All Dressed Up

by Lucy Hepburn

  “And Mademoiselle?”

  “Yes?” She held her breath. There could still be an internship in this for her if she held things together…

  “Always carry the dress in a completely flat, straight position, yes?”

  “Oh, absolutely. How else would I carry it?”

  “I am glad to hear it. Oh, and one more thing…”

  This was it, it had to be…

  “I am pleased that you went to such lengths, such criminal lengths, to find the gown.”

  “Wow, thanks!” Molly wasn’t sure if she had just been complimented or not. But it appeared to be all she was going to get. “For a dress so amazing I would—”

  But he had gone. For a long while Molly sat gazing at the phone, holding it carefully as if there was a tiny little Delametri Chevalier inside who was not to be disturbed. She had spoken to him. Twice now! Practically done business with him—and survived! One thing was sure, he’d be unlikely to forget the girl who broke the law to rescue a Delametri Chevalier gown…surely that internship would only be a matter of time?

  “Sorted?” Simon had moved away to give her some privacy to make the call; he stood, waiting patiently, by a coffee stand.

  Molly exhaled loudly. “Think so.” Her hands were still shaking as she put her phone back in her pocket. “What a day!”

  The dress lay slumped across three chairs—not flat or straight at all—mocking her. Quickly, Delametri’s instruction still ringing in her ears, she went over to it and straightened it out as best she could.

  “Delametri’s on the case. He’s an influential man,” Molly went on. “The top designers usually are, you know.”

  “I didn’t, actually.” His tone was teasing. “Until I got on a plane and sat beside this madwoman.”

  Molly managed a smile. “They are! It’s a huge, multi-million—”

  “Okay, okay!” He put his hands up in surrender.

  “Anyhow, he’s going to make some calls. I’ll just need to sit it out.”

  They looked at each other. Molly felt strange.

  “So,” she went on, “I guess this is it. There’s no need for you to stick around. I’ll be fine. But…thank you.”

  “You sure?” He bent down and picked up his rucksack.

  “I can’t thank you enough, Simon, for your support.”

  “Forget it,” he smiled. He had a lovely smile.

  “No, really,” she insisted, “I appreciate it more than I can say.” This made both of them blush. She’d wanted to let him know that nobody else apart from him seemed to be on her side, but that seemed too…needy. “Hey, good luck at the film festival! I’ll look out for you in all the glossy magazines!”

  “Oh… um… thanks,” he said. “I’ll doubt you’ll see me there.”

  Nice smile and modest.

  “It was nice meeting you, Molly,” he said quietly, taking her hand.

  And so, heaving the rucksack onto his shoulders, he left Molly alone to continue her wait.

  As she watched him walk with easy, rangy strides toward the bustling center of the terminal building, Molly felt inexplicably sad. What a nice guy, she thought, before reluctantly dragging her gaze away and going across to straighten up the wedding dress a little further.

  Chapter Eight

  Hours until wedding: 39

  Kilometers to wedding: 550

  Over the past six hours Molly had had plenty of time to make sure the dress remained in a perfectly flat and straight position. She hadn’t moved.

  She learned from Sasha that the police officers who had arrested Pascal had refused to take him to the police station in town because of the bad weather. Instead, he’d been locked in a tea room on the other side of the runway, where he was being questioned under armed guard.

  “Poor man. The entire airline industry ought to hang its head in shame,” Sasha said. “I have the training for people who have the fear of flying.”

  “What do you do?” Molly asked.

  “We talk to people, calm them down, explain what is happening—if only I had been on duty at the front of the plane and not Consuela! I would have taken him to one side for some personal attention.”

  The expression on his face told Molly that the attention might have been very personal indeed.

  And so the hours wore on. Sasha drifted to and fro with updates, mostly declaring that there was little progress and hissing how much he’d like to teach those idiot Swiss police a lesson.

  “Don’t you need to get some rest?” Molly asked him at one point.

