by Lucy Hepburn
“Got what?” Caitlin looked puzzled.
“The thing you asked me to get.”
Realization dawned on her sister’s face. “Oh! Brilliant! Can I see it?”
“It’s at the bottom of the wardrobe over there.”
Molly knew what they were talking about and it filled her with a fresh helping of gloom. She’d just have to suck it up about the music box; everything had been put into perspective since then.
Caitlin jumped off the bed, opened the wardrobe door, and began to rummage around. After a few moments, she cooed with delight.
“Oh, mum, it’s perfect! Thank you so much!”
She emerged triumphant from the wardrobe, turning the music box round and round in her hands, admiring it from every angle. “It’s very similar to the old one, isn’t it? Takes me right back!”
Her mother nodded, thrilled that Caitlin seemed so happy. Meanwhile Molly, hurt by their insensitivity, talking as though she wasn’t there, felt a strong urge to excuse herself from the room.
“Molly?” Caitlin said, beaming and holding the music box out to her, “Look what mum got for me!”
Molly took the box, reminding herself with all the self-control she could muster, that her mother was ill—she probably wasn’t thinking straight, and Caitlin would have been too wrapped up in wedding fever to give her feelings much thought.
She stroked the smooth lacquer lid, her lip trembling.
“It’s lovely,” she said stiffly, handing it back. “Lucky you.”
Caitlin gave her a strange look. “What do you mean, lucky me? This is for you.”
“Pardon?” Molly couldn’t believe her ears. “For me?”
Caitlin nodded. “A gift from me.”
“But…mum bought it for you…”
Caitlin laughed. “Wrong! Mum bought it for me to give to you! Didn’t she say?”
“No, she didn’t…”
“Oh, Molly, no!” her mother gasped. “You must have thought history was repeating itself! I thought you knew…I’m sorry darling, raking up old wounds like that—how thoughtless!”
Caitlin pressed the music box into Molly’s hands. “Take it. Thank you for all you’ve done for me. Not just the past couple of days, either. Thank you for being a great sister.”
Molly couldn’t speak. Her head was a jumble of emotions. So, Caitlin did remember after all. And forgiven her. And made everything okay. It was all too much to take in.
“You have to say something now,” Caitlin grinned, “or I’ll think you’re having some kind of seizure.”
Finally, Molly beamed. “I don’t believe it.” She opened the lid. A tiny silver ballerina popped up and began to spin slowly on a mirrored base as Au Clair de la Lune began to tinkle from the workings underneath. “Oh! It’s…I love it! Thank you.”
“Caitlin asked me to look around for one for you a while ago,” her mother said with a smile.
“Really?” Molly turned to her sister, who shrugged and nodded.
“But I never seemed to see any that were perfect,” her mother went on. “So I couldn’t believe my luck when this one came up at the auction!”
Molly closed the lid and nodded. “Well, it’s a lovely, lovely surprise. You two are just the best.”
“You better believe it,” Caitlin agreed, then looked at her mother. “Now, do you need to be left in peace to rest, Mum?” She was gathering the reins to take charge, Molly could tell—only she didn’t seem to mind any more.
“Definitely not. I need to hear about your wedding plans before they went so wrong, thanks to stupid me.”
“Don’t talk like that,” Caitlin scolded. “This is the only place I want to be right now. She snuggled into the bed beside her mother. “Okay, where do I start?”
“Tell us what sort of chaos you’ve left behind in Venice,” Molly said, cuddled up on the other side. “I’m imagining a huge, confused media scrum with blonde news anchors filling in airspace with old footage of Francesco on a yacht or something?”
Caitlin giggled. “You’re actually not far wrong there. Last thing I saw was a whole lot of vans and motorcycles heading off to find something else to intrude on.”
“I’d like to have seen that,” her mother said wistfully as Molly looked at her in surprise. “Well, why not? It’s not every day one of my beautiful girls is the center of so much attention.”
“Mum!” Molly scolded, “That’s not what it’s all about! It’s meant to be an intimate, meaningful thing, isn’t it Caitlin? Caitlin?”
Caitlin’s lip was trembling. She was trying desperately not to cry. She pulled a tissue from her bag and blew her nose. “I’m okay,” she mumbled.
