by Lucy Hepburn
Reggie started shaking his head. Molly was aware he wasn’t paying attention, but she talked on.
“No matter, we’ll find out on Monday. Caitlin’s doing an all-out Kate Middleton on this one. She’s been talking about paparazzi stalking her—can you believe that?
“No.” He didn’t meet her eyes.
“You know, Reggie, I’ve lived every tiny, tortuous detail of the preparations for this thing. Sometimes I think we hardly need to be there at all; I’ve discussed the whole thing a dozen times on the phone with my sister—well, apart from the dress, obviously.”
“The dress…” he said, sighing.
“Oh I’m over that!” she said, putting on her best I’m fine about it face. “The dress, I mean. Obviously I’m over that. But I feel like her wedding’s already happened, it’s been such a big part of our lives for such a long time. All those details! Who knew it was so important to have a particular variety of sugared almond?”
She knew she’d gone into verbal overdrive, but she felt she had to play for time. She’d said all this stuff before, and a whole lot more besides about her big sister’s upcoming event which they’d both taken to sarcastically calling ‘the celebrity wedding of the century.’ But she had to keep talking. Until something happened by magic to make her sure that she was about to do the right thing when Reggie finally got round to asking the question.
However long that took.
Reggie cleared his throat. Loudly.
Molly was winding down. “So, yes, anyway…Paris…is…great…isn’t it? It’s great, Reggie. Thank you.”
That was it. She was all stalled out.
“There’s something I need to say to you, Mol.”
“Do you have to?” The question was out before she could stop it. “Tonight?”
“Yes,” he said, biting his lip. “Yes, I do.”
“Oh. Okay then.”
She looked into his pale gray eyes, hoping for a clue in them as to the answer she might give.
“You’re an amazing girl, Molly,” his gaze drifted to the floor. “And…”
“You’re an amazing guy, Reggie.”
“And…” he tailed off, looking anywhere except into her eyes.
“Yes?” She had stopped breathing.
“And that’s an amazing dress. Really nice…straps.” He shrugged in a sort of hopelessness.
Molly’s heart melted a little. He was hopelessly fluent in fashion-speak, but he was trying. She touched his hand. “The straps are my favourite bit too.”
Molly knew that this was as difficult for him as it was for her.
“It’s…vintage,” she said quietly.
“Sorry?” Reggie looked puzzled.
“The dress. Alexander McQueen. A sample. Got it off ebay.”
Why was she talking about her dress? More importantly, why was he? “You did good. It’s…amazing. Suits you.”
The pianist had stopped playing. A flutter of applause tickled the walls. Reggie looked round awkwardly and applauded too, his hands not making any sound.
He’s taking another moment, Molly thought.
Then when he turned back to her, she saw him take a deep breath. “Paris is your Holy Grail, isn’t it?”
Molly frowned. “Sorry?”
“Where all of the greatest living designers are.”
“And the dead ones,” she couldn’t help adding.
“Of course. Them too.”
Molly forced a giggle. Reggie wasn’t laughing though. She knew it hadn’t been funny, but still.
“This is for you, Molly,” Reggie whispered.
She sucked in a breath and looked at his hands. He wasn’t reaching for a ring. Now she was confused. “What do you mean?”
He leaned forward. “Paris. Paris is for you.”
“Oh. Right.” This was one heck of a convoluted proposal.
“One day you’ll be here too. As famous as the best of them. I know you will.”
“We…ell, that’s the plan, I guess…”
“I promised myself that I’d take you here one day to see it for yourself.” His words were tumbling out. “And this, well, this seemed like the time.”
This was it.
“My last chance.”
Here it comes.
“The thing is—”
“Reggie Pine, will you please tell me what you’re on about!” And then an icy thought struck her. “What do you mean, ‘last chance’? You’re not ill, are you?” She had forgotten to breathe again.
Finally he met her panicked gaze. “No. I’m not ill.”
“Then what is it, for Pete’s sake?” Was this the way that all engagements started.
“I’m taking off, Mol.”
For a moment the entire restaurant fell silent. No chink of glasses, no conversation, no piano music, no air.
“Pardon?”
“I’m going to LA,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Hollywood, to be precise.”
“Oh.” What?
“I’ve only just heard.”
What?!
Molly racked her brains, but they weren’t functioning. She dimly recalled that Reggie had a couple of photo-journalism assignments lined up in foreign countries over the coming weeks. But LA hadn’t been on the list as far as she knew.
“Why?” she whispered. A lump was forming in her throat.
Little beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead. He rubbed the back of his neck.
“You know I’ve been waiting for a break for ages?”
“Of course I do.” Reggie had been frustrated for years that his career wasn’t taking off the way he’d dreamed, Molly knew that much.
“Well,” he finally looked at her. “It’s happened.”
“It has?” she said, head still spinning.
“You know Hughie?”
“I don’t.”
“He needs my input on a project.”
“He does?” Molly wasn’t sure why she had begun talking in sentences of only two syllables, but for now that was the best her brain could do.
Reggie nodded. “You know Howard Schulz, the avant-garde artist?”
