All Dressed Up

by Lucy Hepburn

  “Let’s not think about the thousands of jobs it creates, money for the economy, the technology it uses, the impact on modern life!”

  “I’m sure there are examples—” Simon’s face was changing from sharply dismissive to the slow realization that he may have put his foot in it.

  “…the artistic challenges!” Molly went on. “All these small producers of silks and tweeds kept in jobs by brave designers who could easily source materials abroad but who stay true to their principles because …”

  “You work in fashion, don’t you?” he said in a meek voice.

  “…the tailoring excellence learned over years and years, its positive impact on self-esteem…yes, Simon, yes I do.” She jerked her chin downwards toward the snoozing Pascal. “We both do.”

  It felt nice referring to herself and Pascal as though they were in some way equals.

  “I’m doing a part-time internship with a local Yorkshire clothing company while I try and get a website up and running with my own designs on it.”

  “Good for you.”

  Molly ignored his flat tone. “And one day, I’d like to work in Paris.”

  “I’m sorry,” Simon said earnestly. “My bad.”

  “Forget it,” Molly said airily after making him wait for a good twenty seconds for her response.

  She wondered why she was letting a stranger get to her so badly and decided that it was best to just back off from the situation. She couldn’t distance herself from him physically, but she could make her body language give off the crystal clear message that he knew nothing about it and therefore wasn’t worth arguing with.

  “Right,” he said, shifting in his seat. “I’ll leave you in peace.”

  Now they were seated as far apart from one another as was physically possible under the circumstances, which still wasn’t very far at all.

  Molly softened. “I’ve got my own issues with men and cameras, truth be known,” she admitted.

  “Oh—explain?” He leaned back a little closer to her. “We’re not all bad.”

  Molly was tempted. But even though she felt a powerful urge to vent her grievances about Reggie to someone, she decided, on balance, not to overshare to some poor guy she’d just met. “Nah, it’s nothing. Forget it.”

  “So, you want to live in Paris, hey?” he asked, visibly relieved to be off the hook. “Nice city.”

  “Isn’t it just,” Molly nodded. “One day, one day…but right now I live in Yorkshire, in a little village near Ripon. I’ve only just finished my Masters in fashion design.”

  Simon mimed taking a pistol to his head and pulling the trigger. Molly giggled.

  “Don’t worry; we won’t go over that again.”

  “Cease fire,” Simon agreed. “Good.”

  “I do occasional design projects for friends just to get experience. But Paris is definitely on the agenda for some day. I’d kill to get an internship with one of the big labels. That would be amazing!”

  He nudged her playfully. “Fame and fortune, hey?”

  She shook her head. “Do you know what? I don’t mean to sound prissy, but I genuinely just want to make beautiful clothes really, really well. I’m not fussed about all the hype and the glitz surrounding the designer. I just adore the creative process.” Her gaze had dropped rather forlornly to Simon’s sweater, which was anything but lovely, and then she made a face. “Urgh, I can’t believe I’ve just said ‘the creative process,’ in all seriousness, out loud! Get me!”

  “Oh, I’m sure I can match your lofty phrases with a few film-making ones of my own.”

  He really was very good-looking, Molly decided, allowing herself to wonder if he had a girlfriend. Lucky girl, if so…

  The plane shook violently, lurching downwards at an alarmingly sharp angle. The ‘fasten seat belt’ signs lit up, and Molly once again clutched at the arms of her seat: this time in real fear.

  “It’s always a bit choppy over the Alps,” Simon said smoothly, buckling himself in.

  “Hmm.” Molly wasn’t quite able to match his coolness in the face of such violent airplane movement.

  “Cabin crew to cockpit, cabin crew to cockpit.” Molly, whose ears were straining to pick up on any slight notes of panic, relaxed a little. The captain’s voice sounded entirely unflustered.

  “What about you? What’s taking you to Venice?” she asked, as, on her other side, Pascal began to show signs of stirring.

  “Exciting times, actually, I’m showing one of my films at the Venice Film Festival.”

