She glanced down at Antoine’s hand and he withdrew it, but his enthusiasm remained.
“Well, my dear? What do you think?”
“Oh, Pierre. You are a wonderful person to offer this, and I am overwhelmed by your generosity. It’s just . . .” She took a deep breath and panicked, trying not to fuss with her skirt, but it tangled between her fingers. She mustn’t cry. She mustn’t. “I’m afraid I cannot, sir.”
He sat back abruptly, shocked. “Why ever not?” he demanded.
He must see it, but for whatever reason he was choosing to overlook the obvious. How could she admit it out loud, that she simply didn’t belong in that kind of company? That she longed for it, wanted so badly to meet these exciting people, touch their silks and satins, maybe even make a friend. To know that she’d come from so little and was so close . . .
Her eyes dropped to the floor. “I . . . I have nothing to wear, Pierre. Nothing suitable.”
He shrugged, obviously nonplussed. “It will be on Saturday. Today is Monday. You have time enough.”
She had thought her cheeks were on fire before, but it was all suddenly so much worse. “No, sir, I cannot. You see—”
“Ah!” he said, eyes widening. He jumped to his feet and moved toward his desk, pulling open a drawer and writing on a small card in one swift movement. “But how ignorant of me! Je m’excuse! Please, allow me. This soiree is my idea to begin with, and I would not have the guest of honour uncomfortable because of my oversight.”
He tucked the card into an envelope bearing his name and told her to bring it to a particular dressmaker in the city. Audrey was to choose whatever she desired, and the dressmaker would bring the bill to Antoine. She objected, embarrassed at the very idea, yet ecstatic at the same time. Fortunately, he insisted with his customary charm then called a cab to bring her home. He also wrote down her address, promising to send another cab to her house to pick both her and Danny up on the night of the party.
She could hardly think on the cab ride home. The whole idea was ridiculous, she told herself, and yet it was happening, wasn’t it? He would be sending out invitations in the morning, he had said.
It was dark when she got home. December had come quickly, pulling down temperatures, forcing lamps to light earlier every evening. Audrey didn’t like being alone in the dark, and Danny no longer came to get her if she was late. He assumed she’d be fine, since she was under the care of the great Pierre Antoine.
Their sad little house was unlit on the outside, and only a dim hint of gold flickered from within a front window. Audrey stood outside the door and stared at it, holding Antoine’s card in her gloved fingers. She felt weak at the thought of telling Danny about the invitation and about the dressmaker. He already hated how much charity she accepted from the family. Just the week before she’d brought home a coat for Danny. It had been too worn for Antoine, but it would have fit Danny. Winter was coming, and he’d need something, but he’d had too much to drink by the time she’d gotten home. When he’d caught sight of the beautiful black coat, he’d promptly thrown it out on the street. She’d gone out to retrieve it in the morning, but it had already been claimed by a more practical soul.
The air had teeth tonight, and she clenched her own together, knowing she couldn’t stand out there all night, dreading the encounter. The door swung open when she turned the knob, and she stepped inside, keeping her coat on. It was too cold inside—as she’d known it would be—to go without.
“Danny?”
He didn’t answer, and she hoped he was asleep. She hated the times when he was passed out with his arms like a pillow on the kitchen table. It had only happened twice, but she’d hated it. Once he’d left a cigarette burning between his fingers while he slept.
She stepped into the kitchen, but he wasn’t there. At least no one else was either.
“Danny?”
“In here.” His voice was oddly quiet. It came from the bedroom.
“You’re ready to sleep already? It’s early yet.”
“I have nothing else to do.” He was sitting up in bed, wearing a tired undershirt untucked over a loose pair of dark grey pants. The smoke from his cigarette rose straight up in a thin line, then drew squiggly circles up high. He looked tired. “I was just waiting for you.”
Something in his voice made her feel so sad. She heard no antagonism, no defensive edge. It was like the way he’d spoken to her once upon a time, when she’d felt important to him. How long had it been since he’d made her feel special? Why did it feel as if they’d been married twenty years now instead of only a few months?
“Sorry I’m late.” His mellow mood made the question of Pierre even more difficult to bring up. She didn’t want to break the spell settled over the room, but she couldn’t hide from the conversation, and who knew when they might speak civilly again? “Mr. Antoine wanted to speak with me about my painting.”
It hadn’t really been about her painting, but she could say it was. At least that way it wouldn’t start out as a confrontation. Regardless, she braced for his response.
“Is he happy with it?”
She was taken by surprise at his gentle reaction. So often just the mention of Antoine roused snarls from him. Encouraged, she settled in on the bed, brushing up against his arm with her own, hoping for more.
“Oh yes. He’s very happy. He hung it right in the living room.” She held out her hands in front of her, demonstrating how it would hang right at eye level. “And he . . . he’s planning to throw a dinner party to show it to all his society friends.”
“Ooh la la,” he said with a wry grin. “They’ll all be talking about you now. Wonder what they’ll say.”
This was the tricky part. “Actually, Danny, he’s invited you and me as well.”