“I don’t.” She frowned at him. Wishing he would make himself clear. “Look, sorry, Reggie, but you know how designer names like Lanvin don’t mean much do you?”
Reggie nodded.
“Howard Schulz, to me, is probably like Lanvin to you. Would that be about right?” She gave a half laugh. “We don’t get too involved in each others’ careers, do we?”
Reggie smiled and shrugged. “Guess not.” He leaned in. “Well, Howard Schulz is about to turn a hundred, and for the first time ever, he’s green-lit a photo-retrospective of his life and work.” Now his smile was huge and genuine. “Hughie wants me to buddy up with him on the gig!”
Molly’s frown deepened. “Reggie, how long have you known about this?” She was still deeply, deeply confused.
At this, Reggie began to examine his fork very closely. “Not long. It’s all been, like, really, really sudden. I haven’t had a chance to get my head together quite honestly. Thought I’d just come to Paris and…”
“And?” Molly prompted. Something was way off here, she knew it.
But he just shrugged and looked around the restaurant, almost as if he was checking out escape routes.
“Reggie? Are you planning to head off there any time soon?”
He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
“Tonight.”
Molly felt a pain in her chest. So tight she wondered if she’s been hit.
“My flight leaves Charles De Gaulle at midnight,” he said, the hoarseness back in his voice. “Hughie’s fixed me up with a room in an apartment.”
For a moment Molly could have sworn that Reggie had just told her he was leaving for Los Angeles tonight. That he wasn’t going to propose or go to Caitlin’s wedding. Caitlin’s wedding! Caitlin was going to—
“Would y
ou like to order?” The manager had appeared from nowhere.
“No!” they chorused.
“Thank you,” Molly added, as the waiter spun round, presumably to hide his irritation, and stalked off.
“I am so very sorry, Molly,” Reggie said, clasping her hands.
“What about the wedding?” was all she could think of, pulling her hands away.
“I can’t go,” he mumbled.
“What?” Molly cried. “But Caitlin will flip! She’s got gold-embossed place-cards! Four hundred and eighty of them and your name’s on the top table!”
“It’s all happened really fast,” Reggie floundered. “There was no right time to tell you. I knew I couldn’t go with you to the wedding, but I thought we could at least do…this…” he spread his arms out, presumably trying to encompass the restaurant, the romance, and the whole of Paris in one swoop.
“H…how long for?” Molly stuttered. It was beginning to sink in. Reggie was actually leaving her; abandoning her in Paris and flying off to LA on a job…
Reggie sighed again and stretched. Then he leaned forward and clasped Molly’s hands again. His fingers were clammy.
“That’s the thing, Mol.”
“There’s another thing?”
He nodded then pressed on. “I need to go for that break once and for all. Get an agent, get my name out there.”
Molly couldn’t believe this.
“I’m twenty-nine,” he said. “I’m not getting any younger.”
The conversation was growing more and more surreal.
“So while I’m out there anyway, I’m going to take some time networking and getting my work seen out there. I’m going to get a work permit…”
“How long, Reggie?” Molly repeated. Her voice sounded strange.
“I don’t know.” Reggie shrugged. “As long as it takes, I guess.”
She smiled at that, wondering why she felt so calm. Shock, probably. “Wow. You’re leaving me. You’re actually breaking up with me.”
“I’m sorry, Mol, but I’m afraid you and I, well, we’ll have to take a bit of a break…”
“You’re breaking up with me,” she repeated.
His silence said it all. Molly’s shoulders slumped as she sat back to process what she had just been told, waiting for some fearful collapse, some uncontrolled spiral into sobs, or full-on hysteria. Perhaps she should be getting to her feet and shrieking abuse at him about now. Or was she about to faint?
Turned out she wasn’t.
“I know I should have said something earlier,” Reggie mumbled.
Molly gave a snort of laughter. “Understatement of the year.”
“But things haven’t exactly been dandy for a while, have they?” he looked in her eyes, clearly willing her to agree with him and make it okay. “It’s not like it used to be between us. I mean, you’re an amazing girl and everything…”
“You noticed.” Molly didn’t know where the sardonic tone had come from. But she didn’t know whether to be furious or distraught.
“Course I noticed!” he said. “But we both want different things out of life… Lives in different locations.”
It was a heck of a commute from Yorkshire to LA—that was sure. Molly found herself, stupidly, wondering what he would do with the ring. It took far more moments than usual for her brain to process that there wasn’t a ring. And that there never had been a ring in the first place.
“Where did you go this afternoon?” She was genuinely curious to know.
He seemed taken aback by the sudden change of subject. “Oh… erm… well… I went to buy a telephoto lens.”
A telephoto lens. I bet they’re expensive, Molly thought to herself.
“I’m going to need a really good one over there, and there’s this specialist store behind the Place Vendôme that did me an amazing deal.”
“Let me guess. Over a thousand euros?”
Reggie looked at her, amazed how she would know.
“I saw the bank slip.”
“Oh.”
A heavy silence fell. Reggie drained his wine glass. He looked shattered, and Molly, watching him, felt a curious sympathy for his wretchedness.