  “Really? Amazing!” Molly exclaimed. “Like a premiere?”

  “Kind of,” he replied modestly. “It’s mainly to try and get my name out there. Filmmakers don’t make it big unless they know the right people, unfortunately. So I’m going to press a lot of flesh and schmooze like a pro—whatever it takes.”

  “And you’ll have an amazing suit ready for the party, of course?” Molly suggested impishly, suspecting from the condition of jumper, that he probably didn’t.

  His withering look confirmed her suspicions.

  “Kidding,” she smiled. “Good luck with it.”

  “Thanks.”

  The plane was continuing its bumpy progress over the Alps when the cabin crew began to re-emerge from the cockpit, looking very busy indeed.

  “Hope the wedding dress is okay down there,” Molly said, half to herself.

  Simon looked at her in confusion.

  “There was a delay with getting my sister’s dress from the designer,” she indicated sleeping Pascal, “so we’ve brought it with us. My sister’s practically having heart failure wondering if I’m going to get it to her in time.”

  “So that’s why you were in Paris?”

  The cabin crew were bracing themselves for some sort of announcement.

  Molly wondered whether to bore Simon to tears about Reggie and Paris. Then decided—sure, why not?

  “My boyfriend took me to Paris as a stopover,” she began. “We’d been together for four years, and he knew I’d always wanted to visit Paris.”

  Simon eyed the stirring Pascal. “Nice of him,” he said.

  “I thought he was going to propose,” she went on, making a face.

  “Right.”

  “But it didn’t quite go according…”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please? This is an urgent announcement. An urgent announcement… ”

  The plane juddered again and lurched violently. They appeared to be descending fast. Molly glanced at her watch. They weren’t due to land in Venice for at least another half an hour. A feeling of dread washed over her.

  “I am afraid the plane has developed an engine fault.”

  A gasp of alarm spread throughout the cabin.

  “We are going to have to divert immediately to Sion airport in Switzerland.”

  Molly’s tummy lurched. Sion airport? She’d never heard of it.

  Outside, the unmistakable shape of the Matterhorn loomed majestically out of the clouds—a little too close for Molly’s liking. But she was prevented from further thought as Pascal’s elbow scored a direct hit in her ribcage.

  “Ow!”

  “Mon dieu! We are all going to die!” Pascal, somehow instantly wide awake and wild-eyed, was unbuckling his seat belt and making as if to get up. The noise levels in the cabin were growing, people talking and shouting to one another; Molly felt as though she was drowning in mayhem.

  “Pascal!” she cried, desperately trying to fight back her own sensation of panic by catching hold of his arm and tugging at it. “You can’t get up, you’re not allowed!”

  “Please do not be alarmed, this is merely a precaution. Unusual weather conditions mean that we will be diverting immediately.”

  “We are doomed!” Pascal was trying to wrest his arm free from Molly’s grasp.

  “This isn’t helping!” Molly cried, but Pascal was beyond reason.

  “We are fo
llowing aviation procedures. Please remain in your seats. We will give you further information shortly.”

  “Did I not say? Did I not tell you that we would all die on this plane? That we would hit a mountain in a fireball!”

  “Calm down mate,” Simon said, leaning across Molly and slapping Pascal’s shoulder. “The guy said this was just a precaution!”

  But Pascal couldn’t contain himself. Despite Molly’s best efforts, and to the angry protests of other passengers, he finally managed to get to his feet. “Oi! Sit down you idiot!” The gruff Englishman in the row in front made a grab for Pascal, but Pascal shook him off like a man possessed. Then, pursued by a livid-faced Consuela, he raced down the central aisle toward the front exit door of the plane.

  “I must get out of here! The parachutes! Where are the parachutes?”

  “Sir, we don’t have parachutes! Now please sit—”

  “They don’t have any parachutes!” he screamed. “We’re going to die!” Consumed by panic, he began flapping his hands ineffectually at the door controls, babbling incoherently; it sounded to Molly as though he was chanting ‘we’re all going to die’ in as many languages as he could think of.

