by Lucy Hepburn
“Hmm,” she thought aloud, feeling shaky and out of her depth. “I’m sure the airline will have something sorted out for us, don’t you think?”
“Formidable,” Pascal muttered, “another plane. Probably some lethal little tub like one of those…” he swept his hand in the direction of the tiny planes parked near the runway. “One way or another, we die today.”
“A moment, please.” Sasha, wearing impressively retro mirrored sunglasses, was standing in front of them, hands on hips. He looked magnificent, like Tom Cruise on a really good day.
“Monsieur Lafayette…”
“Pascal,” Pascal muttered. “Please.”
“Pascal,” Sasha repeated, “I am afraid I need to ask you to come with me.”
The look Pascal returned was a mixture of confusion and slightly flustered hope.
“The airport security people, well, they would like to have a word with you.”
“What about?” Molly asked.
Sasha looked embarrassed. “The, how can I put this, the incident on the airplane…”
“But that was just panic,” Molly said. “It’s over now.”
Pascal turned to her, looking stern, trying to wrest back some control. “Please,” he said firmly, “I will handle this from here.”
“A complaint has been received,” Sasha said. “I believe that Switzerland has protocols.” Sasha tutted before muttering, “In Moscow we do not worry about small things. Guns—yes. Bombs—yes. Drugs—occasionally. But a gentleman like you who simply has a fear of flying? Pah!”
“Does he have to go?” asked Simon.
“Either willingly or under arrest,” Sasha said with a shrug.
Pascal gulped.
Sasha laid his hand on his shoulder. “I will come with you. I will make sure they are easy on you. I will convince them that they should not be, as the Russians say, sweating the small stuff.”
Molly looked at Sasha. “The Russians say that too?”
“Th…thank you.” Pascal’s attempts at manning up were in trouble. He had begin trembling from head to foot—possibly owing to the pills he had taken, Molly couldn’t be sure, but his wide eyes and jerky demeanour spoke volumes.
Molly could only watch, open-mouthed, as Sasha took his arm and led him away.
“We better go and claim our luggage,” Simon said.
“What’s going to go wrong next?” Molly sighed, still staring after Pascal.
“He’ll be okay,” Simon said. “They’ll probably just want to question him, scare him a little, then let him go. Then you two can head off into the sunset.”
“I hope so,” said Molly.
Blearily, she and Simon trudged through to the room containing the motionless baggage carousel to join a large crowd of other long-faced passengers.
A huge map of Europe hung on one wall. She walked over to it to try to work out exactly where they were. A large red arrow showed their location, deep in vividly-purple painted Swiss Alps. Below and to the right, she traced her finger south towards Venice and then, checking the scale on the bottom of the map, did some calculations in her head.
It wasn’t so far. Just a short hop over the mountains. There must be loads of flights to Italy from here…
At that moment an announcement boomed over the tannoy, crisp and not nearly apologetic enough, declaring that owing to the unusual weather conditions, no more flights would be leaving Sion airport that day.
“Oh please no,” Molly groaned.
She wasn’t the only one. All the passengers roared their disapproval, then immediately a huge shhhhhhh! went round, so that they could hear the rest of what the announcer had to say.
The booming voice went on to say that for safety reasons there would be no further information on tomorrow’s departures until they had a clearer picture about the ‘unusually unsettled weather.’
“Well, that’s a whole lot of good,” Molly fumed over the redoubled roars of her fellow passengers. “An act of God is not a good enough excuse for Caitlin; she’ll kill me if I don’t make it to Venice in time! Thank heavens we left with days to spare.” She frowned. “I thought airlines bent over backwards to help passengers out when stuff like this happened?”
Simon was jabbing at his mobile phone.
“Unusual weather?” Molly went on. “What’s unusual about it? I mean, I know it’s August and it probably shouldn’t snow in August—or maybe it should in the Alps, who knows? But if our faulty plane can land here in a howling gale with thick fog, snow, and a wing hanging off or whatever was wrong with it, surely they can get another one to take off without too much difficulty? Honestly!”
Simon nodded absent-mindedly. “They’d better sort something out—Yvonne will be destroyed if I don’t make it.”
Molly’s tummy lurched.
Yvonne.
There it was: the woman in his life. There was no mistaking it; his face had altered completely when he said her name. His blue eyes betrayed pure anguish at the idea of letting her down, and the tiny lines at the corners of his mouth had softened and were twitching slightly. She didn’t realize, until now, that faces could tell so much.
Oh, well. She watched him as he composed his message and couldn’t help noticing that he ended it with three kisses.
“All done,” he said, glaring at his phone for a reply.
It came instantly back. He read it and smiled. “She’s just glad I’m safe,” he murmured.
It made Molly think about Reggie. She had no idea if he had landed safely in Los Angeles or not, nor had he texted to say.
Wow, she thought, it really must be over.
She decided to change the subject before any stray emotions could bubble up to the surface—this was no time for dissolving into tears.
“What if they put Pascal in jail?”
“I should think that’s unlikely,” Simon replied. “He didn’t commit a crime, did he?”
“He did try to jump out of an airplane in mid-air and practically wrestle that stewardess to the ground. This is Switzerland, Simon! People are…strict! They do things by the book!”