“It must be such a disappointment for you,” her mother said, stroking her hair. “All those plans ruined. Your big day. Your fifteen minutes.”
“That’s the thing, actually,” Caitlin sniffed. “All those plans weren’t my plans at all.”
“How do you mean?” Molly asked.
Caitlin waved her hand. “Oh, it was Francesco’s mama—she was desperate to have this huge wedding, with all the fuss and frills and publicity, and perfect astrological timing. You’ve never seen an Italian mama so proud of her boy!”
“I can imagine,” her mother smiled. “He has done rather well for himself.”
Molly winked at her mum for that.
“I was quite happy to go along with it obviously. I mean, it was all so kindly meant, and they really did make me feel like it was my special day, they tried so hard, but nobody really stopped to ask if it was what I wanted.”
Molly tutted. She knew it. Francesco was only thinking of himself.
“Don’t be like that!” Caitlin scolded, “I loved everything they did, truly! It was going to be a beautiful, beautiful ceremony. But it was never the wedding I’d dreamed of.”
“What did you dream of?” Molly asked.
Caitlin looked out of the window, misty-eyed. “Family. A pretty dress. Flowers. That’s about it.”
“A groom?” Molly teased.
“Details, details,” Caitlin grinned, but no sooner had she done so, her face crumpled again. “I love him so much!” she wailed, letting her head fall onto her mother’s shoulder. “I don’t care about the fuss and the cake and the strangers hanging over the fence back in Venice, I just want to be married to Francesco!”
“Oh, darling.” Her mother enfolded her in a hug. “You will be.”
Yet again, Caitlin straightened up and tried to pull herself together. “It’s probably karma, or something, anyhow. I’ve been such a cow to everybody about the wedding, it’s been so stressful.” She looked at Molly. “You probably got the worst of it, but honestly, you’ve no idea what it’s been like trying to make sure somebody else’s dream comes true!”
“Oh yes I do—the dress, remember?”
Caitlin looked sheepish. “Yeah, well…”
“Forget it,” Molly smiled and stretched. “Listen, I’m going to head back to my room for a bit; give you two time to catch up. And I’m going to listen to this little tune in this little box for hours on end.” She picked up the musical box, a wodge of ciabatta, some figs, and a magazine, and got to her feet. “I’ll see you later.”
Molly felt strangely hollow and flat as she trudged upstairs to her own room. She couldn’t stop thinking about everything Caitlin had said about Francesco—his sweet reaction to the bad news about their mother, the sheer normality of his family, and her sister’s whole demeanour whenever she mentioned his name.
I’ve been a fool, she thought as she unlocked the door of her room and, yet again, hurled herself onto her bed to think.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Hours till wedding: 0
Kilometers to wedding: 159
But she was too restless to stay in her room for long. After only a few minutes she got up and made her way downstairs to go for a wander outside but stopped as she heard the sound of familiar foots
teps dancing up the steps in her direction.
“Pascal?” she called out. “How are you doing?”
Pascal’s face was flushed with excitement as he took the final flight two at a time toward her.
”How am I?” Pascal repeated. “I am marvelous!”
“That’s…nice,” Molly faltered, wondering what on earth had happened to put him in such a good mood.
“Come, come with me, I have already asked madame at reception to prepare some eggs Benedict in the dining room—I have wonderful news I need to share with you!” He was holding a rolled-up newspaper out to her, and as she advanced toward it, he stepped away, back toward the stairwell, enticing Molly to follow.
“Pascal! What’s this all about?” Molly laughed.
“You are hungry, yes?”
“Yes,” Molly agreed with fervour. “I’m starving.”
“Then you come.”
Molly hadn’t eaten properly for days. And she realized, as she tucked into the delicious breakfast that the waiter laid in front of her, that Pascal must have noticed.
Pascal, on the other hand, seemed far too excited to eat. He sat opposite, grinning from ear to ear as she ate.
“Is good?” he asked.
“Delicious,” Molly agreed through a huge mouthful. “Thank you.”
“Now, are you ready to see something quite wonderful?”
“Who isn’t?” Molly dabbed her mouth with her napkin and laughed.