  “Somebody do something!” A woman’s voice cried from the front. “He’ll have us all killed!”

  Dozens of hands bobbed upwards to press the overhead alarm buttons, but nobody seemed willing to take their seat belts off and go and restrain Pascal. Molly could clearly see from her seat that his arm-waving and slapping at the door was unlikely to achieve anything more than angering over a hundred other passengers, but still he had to be stopped.

  Fortunately Consuela caught up with him within moments, seized him from behind, and tried in vain to tug him away from the door.

  Molly realized that she, too, had stood up, but she was frozen to the spot, her hands clasped over her mouth.

  “I will have you arrested!” Consuela bellowed as she fastened her arms more tightly around Pascal’s middle and heaved with all her might.

  It was clear Pascal was ignoring Consuela, completely beyond reason. One or two other passengers had gotten to their feet, some were trying to make calls on their mobile phones, but nobody moved forward.

  Only Simon got to his feet, moved Molly firmly out of the way, and strode through the cabin toward Pascal.

  “Okay, mate, that’ll do,” he said sternly. “Nobody’s jumping out of this plane. Now come back to your seat and let the crew do their job.”

  Miraculously, Pascal seemed to respond to Simon’s firm-but-fair deep voice. Cowering like a cornered mouse, he turned and whimpered, “But we’re going to…die, can you not see that? There was a prophecy…we should not have got on this plane…”

  Despite her alarm Molly felt a twinge of pity for him now that Simon was close enough to prevent him from opening the door and sending the plane like a dart into a decompressed tailspin to the ground. He looked so completely wretched and out of control; consumed by panic; decorum, logic, and sense long forgotten.

  “Nobody’s going to die today, got that?” Simon put his arm around Pascal’s shoulder and turned to Consuela. “Excuse me, madam.”

  Consuela’s face was a picture of relief as Simon eased her out of the way.

  “If you don’t mind,” Simon went on, “I think I’d better take this gentleman back to his seat.”

  Then, with the tenderness of a parent trying to convince a child to give up a favorite toy, he prised Pascal’s hands away from the door handle, turned him around by the shoulders, and began to escort him back to his seat.

  A ripple of applause followed their progress, along with a couple of curt comments about Pascal’s idiocy.

  Simon kept up the flow of reassuring talk all the way. “Come on, let’s get you strapped in, will we? I know it’s worrying, but these guys know what they’re doing. This sort of thing happens now and again; let’s not make it worse by giving the crew more work to do, right?”

  Pascal stuck out his bottom lip and nodded, just as Sasha arrived from the back of the plane to offer assistance.

  “I could not get here any faster,” he said, “I had protocols to follow at the rear.”

  He crouched down, took hold of Pascal’s shoulders, and spoke directly to him. “May I be of help, monsieur?”

  The sight of Sasha had a sobering effect on Pascal. As if by magic he sat upright, mopping his brow and trying furiously to collect himself. “Thank you…I…I’m fine.”

  “You sure?”

  He nodded. “I am sorry…”

  Sasha winked at him. “All will be well. Fear of flight, it is a terrible thing, but fear of expressing one’s true feelings? That is worse.”

  Pascal responded to Sasha’s wisdom with a look of puppy dog devotion.

  “Do not be ashamed, my new friend,” Sasha went on, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze. “Try to relax, and I will see you on the ground, okay?”

  And he was gone. Pascal was left staring in awe at his hand; the one Sasha had squeezed, a look of misty-eyed bewilderment on his face.

  “What happened?” he stuttered.

  “You’ll be fine,” Molly smiled, stroking his arm to reassure him, though if she were honest with herself, she had to admit the plane was diving and bucking alarmingly. His chalk-white knuckles were gripping the seats so hard that his arms were trembling with the effort. “Breathe, Pascal, breathe! Come on, in, out, in, out…that’s it…”

  Gradually, he began to settle a little. Relieved, Molly turned to Simon. “Thank you. Thanks so much for helping him. He really is a good guy.”

  Simon made a dismissive gesture with his hands. “Forget it. Guess I’ve watched enough disaster movies to know the right things to say at times like these. Sheer luck.”