“Tonight?” she whispered.
“Molly…”
But it was her turn to speak. “Listen, Reggie, I’m not sure how I’m meant to react here. I’m shocked, I guess.”
“I’m so…”
“I wish you’d spoken to me earlier…actually, you know what? Scrub that. It’s not exactly something that’s ever going to sound fine…”
“We’ve had some great times together.” Reggie’s face was a picture—worse than the waiter who’d spilled the wine. It almost seemed that he was suffering as much as she was.
Molly felt her expression softening. There was no point in fighting this. “We so have, haven’t we?” Then she lapsed into silence.
The manager appeared at Reggie’s shoulder again, holding his notepad with a determined air, his face a mask of tolerance.
“Shall we eat?” Reggie asked, his voice flat.
“Eat?”
“You know; that thing people do restaurants.”
Molly shook her head, and Reggie, after a moment, nodded his in agreement.
“I’m sorry,” he said to the manager, “but I’m afraid we are going to go. I’ll just pay for the wine—oh, hang on, I don’t have to do that, do I?”
In an instant, the manager’s face changed form calm obsequiousness to affronted outrage. “You, monsieur, have been nothing but trouble! When you reserve a table at my restaurant I expect you to pay for it!”
“Run!” Reggie grabbed Molly’s hand and yanked her toward the door.
“Reggie!” Molly gasped, grabbing her bag and scuttling behind him toward the exit, past the rows of chic Parisians who knew how to behave better than they did.
They ran out of the restaurant, down the stone steps, and out into the street. The waiter ran out of the door behind them and Molly was relieved she didn’t know enough French swear words to know what he was saying. They didn’t stop running until they were safely round the corner and certain they weren’t being pursued.
Breathless, Molly looked at Reggie. She found herself smiling. “You’re quite a guy, Reggie.”
He shook his head. His lips were quivering like he was about to cry. “I feel terrible.”
She turned to face him, reaching up to stroke the familiar stubble of his cheek. “I can’t believe what you’ve just done to me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know you are.” She exhaled and looked back toward the restaurant. “But right now we so have to put some distance between us and this place, in case he calls the cops.”
They walked the short distance back down to the banks of the Seine. The warm early autumn air, full of the sounds and scents of Paris, washed over them. For a moment they looked just like any of the dozens, hundreds of lovers who strolled along the banks of the Seine, lost in each others’ company, as Molly took his arm and turned in the direction of their rented apartment.
But Reggie, very gently, unhooked her arm from his and turned to face her.
“I’m going that way,” he faltered, indicating the opposite direction. “The flight…”
There was a horrible air of finality about his words. Molly felt a sharp pain in her middle. “Oh,” she said dully. “Sure, okay.” But then she realized something. “But what about your stuff?”
“I had it sent on before we came out,” he admitted, studying his shoes.
This simple detail, for some reason, hurt more than anything he had said before. She blinked hard to quell a tear which pricked the back of her eyes. “No wonder the room was so tidy!” she snapped. “You’ve clearly been planning this for ages! You know, you have a lot of nerve to spring this on me, here and—”
He pulled her toward him and kissed her lips, slowly and softly. Molly’s first instinct was to pull away. Bu
t then she remembered: they would never do this again. She kissed him back, savoring every last moment.
“You take good care of yourself, Molly,” Reggie said, choking a little. “Thank you for four great years.”
She could only nod.
“Oh, and Caitlin’s wedding?” he said. “I’m sorry. Um, wish her, you know, from me, the usual… and your family…” The tear in his eye was unmistakable.
“Sure,” she nodded.
“Goodbye,” he said, the tears now on his cheeks. Then he turned away and began striding purposefully toward the Metro station on the banks of the Seine.
I thought I would be ending tonight with a fiancé, she wondered to herself. But instead, I’m single. She took a big, shaky breath. What happens now?
Chapter Two
The lovers who strolled in the Parisian moonlight didn’t seem so charming any more. In fact, as Molly watched Reggie disappear down the steps into the Metro station without once looking back at her, she felt like they were mocking her. She turned around and headed back in the direction of their apartment—her apartment—feeling conspicuously, ridiculously alone.
Right on cue, the young couple right in front of her suddenly stopped walking, turned tenderly toward one another, and began kissing. Molly had to swerve so as not to crash into them, wobbling dangerously on her heels as she did so.
An older couple, strolling arm-in-arm accompanied by a tiny white dog composed mainly of fluff presented such a portrait of lifelong contentedness that Molly found herself glowering at them.
A street vendor, his arms full of red roses, plied his trade amidst the displays of romance. He held out single blooms and signaled to the men, with subtle, suggestive winks and gestures that the simple act of purchasing one would be a fail-safe guarantee of bedroom success that very night. But as Molly walked by, he stood back, and let her pass.
Her head was spinning with random, unconnected thoughts.
Who’ll chase the spiders from my bathtub now?
I’ll need to give up the flat—I can’t afford the rent on my own.
Caitlin will freak. Her seating plan will be ruined.
What on earth is mum going to say?
Who’ll do the zip up on my bridesmaid’s dress?
Who will dance with me?
