The Liberation of Alice Love(46)
Author: Abby McDonald

“I don’t know…”

Alice sighed. She hated to see him so defeated, but she’d had to tell him. She couldn’t have watched him turn up for lunches, oblivious, until his savings ran out and no new parts materialized. “Think about it, please. I don’t know why she hasn’t been putting you forward for these auditions all along. It wouldn’t have taken anything extra.”

“She said she had a plan,” Rupert protested weakly. “She didn’t want to devalue my image.”

Alice gave a sympathetic sigh. “I know.” Something in her twisted when she thought of all the decent, paying parts Vivienne must have been passing Rupert over for. They weren’t flashy lead roles, of course, but work was work.

“Think about it,” she said again, her voice sounding unnaturally upbeat. “This could be a good thing. A fresh start!”

Rupert gazed back, clearly unconvinced. “Thanks,” he sighed quietly. “Anyway, I better be going…”

Alice bobbed up to hug him good-bye, watching as he began to walk away, shoulders slumped and head down. “Call if you need anything,” she called after him. “And remember, any name but Napoleon!”

Chapter Sixteen

Rupert didn’t quit the agency. Alice spent the next week in a state of alert, waiting for Vivienne’s imperious cry, but no such summons appeared. Whatever change she’d thought her information would spur, Rupert apparently preferred denial, and Alice had to admit, there was a small—and rather guilty—part of her that hoped it would stay that way. Concerns about his future had slowly made way for worries about her own and what consequences would ensue when he confronted Vivienne. Although Rupert would never reveal where he’d got his information, she wasn’t a fool, and Alice had made her opinions clear; it wouldn’t take much to link events and produce a conclusion of disloyalty worthy of reprimand, or worse still, dismissal.

“Are you sure you have to go in today?” Flora found Alice in the kitchen one morning at the end of the week, hunting through her large carryall for a stray contract she’d taken to finish at home.

“It’s Friday, Flora. Of course I have to go in.” Alice checked the front pocket again, flustered.

“But I thought maybe you could ditch today, and we could go to the spa!”

“What?” Alice looked up. She was about to dismiss the indulgent suggestion, but something made her pause, frowning. “Flora, are you OK?”

“Sure.” Flora bounced up onto a stool and swung her legs. “It’s just, Stefan’s gone for a long weekend again, and I thought it could be fun. A sister bonding thing?” She beamed at Alice expectantly.

Alice stifled a sigh, feeling every one of the five years between them. “I have a job, Flora, I really can’t.”

“But—”

“Flora!” Finally locating the contract, Alice scooped up her keys. “It’s a sweet idea,” she added hastily. “Maybe another time? When I’m not so busy. I really have to go; my old landlord called, and I have to pick up some post before work.”

“OK…” Flora trailed after her as she hurried to the door. “Will you be back for dinner tonight?”

“I’m not sure,” Alice replied, pausing over her umbrella. The skies were clear, and her bag was full, so…No. Not today. “I’ll call when I know.” She gave Flora a quick smile. “Why don’t you do the spa thing with one of your friends? Ginny, or—” she searched her memory. “Mimi, isn’t it? You haven’t seen them in a while.” Not waiting for a reply, she scooted down the front steps. “See you later!”

***

It rained, of course, clouding over and drenching the city with cold sheets of water almost as soon as she reached the bottom of the hill. By the time Alice had dashed from the Tube to the office, her thin ballet flats were wet through and unpleasant rivulets of water had begun a slow trickle down her neck. She flung open the door and hurried into the foyer, shivering.

“Can you not stand there?” Saskia beamed insincerely at Alice over the reception desk. “I only just tidied, and you’re dripping all over the floor.”

Alice narrowed her eyes.

“You should probably go clean up before anyone arrives,” Saskia added sweetly, from her warm, dry vantage point. “We can’t have clients seeing the place like this!”

Ignoring the request, Alice pulled a stack of damp contracts from her bag and set them down on the desk with a thwack. “These need to be faxed right away,” she said, matching Saskia’s beam with one of equal insincerity. “Cover letters and details are stapled to the front of every file.”

Saskia picked one up between thumb and forefinger with a grimace. “I’ll see when I can get to it.”

“Right away,” Alice repeated, her friendly tone slipping. “Before eleven.”

Saskia glared. Alice glared back.

“Fine.” Eventually, Saskia admitted defeat. “I’ll do it now.”

“And then the hand towels in the bathroom will need replacing. Since I need to stop dripping on your floors,” Alice added, turning on her heel and stalking up the stairs.

She did what she could with the aid of paper towels and a flannel, but Alice was still decidedly damp and bedraggled when, at last, she settled at her desk and surveyed the thick stack of bills she’d had to collect from her old flat. The landlord had let them mount for weeks before remembering to call, and now she faced bold printed warnings on every envelope for her “immediate attention.” Bracing herself, Alice tore open the first. Six hundred pounds still owing on a store card, legal action, immediate steps. It didn’t say what the money had been used for, but Alice already knew: something unexpected, something fun. She tossed it aside and reached for another. More monies owning, even less time to pay. Another. Another. She made her way through the stack, the catalog of a life Ella had been living without blame or consequence. And Alice was left to tidy up after, as usual. As always.

The floor was littered with torn envelopes by the time Alice was almost through. She’d have to sort them all, of course: make copies and forward them to the solicitor and file them away neatly along with the rest. She sighed, listlessly flicking through the final stack of hateful slim letters, with their clear windows and typed addresses. Then she paused.

A postcard.

It was tucked between two plain brown envelopes, a small burst of color with blue skies and some bustling town square scene. Alice pulled it out, flipping to see the back, and the handwritten message scribbled at an enthusiastic slant: “I love Italy! The men are divine, and oh, the gelato—it’s even better! See you soon. xx Ella.”