“And you know this not in the least bit racially stereotypical fact because?”
Caught out, Molly could only smile and shrug. “I watch telly, obviously—Switzerland is clean and organized with a zero tolerance policy on insubordination, isn’t it?”
“Chocolate? Cuckoo clocks?” Simon teased.
“Okay, okay.” Molly smiled despite herself. “I have no idea. I’m just…a long way from home and losing control of my day.”
Simon sighed. “There aren’t any trains from here.”
“Not even…a cable car down the mountain?”
“You are really embracing the Switzerland thing, aren’t you?”
“Well, do you know how to get to Venice from here?”
“I will buy a map and read it,” he replied patiently. “But I’m sure it won’t be needed. The flight will sort itself out.”
“You sure?”
He looked around the room. Molly caught sight of an airport attendant yawning. “Not in the slightest.”
Pascal was at the other end of the building being questioned by two uniformed security guards, or maybe they were police officers—Molly couldn’t tell from the distance. She could make out their handguns, snug in holsters on their hips, and various other assorted batons and handcuffs. She shuddered. Pascal’s extravagant hand gestures appeared to be getting him nowhere with the stony-faced officers. Sasha stood close by, occasionally laying a calming hand on his shoulders or trying to interrupt his melodramatic speeches with interjections of his own. But all they seemed to be getting back from the officers were surly shakes of their heads.
“Poor Pascal,” Molly breathed. “How am I going to get him out of this one?”
“Must be tough for you,” Simon replied. “You must want to be over there.”
Molly gave him a sidelong look. “Not sure how useful I�
�d be, quite honestly.”
Simon seemed surprised by her response, but Molly didn’t give it any more thought because finally a few items of luggage had begun reluctantly to reveal themselves, fed by unseen hands through a curtain of plastic onto the carousel. A weary cheer rose from the other passengers.
Simon and Molly watched, resigned, as people began to step forward to claim their suitcases and load them onto trolleys. Then most of them broke into a run to make for the main part of the terminal.
“What’s the rush?” Molly hissed.
Simon raised an eyebrow at her.
“Oh.” Realization dawned. “If everyone’s given up hope of getting another flight…”
Simon nodded encouragingly.
“Then loads of people on this flight are going to try and hire a car, aren’t they?” Molly put her hand over her mouth.
“And what are the chances of there being enough to go round?” Simon had reached the same conclusion. “Want me to wait here and get your bags, so at least you two can get going?”
Molly looked at him in surprise. “You’d really do that?”
“Sure.”
“Wow, thanks.” Molly was almost overcome. “But I’d better wait for the wedding dress,” she replied with a sigh. “Stay on the case, as it were. Oh, shall I get yours for you?”
Simon inclined his head towards Pascal. “You’ve enough on your plate. I’ll sort something out.”
They both stared straight ahead. Twenty minutes later the crowds around the creaking carousel were thinning; only a handful remained. Still, nothing familiar emerged.
Tired, coughing noises were rising up from the carousel as, grudgingly, the hatch yielded up yet another unfamiliar suitcase.
“Is Yvonne in Venice already?” Molly asked as innocently as she could.
“Yup, she’s at our hotel,” Simon replied.
“That’s nice. I take it she in the movie?”
He seemed surprised that she’d asked such an obvious question. “Of course she is! Yvonne’s the star. In every possible sense.”
“How lovely.”
“I’m so lucky to have found her,” Simon said with a wistful smile. “She’s changed my entire outlook on life.”
Molly tried not to vomit. “Lovely,” Molly repeated.
Simon was on a roll. “I know it’s a cliché, but you know the phrase ‘lights up a room?’”
“Don’t tell me, Yvonne does precisely that?” Molly could feel the corners of her mouth quivering with the effort of keeping her charmed smile in place.
“She does.”
“Well, she’s a lucky woman,” she said.
“Oh, no. Trust me, I’m the lucky one,” Simon replied. “Crikey, check that out! Who’s the dude with money to throw away on luggage?”
The distinctive dark navy Morocco leather of Pascal’s hand-tooled, monogrammed, Delametri Chevalier Cruise Collection Limited Edition Valise had just been hurled unceremoniously onto the carousel, upside down.
Molly shot Simon her best raised-eyebrow, killer look and leapt forward to claim it before the baggage handlers changed their minds and snatched it back.
“Oops,” Simon said.
“Pascal’s,” Molly smiled. “Quality like that will last a lifetime. Worth every penny.”
It was closely followed by Molly’s rather less glamorous red wheeled suitcase and Simon’s far more macho khaki canvas rucksack, which was decidedly tattered and seemed to be held together by a thick length of elastic. Molly remembered something her grandmother used to say: buy cheap, buy twice! and was tempted to whisper it in Simon’s ear to get him back for his remarks about Pascal’s suitcase. But she stopped herself just in time.
The carousel was slowing.
“Last ones out,” Simon sighed. “I guess it’s payback for the plane ruckus.” He heaved the rucksack onto one shoulder. “Right, that’s me, then.”
