voice but hears it cracking with every word.