  He looked like she’d both confused and offended him. “Rest? Not until this debacle is sorted.”

  Molly, wired and buzzing on too many strong coffees from the vending machine, kept staring furiously at Pascal’s phone, shaking it occasionally, willing Delametri to ring back and tell her everything was going to be all right. And if he offered her some work experience at the same time because she’d sounded like such a great person, that would be okay too…

  It didn’t happen.

  Gradually, however, as the evening wore into night, she became aware of a change in the demeanor of the airport staff dealing with her. Their hostile glares and suspicious mutterings began to give way over to gentle inquiries as to whether she was all right, to offers of coffee, airline biscuits, and blankets. And finally, to embarrassed apologies that the process was taking so long.

  “They are about to let him go!” Sasha’s eyes were shining. “I just spoke to a security guy—they’ve been getting calls all night from some big shot…”

  “Really? Fantastic!” Molly leapt to her feet and gave Sasha an impromptu hug. “I knew Delametri would sort this out!”

  “Whoa baby!” Sasha looked delighted. “Your boyfriend might see! Where’d he go rushing off to in such a hurry, anyway?”

  “My boyfriend?” Molly repeated. “Reggie? He’s gone to Los Angeles. How on earth did you know about that?”

  Now it was Sasha’s turn to look confused. “The rucksack guy…?”

  Realization dawned. “Oh! You mean Simon! No, no, he’s not my boyfriend!”

  “No way.”

  “We’d never met before! He just helped me out with Pascal then hung around to see if I was okay.”

  Sasha raised an eyebrow. “He did all that for you, huh?” He stroked his chin, giving her a sly look. “Nice guy.”

  Molly giggled at his suggestive tone. “Agreed, he’s a nice guy. But no, not my boyfriend.”

  “Shame,” Sasha said over his shoulder as he turned to leave. “You guys went great together.”

  “Well, he’s off to Venice now,” she replied, not taking him on.

  “Tonight? With no flights and no trains?” Sasha looked puzzled then gave her a friendly smile. “Hold on here a moment,” he called over his shoulder as he disappeared.

  As soon as he’d gone Molly’s smile vanished. Saying Reggie’s name aloud had brought painful memories of their Paris break-up roaring back.

  “Reggie,” she whispered before sighing loudly.

  How much easier would it have been to have had him there with her? How could he dump her and leave her to go through all this alone? It was unforgivable. But then, she realized her forgiveness was never going to be an issue for him, was it? Because he had dumped her. And she was all alone.

  “Is there somewhere I might be able to get a cup of coffee?”

  Molly whipped round to see Pascal standing there, white-faced, stricken, yet still immaculately turned-out and somehow more elegant than Molly felt she would ever be.

  She leapt to her feet, threw her arms around his neck, and hugged him. “Pascal! Are you all right? What did they do to you?”

  Gently, he eased her away. His face was a picture of sheer mortification. “Please. I am all right. That has never happened before, and I am so ashamed. I cannot believe I have kept you waiting for such a long time.”

  Molly could see he was devastated by what
had taken place. She tried to make her voice as light and breezy as she could. “Don’t worry. We all have our bad days.”

  “Bad days?” he cried. “Never in my life have I hurt a woman before, never! I was out of my mind, but that is no excuse! I do not even have any memory of it, but even that is no excuse!”

  Molly searched her head for something comforting to say. “Listen, I think we all knew it was a bit of a one-off,” she fibbed. “We were worried you might harm yourself, that’s all. But you’re fine now, aren’t you?”

  She had to lean down and peer upwards into his eyes, which were fixed on the floor in abject shame. “Aren’t you? Fine, now?”

  He looked at her. “I have apologized to the stewardess, and she was gracious enough to accept that apology.”

  “I’m glad—”

  “But I will never forgive myself! I need some therapy, some counseling, some—”

  “Some coffee?” This, from a sexy, Russian voice.

  Pascal whipped round. “Sasha!”

  The look the two men exchanged made Molly forget her own troubles for a moment.

