All Dressed Up

by Lucy Hepburn

  “In a minute,” Molly insisted. She found to her annoyance that she was yet again having difficulty holding tears back. “There’s something I have to ask you first.”

  Caitlin glared impatiently at her. “Yes?”

  “Caitlin Vanessa Wright, would you like to marry Francesco Marino this afternoon, right here, with hardly any guests, no paparazzi, and homemade flower arrangements?”

  Caitlin and her mother both began to cry.

  Molly waited, biting her lip.

  Eventually, Caitlin began to nod. “More than…my life,” she sniffed.

  “Good enough,” Molly giggled. “Now, will you stop that, if you don’t want hideous red panda eyes in your wedding photos? Which I’ve just realized may have to be taken on my phone?”

  “Good idea,” Caitlin gulped, blowing her nose. “Oh, Molly, I can’t wait to see him!”

  “Well, you’ll have to. Not till you’re walking down the aisle.” Molly was enjoying her new power. “Right.” She looked at Pascal, who gave a thumbs-up and went over to pay the taxi driver and unload the luggage. “Let’s go have a wedding!”

  The taxi driver carried the bags indoors as Molly and Pascal carefully lifted the dress, still in its zipped carrier, out of the boot.

  Caitlin’s eyes were enormous. “At last! I cannot believe it’s been in there all along—you’d think I’d have sensed its presence, wouldn’t you?”

  Molly laughed. “Right, mum, your room key’s at reception and the hotel owner has run you a bath. Off you go.”

  “Well, that’s extremely kind, but if you don’t mind, I’m not going anywhere until I’ve seen my daughter fitted into her wedding dress.”

  Caitlin hugged her. “Are you sure you’re up to it? It…might take a while…”

  “Just try and keep me away,” came the reply. “I take it the room will have a chair in it?”

  “Of course, at least, I assume so…”

  “Then what are we waiting for? Girls? Pascal—you’ve waited a long time for this moment—Have you brought your pins and needles?”

  “Mais oui,” he half-bowed as he and Molly began to make their way indoors.

  “Erm, guys?” Caitlin was hanging back.

  They all turned to look at her.

  “What is it, darling?” her mother asked.

  “Can I ask a favor?”

  “Go for it, you’re the princess today.” Molly was being careful not to let the dress carrier trail on the ground. It wouldn’t have been good to have got it this far only for Caitlin to watch it being dragged across the gravel into the hotel.

  “I’d like you to fit the dress on me, Molly.”

  Molly almost dropped the dress in shock.

  “Pascal,” Caitlin went on, “how would you feel about that? You’ve come all this way, but, well, I want Molly with me; I want her input.”

  Pascal carefully draped the top part of the dress carrier over Molly’s shoulder, walked across to Caitlin, and kissed her three times.

  “My dear lady, I have been wanting to suggest the very same thing, only I was worried you might take it that I was trying to avoid doing my job. I think it is the perfect thing to do on the perfect day.”

  “You sure?” said Caitlin, wincing at him.

  “I am.” He looked at Molly and raised his eyebrows. “Molly and I work together now, so—”

  “You what?” screeched Caitlin.

  Molly gave her sister an excited grin.

  “Well done Molly! That’s amazing! That’s so—” Her sister flung their arms around her.

  “Not now,” Molly whispered. “We have things to do.”

  They finally let her go, and Pascal was backing down the driveway toward the entrance. “I think I might be more usefully employed in trying to track down some champagne for everyone, non?”

  Caitlin turned to Molly. “So, youngster, do you reckon you can help get me through the most important day of my life?”

  Molly put her hand on her hip. “Oh, well who knows? I’ll take a swing at it.”

  And then they were hugging again excitedly, jumping up and down in an ungainly huddle, as Pascal and their mother looked happily on.

  They were interrupted by the gravelly noise of cars entering through the gates. They turned to see a convoy of cars pulling up.

  “That’s Francesco’s mama!” Caitlin said excitedly. “And his papa—wait till you meet him, Molly, he’s a sweetheart! Oh, and that’s his sister Ciara, just wait till you see baby Mia, who is officially the world’s cutest baby! And there’s Ciara’s husband, he’s lovely…his name is Fabien…and that’s Francesco’s grandmother, she’s a bit grumpy but she’s an old dear underneath…”

  Molly’s head was spinning taking in all the new relations.

