The Last Dress from Paris(98)
He frowns and looks away from me, and I can feel my face start to crumple, my smile weaken and fade. He said we should take things slowly. Me uprooting and moving my life to Paris is probably not what he had in mind.
“Now I wonder if I shouldn’t have come to London. If it was the wrong thing to do.”
“Why? I’m glad you’re here, I want you to be here. It’s the best thing that’s happened to me in ages.” I take both of his hands in mine. I’m so overkeen, but I can’t help it. He did get on the train, he is here, and I can’t bear that he now thinks he shouldn’t be. “It doesn’t have to mean anything, Leon, we don’t suddenly have to move in together or get too serious.”
“That’s exactly what I thought you might say. Stop holding back, Lucille, because I’m not going to. You coming to Paris is exactly what I hoped for, and I’m not going to hide that. And in the spirit of total disclosure, neither do I want to stay at my horrible hotel tonight. Can I come home with you?”
His smile is back, and the only thing I’m thinking is how quickly I can get this man into a cab.
26
Alice
DECEMBER 1953, PARIS
The ring echoes in Alice’s ear three times before the unyielding, polished tone of her mother’s voice sends her straight back to the pine-fringed sand dunes of her childhood. To the loneliness she felt then—that she still feels now. Standing in the near darkness of her bedroom, she sees the beach where she spent so many solitary hours, imagining the faces of longed-for friends in the markings on the pebbles and in the oddities that the sea washed her way. She can almost smell the salty ripeness of the waves, hear the loud honk of the geese that used to scare her so much.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” Impatience laces her mother’s voice.
“It’s me, Mum, Alice.”
“Oh.” Alice pictures her mother standing in her orderly sitting room at Broadview, the soft pink brick house in Norfolk where Alice grew up. There will be a to-do list somewhere nearby that she’ll be keen to get back to. Alice must get to the point.
“I was hoping to come home, Mum.” She feels the emotion hum in her chest.
“When did you have in mind? There is quite a lot in the diary for the next few weeks, obviously.”
“As soon as possible.” Tears have started to cloud her eyes. She wants to let them go, to sob to her mother, completely reveal herself, tell her how much she needs her and to hear the words Come, come now, my darling. We’re here and we love you.
“Why do I get the distinct feeling that all is not well, Alice?” It’s more an accusation than a concerned inquiry.
There is little point stringing out the pretense; Alice knows she lacks that level of fortitude anyway. “I’m pregnant.” A cold wash of anxiety bridges across her shoulders. Whatever disappointment she caused as a child, enough to ensure there was never a sibling, is nothing compared to what’s coming.
“Well, I was not expecting to hear that, although you’ve been married long enough, it shouldn’t be surprising news.”
How can she explain the next part to her mother in a way she will understand? A woman for whom obedience and service have been the guiding principles that have seen her marriage last well into its third decade. And here is Alice, about to complain she wants an end to hers before the second anniversary.
“Albert and I are . . .” Alice is flailing, aware she is about to shatter her mother’s icy calm.
“You’re what?”
“I’m not happy.”
Her mother laughs. “My goodness, since when did marriage have anything to do with being happy? Having a baby will give you something solid of your own to focus on. What exactly is the problem?” When did this hardness seed in her mother? Alice wonders. Was she created this way, or has a life of continual compromise ironed out any softness within her?
“I don’t love Albert. I don’t think I have ever loved Albert. I’m in love . . .”
A silence scratches between them while Alice fumbles for the words.
“I am in love with someone else.” She aims for authority, but she sounds weak and apologetic.
“Don’t be ridiculous! You’re about to have a baby, for goodness’ sake. Do you have any idea how juvenile that sounds?”
Alice closes her eyes and waits for the moment of realization to arrive. It doesn’t take long. There is a sharp intake of breath down the line, and then her mother’s voice is harder, more urgent, but whispered.
“My God, Alice. Are you trying to tell me this is not Albert’s baby? That you have been stupid enough to jeopardize everything you have? Does Albert know?”
“Yes, he knows.” Alice refuses to feel ashamed. Her mum has yet to understand the true nature of her husband, and when she does, she will be more sympathetic.
“Is that why you are calling? Has he thrown you out? Has he asked for a divorce?” She’s allowed a shrillness to creep into her voice, a sure sign she is panicking—as much as her mother ever can.
“No. He wants us to move to America so he can take up a new position there. To start again.” Alice is surprisingly calm, laying out the facts for her mother, while accepting it will be virtually impossible for her to understand them yet.