  “I’ll, you know, go and see about flights and stuff,” Molly said, though she knew neither of them was listening. “You two can, erm, catch up…and watch out for the dress, please?”

  “You must tell me everything,” Sasha implored Pascal. “I will leave this stinking airline business! We will sue!”

  “Okay then, that’s me off to check flights,” Molly was backing away.

  “No! I have been such a fool, such a crazy fool,” Pascal looked close to tears, his head sinking onto Sasha’s magnificently muscular shoulders.

  Molly gasped and pointed melodramatically toward the exit. “Oh look! A tap-dancing giraffe!”

  Still no response. But at least Molly was smiling again as she made for the information desk in the far corner of the building.

  Which was closed.

  A handwritten sign was taped to the counter saying, in four languages: NO FLIGHT INFORMATION UNTIL 0600 TOMORROW. THANK YOU.

  Molly looked around. The place was practically deserted. The coffee stands and gift shops and—more importantly—the car hire booths stood in darkness with metal grilles across their doors, and above her head the departures and arrivals boards were all eerily black. A lone cleaner waltzed around the floor behind a giant electric polisher, but apart from that, it was as if the entire building had been closed down, but nobody had bothered to ask them to leave.

  Molly found herself trying to work out which of the plastic benches would be most comfortable to sleep on as she made her way back to Sasha, Pascal, and her luggage. It was midnight. Six more hours to wait for information! Caitlin would hit the roof. Again.

  The men were deep in conversation; their heads bent close together. Anyone looking at them would swear they had been close friends for years. They were even mirroring each others’ body language: the expressive hand gestures, the tilt of their heads, the knees touching. Pascal was telling Sasha about his ordeal in the makeshift prison cell.

  “They would not even let me visit the little boys’ room on my own! But then, just like that…” he snapped his fingers, “everything changed. They could not be more polite to me, apologizing for their treatment, asking what I required, rushing through the paperwork so that I could be on my way—it was unbelievable!”

  “The influence of a powerful man!” Sasha muttered. “The officer told me that the gentleman could not have been more charming.”

  “Oh, Delametri can charm,” Pascal said a little coolly. “When he wants to.”

  “He said that he explained the situation most helpfully and that he was very, like, you know, normal—isn’t it funny how the most important people are often the most down to earth?”

  Pascal snorted. “Delametri? Down to earth? Hardly! I think, perhaps, that the officer heard what he wanted to hear—or perhaps he is an admirer of the House of Chevalier…”

  “Who isn’t?” Sasha said.

  Molly rolled her eyes and smiled to herself. What a suck-up!

  “He must think very highly of you,” Sasha went on.

  Pascal shook his head. “He thinks highly of his reputation, I am a mere cog in the organization.”

  “A cog? What is this cog? I am sure whatever it is you are more than that—”

  “Sorry to crash in,” Molly decided she couldn’t wait any longer.

  “Pardon!” Both men sat upright, like naughty teens who’d been caught kissing, and listened as she gave them the news. “So we’re stuck here till the morning,” she finished.

  “Ah.” Pascal wasn’t remotely disappointed.

  “Shame.” Nor was Sasha.

  “I will take you to a hotel in town,” Sasha offered brightly. “In fact—yes, I know the perfect one! And I can borrow an airport car.”

  Pascal was on his feet in an instant, picking up his fabulous suitcase and making for the exit. “Shall we?” he beamed.

  “Let’s go!” Jingling a set of car keys, Sasha rushed to catch him up.

  If you’re sure I won’t be cramping your style, Molly thought, wearily bringing up the rear.

  Hours until wedding: 33

  Kilometers to wedding: 539

  Molly woke after a fitful few hours’ sleep. A howling gale rattled the cute wooden shutters that framed the window of her overheated hotel room. Sitting up and rubbing her eyes, it took her a moment or two to remember where she was.

  “Shit.” She slumped back down again as the nightmare of the previous day came flooding back.