  “I will get that champagne,” Pascal declared as he disappeared inside.

  Caitlin wouldn’t let them unzip the dress carrier until she’d showered and changed into one of the hotel’s fluffy bathrobes. Molly, just back from a trip to Francesco’s room to put him out of his considerable misery by confirming, to his delight, that the wedding was on, lifted the dress carrier from the hook behind the door and laid it on the bed.

  “Shall we?” she asked.

  Caitlin, hands clamped over her mouth, nodded briskly.

  Slowly, Molly began to unzip the dress carrier. She couldn’t have been more nervous if she’d designed the dress herself; perhaps it was just as well, in that case, that she hadn’t.

  “Oh, sis…” Molly gasped, taking her first longed-for look. Her mother rushed over and stood beside her; together, they gazed in awe at Caitlin’s gown.

  It was spectacular. Caitlin hung back, too terrified to be near. But as Molly and her mother lifted it from its tissue paper wrapping, all three women gasped.

  “Pascal has surpassed himself,” Molly whispered.

  It was an almost shockingly simple design: a sheath of heavy oyster satin, bias-cut with tiny shoulder straps edged in minuscule rock crystals. The modest neckline was hand-embroidered in fine pale silk with little white flowers.

  “Perfection,” her mother announced as Molly held the dress up high for Caitlin to get a good look.

  “The Charles Frederick Worth ligne,” Molly sighed. “So clever; I’d recognize it anywhere. Pascal’s captured it wonderfully.”

  “Lily of the Valley!” Molly’s mother exclaimed as she touched one of the exquisite flowers with a trembling fingertip.

  “Your favorite, Mum,” Caitlin whispered. “Aren’t they?”

  She nodded.

  Caitlin inched forward, her hands clamped to the sides of her face.

  “I…I never thought it would be so…cute,” she stammered.

  “Cute? Cute?!” Molly cried in mock-horror. “How can you call a couture Delametri…I mean, a couture Pascal Lafayette wedding gown cute? Iconic, yes. Breathtaking, yes. Flawless, yes. But cute? Shame on you!”

  “It’s really cute,” her mother laughed. “Come on, let’s see if it fits. Caitlin, showered, perfumed, and polished, let her robe drop to the floor, revealing pretty white lace underwear and a cheeky little garter which came from a box Pascal had brought along with him.

  “Wow!” Molly laughed. “You shouldn’t be showing your mother that!”

  Molly’s mum gave her a playful shove.

  “Shall we do the deed?” Caitlin approached the dress nervously.

  Molly took a slow shaky breath. “’Let me just undo this little button—oh, these hand-sewn buttonholes are immaculate!”

  Caitlin steadied herself against Molly as she carefully stepped into the dress.

  “That’s it,” Molly said encouragingly as Caitlin stepped into the dress. “Carefully now, this is good stuff we’re dealing with here.” The feel of the fabric was amazing on her fingertips. Molly had rarely felt a satin so soft. “It’s such lovely slippy fabric, isn’t it?” With trembling hands, she eased the dress up Caitlin’s slender bod
y and untwisted the tiny straps. “That’s what the really good stuff feels like, I remember seeing different kinds in college and—”

  “Molly?”

  “Yes, Caitlin?”

  “Be a love and stop talking.”

  Molly clamped her lips shut. Caitlin slid the delicate straps over her shoulders as Molly carefully fastened the tiny concealed zip at the side.

  Their mother was weeping. Molly’s hands were trembling, and Caitlin seemed to be doing her utmost to hold it together as she turned toward the full-length mirror.

  Molly pinned a few places and added the occasional stitch to make sure the dress was fit to the exact contours of Caitlin’s body. But Pascal had done such an excellent job, there wasn’t much to do. Fifteen minutes later, Molly stood back to admire her work.

  “You look amazing!” she said.

  “It looks even better than the last fitting,” Caitlin breathed. “And that was only two weeks ago.”

  Her mother, dabbing her eyes, gave a thumbs-up, and suddenly all three of them burst out laughing.

