The Liberation of Alice Love(44)
Author: Abby McDonald

Was this what Ella had been drawn to? She’d separated herself too. The woman Alice had seen as Ella was really only what Ella had permitted her to see. She had constructed herself as artfully as this woman had draped her body, arranging limbs in what seemed to be an unstudied pose, but could have been carefully planned all along.

Lost in thought, Alice moved on. She soon found that the other cards Ella had purchased were all variations on the theme: from Titian to Renoir, it seemed she had a taste for provocative scenes that spilled over with fleshy nudes and anxious tension. The Death of Actaeon, devoured by dogs as Diana looked on, bold; A Nymph by a Stream, with the nymph’s fixed, challenging stare. Alice took in the paintings, fascinated by the life and color that spilled from every canvas. They were riotous, violent, sexual—glimpses of a world Alice never ventured near. And then… She paused by the last painting, confused. The final code on her list was for a Turner, one of his vast ocean scenes. The sky hung misty and pale over a dark shoreline, the water cloudy and deep. The painting was flanked by two others, again showing the ocean and a far horizon. Alice backed away from the canvas and sank to the low, leather seat facing the art.

This was something different.

She could feel it at once, a shiver running lightly down the back of her neck. This meant something different, something more. Not just the style, a world away from the classical nudes, but the ominous shadows lingering in the sky and the way the light glimmered in the distance, a horizon that could never be reached.

Slipping on her headphones, Alice gazed at the vast, empty landscapes as the gallery bustled around her. Her soundtrack for the day was a strange, restrained mix of electronica and slow, languid guitar. The xx, they were called, and of all the music from Ella’s purchase history, Alice had taken to this little-known London band the most. There was something seductive in the chords: a slow, wistful melody that wrapped around her, letting the busy activity of her regular life just fall away. Today, as Alice lost herself in the dark hue of the water and the glinting reflection of sunset on the waves, it seemed to cocoon her in a strange world where nothing existed but the music and the paintings and her own, curious thoughts. Alice felt almost as if Ella were sitting there beside her, listening to the same, melancholy song, watching the paintings in companionable silence before they would adjourn to the tea room for cake, to chat about Yasmin’s strange jealousy and Ella’s charity work, and how they could stop Nathan from discovering the truth about the money.

But Ella didn’t know about that. She didn’t know that Alice knew anything at all.

Would she be surprised to know the truth?

***

Alice wasn’t sure how long she’d been staring at the paintings when a hand came down on her shoulder, startling her out of the reverie. She whirled around.

“It’s only me!”

“Rupert.” Alice caught her breath, pulling off her headphones. “Sorry, I was miles away.”

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” Rupert kissed her on both cheeks. He was wearing a loose pair of corduroy trousers and a faded blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up. “How have you been? You look well.”

“Do I? Thanks.” She shook her head, trying to bring herself back to the echoing hall and regular life. “And you? How’s Keisha?”

“Eating everything that’s not nailed down.” He beamed, clearly proud of his ballooning wife.

“Have you got a due date yet?”

“End of January,” Rupert announced. “Which means they’ll be complaining about lack of proper presents and crap birthday weather.”

Alice laughed. “I’m sure they’ll complain about everything, once they reach their teens.”

“Don’t remind me.” Rupert made a face. “A teenager! I can’t even get my head around a toddler yet, let alone the big, scary ones.”

“You’ll be fine, I’m sure.” Alice patted his arm. “I can see you now, one of those swaddling hammocks slung over your back, and a bottle in each hand.”

Rupert grinned. “I’m already building a crib. Or, at least, trying to. It’s still in pieces on the bedroom floor; I thought I better start early.” He looked around. “Say, have you got time for tea?”

“Sure,” Alice agreed. “Downstairs?”

“Lead on.”

***

They ordered thick porcelain mugs of tea, and wedges of cake, settling in the wood-paneled café among tourists and a battalion of blue-rinsed pensioners.

“How is everyone at the office?” Rupert asked, spooning sugar into his cup. A few granules fell, and he pressed his finger to the tabletop to scoop them up. “I haven’t heard from Vivienne in a while, but I suppose everything’s winding down for summer.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Alice swallowed her mouthful of cake. “Fairly quiet. Which is a relief, for me anyway.”

“Of course. Toiling away up their in your garret.”

“Garret?” Alice laughed. “You make it sound like I’m dying of consumption.”

Rupert chuckled. “Still, I wish the summer wasn’t like this—so slow. With the baby coming…” He sighed. “But that’s the actor’s lot, I suppose. Predictable, our careers will never be.”

Alice sipped her tea, wondering if she should say anything about Vivienne’s newly redirected affections. “Have you got names picked out?” she asked instead.

Rupert’s face brightened. “Some. We like old-fashioned, solid names.”

“None of this Ariel and Bronx nonsense,” Alice agreed quickly.

“Exactly,” he agreed. “I like Lucy for a girl, and Miles, a boy, but Keisha has other ideas.”

“Like what?” she took a sip. It couldn’t be that bad, Keisha was a sweetly sensible human resources manager he’d met at the Learn Your Own Book-Keeping seminar—hardly the type to go esoteric on him.

But Rupert made a face. “Napoleon.”

Alice spluttered, “Oh, no, that’s terrible!”

“I’ve tried to make her see sense.” Rupert shook his head, resigned. “At least there’s time.”

“Wage a good campaign,” Alice advised. “Or, as a last resort, change the birth certificate. I wish my father had managed to get to it in time.”

“What do you mean?” Rupert looked up.

Alice paused, realizing her slip. “Oh, nothing.” She reached quickly for a nearby brochure. “Did you take a look at the summer schedule yet? There are lots of good exhibitions coming up.”