"Miss Jones?" the hostess whispered softly to her. "We will be landing shortly."
She slowly gained consciousness, opening her deep blue eyes gradually. She lowered her head to cover her face with tastefully curled amber hair. After thanking the woman she dismissed her, wanting to be alone. Lifting her head, she observed the high-tech, futuristic, first-class cabin she sat in. Gracefully and meticulously, she stretched her body against the seat, minding not to crinkle her delicate, gold chiffon dress. She glanced out the window of the plane emotionlessly, the twinkling lights of the "beautiful" European city unimpressive. A green light indicating that she should prepare for landing pulled her out of her fixed gaze. Leaning back into the seat, she fastened the belt, and moments later felt the plane begin its descent.
Once the plane arrived, she and her luggage made its way into the airport. Once out of the gate, she paused and took a deep breath, inhaling the air of a foreign country.
"Miss Jones, your limousine is ready." an older gentleman, one of her many assistants, walked over to her.
"Very well, I'll be there in a moment." she replied, but remained where she stood. Normally she treated her helpers a lot more warmly, but she was not in the mood to socialize. He let her be, and she took the opportunity to stretch her legs.
The airport was empty. It was late at night- probably somewhere close to 2 am, and most of it was dark. The vendors and shops, all closed; and very few of the gates seemed active. However, she found a large storm window quite a ways down with a perfect view of Paris. It was well worth the walk.
"I'm almost there," she whispered against the moonlit window, as if talking to the city itself.
"I'll see you soon...Alice..."
"Alice?" a French accented male voice called out to the garden. "Where are you?"
"I'm here!" she yelled back to him. Alice sat in a wrought iron chair, deep within the maze of the garden, a cup of blueberry flavored tea nestled in her lap. She, surrounded by countless rose, forsythia, hydrangea, and honeysuckle bushes, took delight in having afternoon tea away from the house and it's many servants. Francis knew better than to interrupt her, so she knew something important must have come up.
"There you are, finally..." a voice sighed behind her. After taking a sip of the tea, she turned slightly and nodded at him, acknowledging his presence. He sat down beside her, taking a deep inhale of the sweet smell around them. They sat in silence for a few moments, listening to the echoes of spraying water and the chirps of birds.
"Is there something you needed?" she finally asked him. The silence was comfortable, but she still wished to be left alone.
"Well... yes. But I'm not sure how you will react to what I have to say..."
"Oh, Just say it." she scoffed at him, surprised that he could, for once, be concerned with her feelings regarding anything he had to say.
"Well... I have heard that an old friend wishes to contact you... I just got a call from Paris saying that people have been asking around about your whereabouts."
Hearing this, she was almost amused...but mostly annoyed. "People asking about me is not unusual, Francis. I don't know why you found this so important you had to tell me during my afternoon tea."
"Well, it's not the people doing the asking that I wanted you to know... it's who's telling them to do the asking."
"What? What in the world do you mean?" she snapped at him. Out of every person she either hated or loved, not a single one has looked for her since her retreat from society. There isn't a person alive that Alice could imagine looking for her... that she'd actually care about, anyway.
Unless..
At the sudden realization, she put her tea on the table and turned to him, trying not to let herself hope. The pupils nestled in her green eyes dilated with intense emotion, she wasn't even sure if what she felt was hope.
"Francis..." she started cautiously. "Who is it that's looking for me?"
He looked at her with empathy; his face was all the proof she needed that this was really happening; but she needed to hear it, to make sure it was real. Pausing to prepare himself for her reaction, he took a deep breath and gently spelled out to her a name Alice once thought she'd never hear again.
"...Amelia. Amelia F. Jones."