  “I didn’t believe I could look this pretty!” Caitlin breathed. “Look how the train drapes at the back…”

  “That’s the top-stitching,” Molly began, “it’s so that—”

  Caitlin had held a hand up to her face. “I think that knowing the details might spoil it right now,” she laughed, “I’d prefer to think it was hand-stitched by angels, it’s so fabulous. It fits so well—look! My waist!” She circled and twirled in front of the mirror. “Molly, thank you.”

  “My pleasure,” she said.

  The two sisters shared a look. All bad feeling was long gone, and Molly knew it would never come back again.

  “You know what,” their mother cut in, “those tiny embroidered details wouldn’t have shown up very well in paparazzi shots.”

  Caitlin looked at her slyly. “You said it! That was kind of my protest at the pantomime I was going to have to endure yesterday. I wanted to keep as many details as private as possible.”

  “Nice work,” Molly said approvingly. “Right, shoes?”

  She helped Caitlin into a pair of exquisite, satin-covered pumps, then crossed to the window where a bunch of pale garden flowers lay on a table. “You can feel as free as you like to tell me to get lost, but these are from the garden this morning. Francesco picked them for the dining room.”

  “He did?”

  Molly nodded. “But I kept a few back and tied them into this sort of messy bunch.”

  “You did that?” Caitlin sailed over and grasped the bouquet. “But it’s gorgeous!”

  “Oh please,” said Molly. “You probably had an amazing bouquet all organized for yesterday.”

  “Yeah, it was amazing. It was chosen by Francesco’s mum, and it was about the size of a washing machine.” Mother’s mother nearly spat out her wine from laughing. “I love this, it’s just right!”

  Molly punched the air. Then the crunch of gravel made her look toward the window. “Just the cars are leaving.”

  Caitlin swished over to where Molly stood by the window. “I haven’t heard any other cars, have you?”

  Molly shrugged. “Nope. I reckon that’s it, sweetheart.”

  “A family wedding!” Caitlin cried. “Perfect, perfect, perfect! Oh, I love that man!”

  “Really? Who knew?” Molly teased. She hadn’t wanted to be the one to tell Caitlin that Francesco had decided just to have their immediate families present. She hadn’t known how she’d react, for one thing.

  Caitlin whispered, “This is all I ever wanted.”

  She turned to her mother. “You’ve gone quiet, mum. How are you feeling?”

  Her mother smiled. “I’m fine. Just…thinking.”

  “What about?” Molly looked on as Caitlin went and sat on the bed beside their mother.

  “Well, I can’t help but wonder…oh, never mind.”

  Caitlin frowned at her, forcing her mother to speak.

  “How do you feel about…your father not being here?”

  “Oh, him…” Caitlin sat perfectly still for a moment.

  Molly held her breath. Their father had caused their mum such terrible pain and had been so distant and difficult…but who knew how Caitlin would be feeling right now? She’d been close to their father once, a long time ago. Molly, for her part, couldn’t conjure up strong feelings either way. She had been so much younger when he’d left, and so her wedding fantasies, such as they were, had never involved her dad walking her proudly down the aisle. It made her sad to think like that, but she could hardly deny the way she felt. Whereas Caitlin—maybe it was different for her?

  “He’s not been here for a long time, mum. And that’s just the way it is.” Caitlin hugged her mother tightly. “I’m not sad, truly. Now, let’s lighten up, shall we? I believe I’m about to go downstairs and marry the man of my dreams.”

  “Well said, sis,” Molly grinned. “Couldn’t agree more. Let’s get this party started!”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Molly and her mother got changed into their wedding outfits as quickly as they could. Her mother seemed in high spirits—nobody would ever have guessed how ill she was. And there were even the occasional blissful moments when, caught up in the excitement, Molly forgot too.

  Molly’s simple shift dress had survived its traumatic journey in her battered suitcase fairly well; it only took a quick press under a cool iron to look decent.

  She surveyed herself in the mirror. Made of fine wool crepe, the dress draped across her body and hung asymmetrically at the hem, finishing above her knees to show off her not too awful legs. Her shoes, too, had made it intact: teal suede sandals with kitten heels. She caught her hair up at the nape of her neck with two silver clips she’d bought for a song at a car boot sale a couple of years ago and flicked on a touch of mascara.