Molly was startled to realize that she was going to have to say goodbye to him. They’d only known each other for a couple of hours, but still she wasn’t quite sure what to say.
“I guess so,” she smiled, her cheeks coloring again.
“Have you many more bags to come?”
Molly shook her head. “Just one. My sister’s wedding dress.”
“Good.” Simon made to leave. “Maybe see you tomorrow if we both get a flight? If not, well, it was nice meeting you Molly.”
He thrust his hand out awkwardly, and with equal clumsiness, Molly took it. “You too, Simon.”
And then he was off, making for the arrivals lounge at a jog.
“Bye,” she said as he disappeared.
She found herself fighting down an icy finger of fear as she realized that the carousel seemed to be slowing almost to a halt.
And then it did, indeed, halt.
I’m not worried. In. The. Slightest, she told herself. But she could actually feel her heart rate quicken.
The hatch slammed shut.
“Nooooo!” A wail had risen up from somewhere in the building before Molly realized that it was she herself who wailed it. I knew this would happen! I just knew it! These stupid airlines!”
“Who can I shout at?” she yelled. “I’m telling you,” she said to no one, “somebody had better appear in the next ten seconds carrying my sister’s wedding dress on a silver tray, or I am going to have a serious canary!”
The crowds seemed to be parting around her. Molly was left alone in baggage reclaim feeling utterly abandoned. She looked wildly from left to right, surges of panic coursing through her body. It almost looked as though the place was shutting down; even Pascal and his captors had gone, presumably to continue his interrogation somewhere more private.
Before long, the place was deserted.
“Hello?” she called out to the empty room. “Can somebody help me? Please?”
Abandoning the suitcases, she ran from one end of the room to the other looking out for a human being to harangue. She was just about to call out again—this time at the top of her voice—when a small, elderly baggage handler pushed open the door beside the carousel and began to limp in the direction of the cafeteria.
“Thank goodness!” She rushed over to him, stopping in his tracks. “Do you speak English?”
The man raised his hand and wiggled it from left to right in an ‘a little’ gesture.
Her words tumbled out. “I’m waiting for a wedding dress to come off the Venice flight that got diverted, but the carousel has stopped and everyone has disappeared, and they’ve closed the hatch, and I don’t know if there’s more to come but it doesn’t look like it…”
“Whoa!” The man held his hands up to stem the flow of words. “More slow please?”
“I have to find a wedding dress. It should have come through there.” She jabbed her finger in the direction of the hatch before repeating, “Wedding dress!” and tracing the outline of a huge skirt and veil, with flailing arms, and humming the wedding march.
The man shook his head and shrugged.
“Is done,” he said flatly before turning and limping away.
“What?” Molly felt something snap inside her. “Oh no you don’t!” She ran after the man and caught his arm. He turned round.
“A WEDDING DRESS?” she yelled. “BIG WHITE ZIPPED BAG? PLEASE? IT’S REALLY IMPORTANT!”
The man glared at her hand on his arm. “Please, no shout,” he said.
“I AM NOT SHOUTING!” Molly shouted. Then quieted herself. “This is an emergency.”
“Mademoiselle, please calm down,” the man said stiffly, holding his hands up to her in a ‘back off’ gesture. “Is all done,” he repeated. “The bags, they have gone. You must leave now.”
“No!”
“Yes.” He pointed toward the exit. “Lost luggage go say there.”
“Lost luggage! This airport isn’t big enough to lose anything in!” They were facing each other down, Molly breathing heavily, feeling a
ngrier and more helpless than she had ever felt before. “You don’t…you don’t…you don’t…” To her horror, Molly realized she couldn’t speak, couldn’t even burst into tears—she seemed to have lost control of her body. She waved her arms, trying, trying with windmill sweeps to pump some kind of gas into her brain so that she could string a sentence together. The baggage handler began to look concerned. He stopped pointing toward the exit.
“I…you…I…” still the words would not come. Wheeling round, her eyes fixed on the door of the hatch leading to the carousel and then without any thought about the consequences, she began to walk quickly toward it.
“Miss!”
Molly stopped and turned to him. “I promise not to steal anything.”
The baggage handler sighed. “Please do not do this!” he said, pointing at her.
“Just a very quick look?” she pleaded. She shuffled close to the door he had just emerged from and stealthily tried the handle.
“This is a restricted door!” the baggage handler yelled.
And it was also locked. Desperate, Molly looked around one final time. Nothing. There was only one thing for it.
The carousel.
“I’m sorry,” Molly said with a shrug, “but I appear to have no choice.”
Before the baggage handler had a chance to do anything Molly turned round, clambered carefully onto the empty conveyor belt, and began to totter along it toward the opening.
“Mademoiselle! Don’t make me come up there! You are being illegal! I call the police!”
She was only dimly aware of the baggage handler’s shrieks and his panic-stricken shouts for security back-up. With a last, desperate look over her shoulder she dropped to her knees in front of the hatch, pushed the little plastic curtain to the side, and launched herself head first through it.
It took her a moment to get her bearings. She was lying in a crumpled heap on dusty, dirty concrete in a draughty warehouse, which was stacked to the brim with trolleys, crates, and odd pieces of sad-looking luggage.
