An Innocent Affair

XXIV

"No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side.

Or you don't." Stephen King, The Stand

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XXIV.              

"Is that her?" Zara whispered to Cressie, her excitement evident in the way her voice rose an octave as she spoke the pronoun. "Oh, this is another reason as to why I am pleased it is you escorting me this Season, and not Grandmamma. I do not think her prejudice would allow me to be dressed by a woman like Belle Desjardins."

Cressie briefly wondered how many mamas and grandmammas prevented their daughters from being dressed by Belle due to their own shameful follies. She then wondered how many of the women in this shop still held those prejudices but would dismiss them long enough to secure a couture gown for their daughter's debut.

Fools be damned. "She is an excellent woman," Cressie quietly informed her niece as Belle began towards them. "You would be lucky to know her grace, and not the other way around."

Zara did not have time to reply as Belle reached them in mere moments. Though, by the expression on Zara's face, Cressie could guess as to what her niece would have replied. Zara appeared utterly and completely starstruck. For the poor debutante, though, Belle's eyes could only find Cressie.

Belle had news of him.

The thought crossed through the forefront of Cressie's mind so suddenly, it caused her to stumble backwards, as though someone had slapped her across the face with the notion.

Zara gasped as she laid a hand on Cressie's arm. "Are you alright?" she inquired with a furrowed brow.

"Yes," murmured Cressie, "I merely momentarily lost my footing. I am quite alright."

But the thought had not left her mind. Never in the five years that had passed had Cressie ever been so close to news of him. She had to but breathe the words, to utter his name, to learn something, anything. How was he? Was he well? Was he happy? Was he married?

"I am Belle Desjardins. Welcome to my couturier," Belle said, finally tearing her golden eyes away from Cressie, before settling them on a very appreciative Zara. "Congratulations on your impending debut, Miss ...?"

"Delaney," replied Zara helpfully. "My name is Miss Zara Delaney. And thank you. I am very excited."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Delaney," Belle said tentatively, speaking over Zara's surname, and indeed Cressie's, with heightened caution. Her eyes flicked back to Cressie, before she said, "I am glad to meet with you again ... Mrs Delaney." Cressie could still hear the deep French inflection on her words, but it was not as pronounced as it had been five years earlier.

"Oh, Cressie!" exclaimed Zara. "She remembers you! How delightful!"

Both Cressie and Belle had to have been thinking the same thing. Belle did not remember Cressie because she had purchased one or two of her dresses. Cressie could ask her right in that moment. She could say the words, articulate his name, find out anything, anything that had happened to him since they had parted.

Did he still care?

Oh, what a wicked thought!

Cressie hoped he didn't. She knew that she should hope that he did not care. She would not want him to feel what she had done. The good part of her should wish that he had moved on and found the happiness that he deserved. Why should both of them have had to suffer? Cressie would never wish that on him.