  Her mother, too, had opted to keep it simple. Expecting an elegant Venetian wedding, she had chosen a dark red silk fifties-style dress with a tiny crocheted cashmere cardigan; pretty and understated.

  Molly couldn’t take her eyes off her mother. “You look awesome, Mum!” she exclaimed.

  Her mother looked over her shoulder at her and winked. “And I’m not finished yet! You don’t think I’d attend my daughter’s society wedding without an outrageously beautiful hat, do you?”

  “Why, no!” Molly replied with exaggerated outrage. “The very thought!”

  “It’s in my suitcase. Could you get it for me please?”

  “Your suitcase?” Molly echoed. “What the heck is it made of to survive a journey in a suitcase? Concrete?”

  She rushed over to her mother’s suitcase and pulled out a carrier bag. “I’m not liking the way this is going,” she faltered as she put her hand in and pulled out…a jumble of straw and feathers and ribbons that may once have been a hat but most definitely was no more.

  “My one concession to high-end glamour,” her mother sighed. “That thing cost a fortune. And now look at it—it’s like a dead pheasant!”

  “Death by Cinquecento.” Molly grimaced. “Bad luck, mum. I’m sure it was gorgeous…when it was still a hat.”

  “Bin,” her mother said firmly. “Let’s think no more about it.”

  And so, dressed up in their wedding outfits, Molly escorted her mum into the drawing room. There, they went through a lengthy round of introductions to Francesco’s charming family. Baby Mia—who was indeed cute as a button—cooed and gurgled and delighted everyone.

  Francesco’s father, Giuseppe, whirled into action when he noticed how frail her mother seemed, showing her to a seat and fussing over her comfort. His face was filled with concern and sympathy, as was that of Maria, Francesco’s tiny mother. Maria seemed anxious and tight-lipped but then, as the mother of the groom, she had every right to be on edge, Molly supposed. Meanwhile Francesco’s grandmother, dressed head-to-toe in widow’s black, said nothing. She sat with her eyes closed, clutching her ro
sary beads, chanting and praying.

  “She is happy,” Francesco’s father reassured them.

  “I’d hate to see her unhappy,” Molly whispered to her mother, and they shared a giggle.

  Once her mother was settled, Molly whirled back out into the reception area to find Caitlin. But what she found instead was Francesco, looking dashing in a perfectly tailored tail coat and a white wing-collared shirt with a kingfisher blue silk cravat, pacing the floor, looking every inch the ideal, anxious bridegroom.

  “Wow!” Molly exclaimed. “You look…” she tailed off, not about to find the right words. “You look entirely adequate. Well done, Francesco.” Solemnly, she offered her hand.

  Joining in, Francesco clicked his heels together and took it. “A compliment from a professional. Now I can relax.”

  They shared a cheeky grin, and Molly felt a warm glow of delight.

  “How is she?”

  “Caitlin? She’s fine, trust me, I’ve just been up there.”

  “Will she show?” His eyes were wide with anxiety.

  Molly’s heart went out to him. “Yes,” she said firmly. “She will show. Now, excuse me, I’d better go back up and do the bridesmaid thing.”

  Francesco moved through to the drawing room to speak to his parents. Molly spun around and was about to scuttle up the stairs just as Caitlin emerged at the top. Molly looked up at her sister, stopped, and wolf-whistled.

  “Not bad at all, I must say,” she said. “You look gorgeous. The most perfect vision in the whole of Bologna—and I speak as someone who’s just been talking to the groom. I’m telling you, it’s a close-run thing, but you just about edge it—wow!”

  Caitlin rolled her eyes. “Thanks, I think.”

  Molly narrowed her eyes and climbed the remainder of the stairs. “You okay?”

  Caitlin nodded her head vigorously.

  “Wobbler?”

  Caitlin nodded again.

  Molly hugged her, being careful not to smudge her sister’s delicate make-up. “It’s natural to be nervous,” she soothed. “Be weird if you weren’t, in fact.”

  “I’ve got nobody to walk me down the aisle,” Caitlin said simply.