  Molly smiled. “You were great—sorry I was useless, I’m a bit freaked out here, to be honest.”

  “Then it’s probably easier for a stranger to take over at times like that. You’re too close.”

  Molly would have added that Pascal was practically a stranger to her as well, but the plane had swooped dramatically over to the left hand side and was executing what felt like a very sharp turn, descending sharply all the time, its engines roaring as though in pain. Outside, the Alps loomed ever closer until, all of a sudden, they were plunged into thick, dark gray clouds, causing the aircraft to bounce and pitch even more.

  Molly’s palms were sweating, her heart thundering. She tried not to let Pascal see her fear, scrunching her eyes shut and willing the plane to land safely and as soon as possible.

  Ladies and gentlemen, we will be landing in fog. Please do not be alarmed, our radar and crew are fully equipped to deal with…

  The rest of the message was lost in a hiss and crackle of interference. Then, loud rumblings as the plane’s landing gear was lowered. Molly could see nothing out of the window—only thick, soupy clouds. They were being jolted horribly from side to side with frequent sickening lurches as the plane lost altitude. She didn’t understand radar. How on earth could the pilot land a plane in this? Simon was staring straight ahead, chewing his lip.

  Then suddenly, she could see red and green landing lights, only a few meters below. The plane’s engines screamed as the wing flaps began to extend so that it sounded like the machine was being torn apart.

  The plane hit the runway like a rocket; its engines screeched louder still as the brakes kicked in and began to slow it down. More huge flaps rose out of the wings, showing daylight through a tangle of intricate internal metalwork. Passengers were clapping and cheering all around, led, it seemed, by Pascal, who, arms in the air, was singing the French national anthem. Consuela and Sasha leapt up immediately and rushed toward the cockpit. Molly, engulfed with relief, allowed herself to breathe.

  “Thank you, again,” she said to Simon, offering her hand as she unbuckled her seatbelt.

  He looked into her eyes and took her hand. “A pleasure.”

  Molly felt a shiver of ex
citement rush through her.

  And then Pascal stopped singing, buried his head in his hands, and wept.

  Chapter Five

  Hours until wedding: 50

  Kilometers to wedding: 550

  Molly had never heard of Sion Airport before. Though she was very grateful to it for its existence. After all, it allowed their pilot to get the faulty plane out of the sky without mishap. But she did wonder, as the noisy, relieved passengers made their way across the tarmac toward the terminal building, what exactly she was supposed to do next.

  Pascal hadn’t said a word since he’d dried his tears after landing. Molly suspected he was ashamed of his panicked behavior and tried to reassure him, but he wasn’t taking her on at all, staring downward at his feet like a naughty schoolboy.

  Still, she prattled her thoughts aloud. “We’ll need to get ourselves booked on the next flight to Venice right away. Probably be a scrum of people in there.”

  She heard a little snort of laughter behind her. Turning round, she saw Simon walking close behind.

  “What?” she demanded. “You’re laughing at me?”

  “Take a look around,” he said gently. “It’s not exactly Heathrow.”

  She looked. Ahead of them, the terminal building did indeed look rather small. Around them, the single runway was tightly framed by mountains, white with early snow. Molly had glimpsed their snowy peaks during the hair-raising descent just before the plane plunged into the fog. Now all she could see were the foothills, though even they seemed precipitous—there was no doubt: they were in the heart of the Alps.

  A tiny biplane was bumping in to land, and numerous other small planes were parked at jaunty angles on the grass on either side. The only aircraft hangar she could see was a large shed in the distance. Around them, fat snowflakes had appeared from nowhere, swirling around like little tornadoes, melting into Molly’s face and eyes. She turned her collar up and walked faster.

  She vaguely remembered the name ‘Sion.’ She knew that it was a popular airport with her skiing friends as it was close to a number of resorts. Apart from that, ‘somewhere in the Swiss Alps’ was as close as she could get to knowing where she was. Skiing, after all, had never featured in her life. Their family never had the money.