  “Shit!” It was ten to six. And she had flights to arrange.

  She was showered, dressed, and standing in the reception hall nine minutes later, pleading with the receptionist to borrow her computer so that she could get onto the airport to find out about flights. Frantic words came tumbling out, but amazingly the receptionist spoke perfect English and listened sympathetically to every one.

  “Let me do it,” the woman smiled before tactfully adding, “I might do a little better as I know the area?”

  “Thankyouthankyouthankyou!” Molly could have hugged her. She threw herself down onto a comfy chair beside the newly-lit log fire and waited.

  The hotel was chocolate-box pretty. Built of wood in traditional Alpine style, Molly imagined that in the height of the ski season it must be bursting at the seams with hearty skiers. Medium-sized and welcoming, it was a far cry from the icy Swiss hostel she’d stayed in during a disastrous school geology trip some ten years previously, which had put her off mountains life. Here though, she could imagine happy dinners, gluhwein, hot chocolate, and hours of hearty fun in the majestic Alpine outdoors. If only she wasn’t so frazzled…

  A few guests were up and about, despite the early hour. Breakfast was already laid out in the dining room, and hushed, morning voices spoke in several languages all around her.

  “I have good news!” The receptionist was holding a print-out from her computer, beaming.

  “Brilliant!” Molly jumped up.

  “You will never guess—there is one flight only leaving this morning with seat availability.”

  “Yes!” Her luck was in.

  “And you are really lucky as it has only one seat left!”

  Molly rubbed her forehead. “But that’s no good, I need two!”

  The receptionist’s face flickered. “But you arrived alone,” she reasoned.

  “Actually, I didn’t. My travelling companion was, erm, with another friend. Listen, I’m sorry but can you please double check?”

  She hopped from foot to foot while the receptionist did so. Eventually she turned her computer screen toward Molly: proof positive. One seat only remained.

  “Will I book it?” she asked.

  Molly’s mind was spinning. But she better grab it now. “Yes please.”

  “Full name please?”

  “Molly…oh.” It just occurred to her. “Hang on…”

  Wi
th a clanging feeling of gloom, that given their history, Caitlin would probably far rather have Pascal arrive with the dress than her—after all, he’d need plenty of time to do the final fitting, and Caitlin had made her views perfectly clear about Molly taking his place.

  “I don’t know,” she said, after a tense few moments. “I don’t know which of us should take the seat.”

  “Well,” the receptionist’s face was a mask borne of excellent customer relations training, “when you decide, will you let me know please? But please, hurry; I am sure the seat will be gone soon.”

  What to do? Molly genuinely couldn’t decide who should get on the flight. So she pulled her phone from her pocket and did what she often did what every girl did in times of crisis: she dialed her mother.

  “Molly! Are you all right? It’s six o’clock in the morning…” her mother’s voice was low and drowsy.

  “I’m fine, mum, sorry for waking you.”

  “Oh, it’s okay. I don’t sleep much these days.”

  Molly rolled her eyes. “Wedding jitters, huh?”

  There was a pause. “I heard about the plane—how hideous for you, dear. Are you in Venice now?”

  “Not quite yet. Still in Switzerland. There’s a flight later this morning…” She paused before saying, “But there’s a slight problem. Only one seat left.”

  “And the problem is?”

  “Don’t you think Pascal should take it? He’s got to finish the dress when it’s on Caitlin, and she’ll flip if he doesn’t get there.”

  “Sorry, Molly, I’m confused. So what would you do if you don’t get the flight?”

  “Oh, I’ll figure something out. Hitch-hike or walk or something. I’m sure Caitlin wouldn’t be too bothered if I didn’t make it in time.”

  “Molly, don’t be ridiculous!” Her mum sounded furious. More angry than when she stayed out until 3 a.m. when she was sixteen. “Since when was Caitlin’s wedding all about the dress?”

  “Err… since day one?” Molly couldn’t help replying. “I know where my priorities would be if I was getting married in couture Chevalier.”