A lady in Paris

She squirmed in her seat, trying to surreptitiously move her dress back up to where it was, without attracting any attention. That was the problem with the strapless ones, they always seemed to come down at the most ridiculous of moments, when reaching across the table for the water bottle, or when dancing. Her hair, which she thought dull and mousy, had escaped it's clip and was curling down her back as well.
She had been invited to dinner by Michael. He had seemed so nervous when he had asked and she thought it would have been rude to refuse, but now she was here, she was feeling a little out of place. He and his friends were talking and laughing too loudly for the crowded restaurant, after all the wine and brandy they had had, and the women were all joining in.
She wasn't used to it, all the razzmatazz of Paris after her quiet live in the village. Nemours had been too small, and she'd wanted to experience life, but now she was here, it was all so.... so very gauche, so very ooh la la and she felt so very out of place, a country bumpkin surrounded by elegant ladies and proper gents. What could she talk about? She could take someone on a country walk and point out and name all the plants and flowers, but in Paris, what could she talk about? The weather? The shops? It all seemed so trivial and when they all started talking politics, discussing whether the Germans were going to invade again, she felt so out of her depth.
She had lost her father and mother in the war. Her father had been sent to the front, he had fought at Verdun, and after the letter arrived telling them he'd been lost in action just before the war had been declared officially over, she'd watched her mother fade to nothing over the next few months. She'd been unable to do much apart from cry. Amelia had sometimes gone into her mother's room on a night and slipped into bed beside her, feeling her tremble. The weather had been very cold, and in a morning, she'd blamed it on that but Amelia knew it was more than just that. She had tried to get her to eat, but the meal always came back with just nibbles out of them. She had got a job in the local bar, and one day she'd come home from work to find her mother hanging from the beam in the bedroom. There was a letter and a medal on the table. Apparently, her father had been awarded it for bravery. It had been a final twist of the knife to her mother, and Amelia knew that she'd felt abandoned, even with the excuse of death, for his bravery.
Her uncle had taken her in, but he kept trying to come into her room late at night. His wife, and her aunt, had passed away from the flu after the war, and he had turned into a bitter, lonely old man.
When Michael had offered to take her to Paris, she'd jumped at the chance. Anything to get away from her uncle's prying eyes and monstrous hands. Michael had got her a job in a bar, and the work, while it was busier than she was used to, was not much more difficult than at home. This paid for her apartment, well, room really, and Michael had taken her out any night she wasn't working, to dances and meals and even soirees in big houses where Ameali had felt quite unwelcome with her dowdy homemade clothes and lack of airs and graces.
They were in a fancy restaurant now, with too much silverware and prices that she had gasped at. Everything smelt of elaborately roasted meats and expensive wine. Not to worry, Michael always paid for everything, but she knew that at some point there would be a return expected, for him helping her to escape. She was grateful, really, but she knew that she didn't love him and never would, and that would be what was expected of her.
'Are you alright, my dear?' . The lady sat next to Amelia had turned and looked at her. Amelia had obviously been staring off into the distance and now she blushed, feeling rather ignorant and rude.
'Why, yes, thank you mademoiselle. I just feel a bit out of place. You all look lovely, in your dresses and I just don't ever know what to do at these kind of gatherings'. Amelia blushed even more. The wine had made her talkative, and now she had embarrassed herself in front of someone who was probably important.
The woman smiled at her.
'I always felt like that when I first started coming to the affairs. Countrified and like I had nothing to say. Paris does take some getting used to after all.'
It was like the lady had read her mind.
'I'm Elizabeth. I've only lived in Paris for 2 years. I promise, you soon get settled in'. She put her hand on Amelia's arm, and squeezed gently.
'I'm Amelia.'
'Where are you staying?'
'Oh, I'm only 15 minutes walk from here.'
'Well, my dear, it would appear that the party is starting to break up. Would you care for someone to accompany you home? It can be awfully scary later on an evening, and an unaccompanied lady is not the thing, even in this day and age.'
Amelia looked over at Michael. His cheeks were flushed with the alcohol, and he was deep in conversation with the lady next to him.
'If... if you don't mind, that would be lovely.'
'Of course. Let's leave the men to their tomfoolery, and go have ourselves a little fun.'
They both rose from the table, and Elizabeth signalled to the waiter that they needed their coats. Elizabeth came around the table, and after putting her coat on, held out Amelia's. She put hers on, and Elizabeth took her arm. They set off, and just before they went through the door, Amelia looked back. Michael was watching her, an anguished look in his eye. She shrugged, almost imperceptively, and he looked down at his empty plate as she and Elizabeth set off into the night.