He looked at her, searching for the punchline, she supposed. When he didn’t see anything change in her reaction, he barked out a laugh. “Oh, that sounds just right. You and me with the high and mighty. Come on, honey. Why would he invite us to something like that?”
She knew he was right, that they couldn’t possibly fit in, but he didn’t have to be so negative about it. “He wants to help my career. He says I have a lot of talent and I deserve recognition. If they all see it, and if they all meet me, he thinks they all might just hire me to do their portraits.”
He set the cigarette between his lips and inhaled, let the smoke out slow. “I don’t see why I’d have to be there.”
“Because you’re my husband is why!”
His shrug was small, noncommittal. “I’m not going.”
“What? Why not?”
She hated the smile he gave her, that cold, arrogant sneer he reserved for a special kind of insult. Based on his expression, she knew his response before it came, and she already knew what her own answer would be. “Because I’m not.”
“Well, I am.”
“No, you aren’t.”
“It’s a party in my honour, Danny. You should be proud of me, happy for me.”
He adjusted his body on the bed so he was facing her, and his eyes softened. “Oh, you know I’m proud of you. Always have been. But you gotta know those people will look down on you. You know what they’re like. You’ll just be the entertainment for the night. Look at the poor little fisherman’s wife. You know he only has one leg, don’t you?”
She looked away, close to tears.
“Don’t go, Audrey.” He was almost begging, but she didn’t give in. This was her dream even if it wasn’t his. “Don’t let them play with you like that. You’re better than that.”
A sob escaped, and she let him have it, all her frustration in one long exhalation. “Why do you have to be so mean, Danny? Why do you do all you can to ruin things for me? All I want is a little happiness.” Her hands clenched into fists, and she felt the sharp press of her nails against her palms. “I want to see people enjoy my paintings
. I want to meet new people. I want to try new things. But you always make the pretty things ugly. You want to keep me unhappy.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You do! Every time I come home and tell you something good, you find something suspicious about it or you turn it around so it’s about you. Why do you have to do that?”
“That’s who I am.”
She sniffed and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “That’s a lousy reason. You’re being very selfish.”
He didn’t say anything at first, just looked toward the foot of the bed. He’d taken off the peg and the empty pant leg gathered near his other knee.
“You didn’t use to be selfish,” she added quietly.
“Maybe not.” He gave her a look, as if there was something he wanted to say. Something he was fighting to keep back. “Maybe it’s not being selfish. Maybe I want to protect you.”
“You just want to keep me to yourself.”
His expression was unsure. As if he didn’t know whether or not he needed to defend himself on that point. “And is that so wrong?”
Oh, it broke her heart seeing him this way. All she’d wanted in the past was for him to hold her, protect her, love her. She hadn’t cared if there was another person in the whole world. He’d made her laugh, he’d thrilled her, and at times she felt as if he were too good to be true. How could anyone love her as much as he did? But that love had turned upside down. Now he was drowning in his own despair, and he was pulling her under with him. She could barely breathe.
“Yes,” she whispered. “You have to let me be happy, Danny.”
She didn’t know what she’d hoped for, maybe for him to slump just a little, to suddenly see the light and apologize, to beg for her forgiveness. And she’d give it to him, if only she could see that love back in his eyes. She’d give it all back to him in that instant.
But he didn’t. He stood up, hopped to his crutch, and yanked on his old coat. She heard the door latch behind him, and it was the loneliest sound she’d ever heard.
TWENTY-FOUR
She went to the dressmaker the next morning after Danny had gone to work. He hadn’t come home until three hours before he had to get up, and they hadn’t spoken a word to each other all through those long, cold hours. Audrey had closed her eyes, refusing to cry, but all the time she craved his touch and had to fight the urge to slide closer, press her back against his. But he hadn’t moved toward her. He hadn’t reached for her at all.
So she stepped into the street outside their little house just after ten o’clock, Pierre’s little card tucked in her pocket. She had no idea if she would actually use it, if she would be brave enough to do as he had so generously suggested. But the very idea of walking into a store she had, until then, considered out of bounds and maybe even walking out with a purchase appealed to her on many levels.
It was quite a distance to the shop on Hollis Street, and she was glad she’d thought to bring an umbrella. It wasn’t quite raining yet, but the clouds were closing in. All she could do was hope it only rained, didn’t snow.
The little store was called Nanette’s Boutique. The front was white with a big, beautiful window out to the street, and two breathtaking gowns were on display, one in light pink with ivory lace, the other an elegant black satin. Everyone seemed to wear black these days, respecting those lost in the war, but Audrey had decided she just couldn’t. What she needed more than anything these days—besides a return of the old Danny—was colour. And since she was going to be on display as an artist, it only made sense that she show off a little of it. She blinked up at the pink gown, appreciating its delicate cut, the folds of the skirt lightly sweeping the floor of the display window. It was absolutely beautiful. But Audrey didn’t want pink.
