The Liberation of Alice Love - Abby McDonald [73]
“No, you’re not,” Julian informed her.
Alice’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, really?”
“I’ve been worried about you,” Julian continued, in an authoritative tone she’d never heard before. “I can never get hold of you on the phone anymore; you’re always rushing off to these mysterious classes of yours. It’s all right,” he reassured her, voice softer now. “I understand—this has been a tough couple of months. But I really think you need some time out, to recover.”
“And how, exactly, would tagging along on a couple’s weekend help with that?” she retorted.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Oh, come on, Jules!” Alice finally exclaimed. “You’re in an adult relationship—I mean, you’re living together, for God’s sake. Surely you don’t need a chaperone anymore, in case you get bored of spending all that time alone with her.” It had been understandable, when they were younger, to go on group trips to dilute the effect of all that togetherness, but by now, it was safe to assume that being locked in a hotel room for three days with his partner wasn’t the worst fate a man could face.
“What? I don’t…” Julian spluttered. “I mean, I don’t know why you’re being this way. I try to do one nice thing—”
“Without asking me, Jules. You didn’t ask. And if you had, I would have told you it was a terrible idea!” Alice knew she was exaggerating somewhat; perhaps she wouldn’t have come straight out and said it was terrible—then. Now, however, Alice was hungry, worn out, and in no mood to dance politely around his strange bouts of denial.
“You’re having a bad day,” Julian told her, annoyed. “It’s OK, we’ll talk about this some other time.”
“Jules, this has nothing to do with—”
“I’ll call later, and we’ll talk.” He cut her off. “Bye.”
Alice stared at her handset, confused. He had hung up. He had patronized her, become illogically angry, and then hung up. Wonderful. She put the phone down with a clatter, only for it to ring again.
“Alice Love? This is Thornhill Collections calling—”
This time, she was the one to slam the phone down. Giving her files a final, hungry look of disdain, Alice pulled on her still-damp cardigan and headed for the door. She would need fuel to face the rest of the afternoon, that much was clear.
A thick, toasted panini, a bag of crisps, and a delicious slice of gâteau later, Alice’s blood-sugar level may have improved, but her mood certainly hadn’t. Was it her, or had the world conspired to send the most inane, tedious paperwork to her desk that day? Staring at subclauses until the print began to blur, Alice wondered if she had time to sneak away for a dance class before returning to the breach once more. It would relax her, at least, to be Ella for an hour and worry only about footwork and her line rather than the division of residual payments. But would the momentary escape be worth the risk of—”
“Alice?” The call buzzed on her intercom, Vivienne’s voice faint but determined. “A word, please.”
Leaving her gym bag untouched in the corner, Alice descended, but not without a small flash of trepidation. It could be anything demanding her attention—a contract issue or a client query or even just Vivienne wanting company for an afternoon tea at the Ivy—but just as easily, it could be concerning Rupert, and Alice’s oh-so-helpful advice.
“Sit down with me a moment.” Vivienne’s tone was even, seated behind her long, bare desk. The drapes were half open, and perfume was thick in the air; Vivienne was draped with one of her velvet shawls, her lips painted a bright red. She gave Alice a warm smile. “How are you, darling?”
“Fine,” Alice answered carefully, perching on the edge of an elaborate antique chair. Realizing her response had been rather guarded, she amended it. “I’m done with the ITV papers. Saskia should have sent them out first thing.”
Vivienne smiled. “Wonderful. I’m glad you’re back on form, after…” She cleared her throat tactfully. “Well, it’s good to see you back together.”
Alice made an effort to return the smile, but watched closely