The Liberation of Alice Love(55)
Author: Abby McDonald

“But I’ve got to!” Fear rose, sharp in Alice’s chest as she took in the handcuffs dangling from the police belt loops. “I have to call someone. This is all a mistake!”

Pascal shook his head. The policeman once again reached for her, but Alice folded her arms and—mustering as much icy defiance as possible while wearing a slip of red silk at three a.m. in foreign surroundings—declared loudly, “I’m not moving until I speak to someone at the British embassy.” And so they arrested her.

***

Alice’s panic, which she’d fought so desperately to control during the brief drive in the back of the police car, flared to life again as she was led through the busy station, metal cold against her wrists. She was surrounded by incomprehensible chatter as the men talked around her but could only imagine what they were saying. Her whole life, she had never so much as received a parking ticket. Her record—until Ella—had been unblemished. And now? There was dark ink staining her fingertips and disdainful, accusing looks all around. She shivered, chilled in her wisp of a dress. They hadn’t let her go back to her room for a change of clothes, or even a cardigan, and now, under the harsh fluorescent lights and accusing stares, Alice feared her beautiful outfit looked provocative and cheap.

After an age spent wilting under the disdainful gazes of passing officers she was taken to a small, cold room and her questioning began in earnest. Hours passed as she trembled on a hard, metal chair; a rotating parade of officers attempted to exhort a confession from her. She had defrauded the hotel of almost a thousand euros, they told her, left a canceled credit card as security, and fled to the Amalfi Coast. She was a thief, and a liar, or perhaps just mistaken, no? The fragments Alice could decipher were as contradictory as they were confusing, and soon, even their faces blurred from her tiredness and fear. But one thing was made very clear: the sooner she admitted her crimes, the sooner they could release her. Papers printed with dense Italian were thrust across the table to her, a pen placed in her hand.

Alice shook her head again, exhausted. “I can’t help you,” she explained. “I need to see a lawyer.”

The officer scowled and pushed the pages at her again.

“No,” she fumbled, wishing there had been a section in her phrasebook for emergencies like this. “L’ambasciata. No signa…signa…” She trailed off, useless. The door opened, and another man entered the room.

“Is nothing,” an older officer told her in broken English. He loomed over her with dark hair and a thick moustache. “Just an explanation. What you say has happened.”

Alice quivered. “I’m sorry.” She swallowed, feeling utterly powerless. “I don’t understand it. I can’t.”

“But you must.” The man looked down at her, softening. “Is no importance, is just official.”

“No, please…” Alice felt the sharp sting of tears prick her eyes. The fact she’d been celebrating only hours before haunted her now. Nobody knew where she was. “I really…I just need to speak to…” Her voice wavered, but the man didn’t wait for her to finish. He scribbled his own name on the form and pushed it again toward her.

“See? Is not so hard. You sign, and we go call the embassy for you. All straight in a minute.” He smiled, encouraging. Alice felt a wave of tiredness pull on her bones. She just wanted to be back at the hotel, warm in the soft folds of that bed. She blinked again at the dense print, her head clouded. Why would he lie? For all she knew, it was nothing more than official procedure.

Her hand reached for the pen.

“Sì, good girl.” The man nodded approvingly.

But Alice paused, the pen inches from the paper. If there was one thing she’d learned from her years as a lawyer, it was that she never signed anything she didn’t understand. Never.

“No, thank you.” Her voice emerged calm, as if from someone else. And perhaps it did. Alice may be panicked and weepy, but she felt the memory of Angelique still lurking at the back of her consciousness, full of poise. Grasping at that new, unexpected reserve of strength, Alice gave the officer a polite smile. Angelique would not be bowed. “I’ll wait until my lawyer gets here, thanks all the same. And now, I’d like to make my phone calls.”

The man’s face darkened.

“My phone calls,” Alice repeated, her confidence returning. The panic that had fluttered in her chest since the sight of those first policemen seemed to melt away. She was innocent, and that was enough. She could handle this. Straightening her posture, she stared at him evenly. “International law is not so different, I think? I won’t sign anything.”

Although she had been making that same protest for what felt like hours, there was clearly something new in her tone that made the officer incline his head slightly and retreat. Moments later, she was led to another small room, identical to the last except for one precious fact: the table held an old plastic telephone.

Alice rushed over, not even waiting to sit down before she stumbled through the international prefixes: dialing the number she always called first, the one she knew by heart.

“Julian? It’s me. I need—”

“…Not around right now, but if you leave a message…”

Alice made a noise of frustration. Of course, it was the middle of the night. She waited impatiently for his amiable message to finish, and then gripped the phone tighter. “Jules,” she started finally. “It’s me, Alice. I’ve, umm, run into some trouble. I’ve been arrested. In Rome. Italy,” she added, in case that wasn’t clear. “I need you to call the embassy here, and find me a lawyer, and…I don’t know. Something.” She sighed, already realizing how futile it was. By the time he woke, she would have been languishing here for hours; and then the time it would take to rouse the embassy, and muster the appropriate personnel…

“Just, try something, will you? I really need your help.” She hung up and just as quickly dialed again, repeating her message to Stefan’s voice mail this time.

Then she stopped. Alice thought hard, but her list of emergency contacts was shockingly low. She couldn’t call her stepsister, of course—Flora could barely navigate across London, let alone coordinate an international rescue effort—and besides Julian and Stefan, Alice was at a loss for who else to try. She knew a dozen or so people who would list her at the top of their call sheet, but when the task fell to her? Alice was sorely lacking.