A little bell rang when she opened the door, bright and cheery, and such a welcome change from the grey outside that she couldn’t help smiling. A neatly dressed woman came from the back of the store to greet her, all smiles, though her eyes flicked skeptically over Audrey’s coat. Audrey had expected that kind of reaction, and she didn’t blame the woman. Danny was right, but he was also wrong. She knew she didn’t fit in—not as she was. A change was needed, and if Pierre Antoine wanted to help her make that change, she wasn’t about to argue. Yes, she was as poor as a church mouse, but the little card in her pocket was worth more than anything she’d ever owned, including her gold wedding band.
“Good morning,” the woman said sweetly. “Can I help you with something?”
“Oh, I hope so,” Audrey said, wanting to please her. “I’m looking for a gown for a dinner party.” The shadow of a frown crossed the woman’s brow, and Audrey smiled. “Don’t worry. I came here at Mr. Pierre Antoine’s suggestion,” she said, pulling out the card.
The pale blond brow lifted with surprise, and she took the envelope to her counter, where she slit it open with a letter opener. Audrey waited patiently while the woman read the note, saw her eyes warm with recognition. She smiled at Audrey.
“Well, aren’t you the lucky lady?” she said.
“I really am.”
“A dinner party in your honour? This must be something truly special.”
“I painted his family’s portrait, and he seems quite pleased with it, I’m glad to say.”
“Well, then. We must make sure he’s just as pleased with the artist as he is with the art. Let’s look over here, shall we? My name is Mrs. Jones, and you must not be shy to ask questions or tell me what you think, are we agreed?”
Audrey tried on five different dresses before she and Mrs. Jones finally found just the right one: an ankle-length evening gown in satin charmeuse, dyed a lovely robin’s egg blue. The sleeveless shoulders were draped with a gold embroidered net, and a cluster of rosebuds had been added where the waist drew in over a full, graceful skirt. A matching gold netting fell beneath the hem as well, giving the impression of a golden-laced petticoat. She stepped into a matching pair of shoes and waved away the suggestion of a hat.
“The colour is magnificent, is it not?” Mrs. Jones said, stepping back to look at Audrey’s reflection in the mirror. “As if the material were specially made to match your eyes.”
She couldn’t disagree. The gown was beautiful, and Audrey looked beautiful in it. But such a wave of melancholy broke over her in that moment she had to blink quickly to hide her emotions. Her wedding dress had been blue. She still remembered the way Danny had looked at her when he’d seen her in it, and how his eyes had changed as he’d slowly undressed her for the first time. She should choose another dress, one which didn’t bring such sadness.
But no. This was the one. She lifted her chin and nodded. “It’s perfect.”
Mrs. Jones misinterpreted the sudden shine in Audrey’s eyes. “Sometimes it is amazing to see how a gown can transform a person. Overwhelming, even. You are a very beautiful woman, Mrs. Baker, but it can be difficult to see that when you are forced to hide your beauty beneath lesser clothing. Your husband is a lucky man.”
She swallowed back any quick comments, because of course there was nothing lucky about him at all. And “lesser clothing” was all she’d ever known. Besides, Danny wouldn’t come to the dinner party; he might never see her in the gown at all.
“And I’m a lucky woman,” was all she said.
When she stepped outside the shop again, she put up her umbrella against the downpour and was instantly drenched in doubt. What on earth was she doing? She couldn’t go to a party on her own, could she? By doing this, wasn’t she pulling farther away from Danny instead of trying to mend what was broken between them? She had no right to wear something so beautiful, so expensive; though she’d never been told the price, she knew she’d never be able to afford it on her own.
It had apparently been raining for a while, because puddles had formed while she’d been in the shop. Walking down the hill toward her house was like moving with the
tide. She wished she’d stayed inside just a little longer, but after she’d accepted the parcel, conversation between herself and Mrs. Jones had become decidedly awkward.
She had almost passed a café on the corner when a notice in the window caught her eye. Backing up a few steps, she frowned at the ivory sheet of paper, reading it through the rain-speckled window, then she smiled. It was just like the ones she’d seen in London, in another lifetime. A women’s meeting, taking place Wednesday at noon in a nearby church. The reminder was bittersweet. So much had been in her head back then, all the changes, the adventure of saving to start a new life. The women she’d met had been her support system, and she decided she needed them again. She memorized the church address and time and headed back to the house.
The brown paper package containing her new gown and shoes slid under their bed. He wouldn’t see it there, not if he didn’t think to look. And she had a feeling that even if she told him about it, he wouldn’t look. There would be no changing his mind on this.
And now there would be no changing hers. Wednesday’s meeting couldn’t come soon enough, as far as Audrey was concerned. She survived another silent night on Tuesday, but Wednesday morning she couldn’t bear it any longer. She was making his lunch—what there was of it, anyway—while he sat stonily at the kitchen table, sipping tea and eating toast, staring at the plate in front of him.
“Are we ever going to speak to each other again?” Audrey asked quietly.
He looked up at her slowly, as if he’d forgotten she was there. But he hadn’t, she knew. He’d just been waiting for her to say something first. He wanted her to think he was unaffected by this tension between them, but she saw it there, thick in the lines across his brow. She read him so well. Knew every desperate thought behind those sad eyes. He was lost. He needed her. But he wouldn’t accept even a hint of comfort.
Tides of Honour Page 18