He opened up his copy of Le Monde and shook it out in front of her. “Voila!”
Molly stared at the photograph on the front page. “No way,” she gasped. “It’s him!” It was Delametri Chevalier standing outside the auction house the day before, jabbing his finger angrily at Pascal. His face contorted with outraged fury.
“My dear employer is—how would you say—unmasked!” Pascal exclaimed. “The story is in all of the newspapers!”
“You’re kidding!” Molly clapped her hand over her mouth. “What does it say?”
But just then Pascal’s phone rang.
He looked at the caller display. “Another one? Excuse me, I must take this!”
And as he skipped away to take his call, Molly read the report, translating the Italian as best she could.
The report did indeed say that Delametri was a fraud, that he had been passing Pascal’s designs off as his own. Molly squealed with delight as she read on. And there, further down, the story went on about an ‘anonymous source:’
‘Referring to our reporter as ‘ma petite chère,’ the source confirmed that she had been connected with the Chevalier line for over twenty years and that Pascal’s version of the story was completely true.’
Annabelle, Molly realized. What a star!
“Sorry,” Pascal said as he returned to his seat. “What do you think?”
“This is…incredible!” Molly leapt up and went round the table to give him a hug. His face was a mixture of euphoria, shock, and something else—was it relief?
“Has Delametri said anything to the press?” Molly went on.
Pascal slapped the newspaper with the back of his hand. “Him? No.”
“Quelle surprise,” Molly said, rolling her eyes. “What a nerve!”
“It is his nerve that has allowed him to get away with doing what he has done for such a long time,” Pascal said with a curl of his lip. “I wish I could have been stronger years ago and insisted that he told the truth but, oh, I don’t know, I felt a sense of loyalty to him—he had given me the job, he had such connections, and I felt that we had a bond, the two of us. But now?” He shook his head sadly. “That is gone forever.”
“A good thing, probably,” Molly ventured.
Pascal’s phone began to ring in his pocket. He looked up at Molly with a disbelieving smile. “This phone has not stopped all morning! So many clients want me to continue to design pieces for them under my own name—it is a dream come true!”
He leapt up. “Madame Sophie! Chèrie!” he trilled and again shot off into the foyer to take the call. Molly watched all of the old Parisian mannerisms return as he charmed the lady on the other end of the line, as though he’d been waiting all his life for her call. In a way, she thought, he probably had.
He returned, full of apologies, a few minutes later, as Molly was finding space for one further little pastry.
“So, what now for the great Pascal Lafayette?” she smiled, spraying crumbs on the immaculate tablecloth and wiping them furtively to the floor with her free hand.
“Is it not obvious?” he shrugged. “I must set up on my own!”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Molly smiled. “You’re a genius, Pascal. It’s high time you stepped into the limelight and faced up to the fact.”
“Oh, you are too kind,” he inclined his head gallantly. But then with a silly grin, “I think you might be correct!”
“Oh, it’s so lovely to get some good news today!” Molly said with fervor.
Pascal caught Molly’s hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it tenderly. “My happiness is greatly clouded by your family’s sadness,” he said, his eyes growing misty.
“Hey, none of that,” Molly chided. “This is your moment, enjoy it! We all know you care about us, and that means the world, but truly, Pascal, you need to start making plans for an exciting future!”
Pascal nodded. “I have always wanted a small atelier of my own, maybe down a little side street in the Marais…”
“The what?”
“The Marais,” he repeated. “It is an area in the center of Paris that is very dear to my heart, full of wonderful shops and restaurants and interesting people of all backgrounds and nationalities—I love it there. Not like Delametri’s place—have you any idea what he spends each year to rent that space?”
Molly shook her head.
“It would amaze you. Delametri says you need these spaces to show your worth, but I believe that if you are making beautiful clothes, then people will come to you.”
“I agree,” Molly breathed. “Quality speaks for itself. Yours does, anyhow.”
“Thank you.” He gave her an inquiring look and drew himself upright in his chair as though he was leading up to saying something important. “How would you feel about coming to work with me?”
“Sure, why not,” Molly laughed, glad that he was in such high spirits. She took a sip of the freshly squeezed orange juice.
“Molly, I am serious.”
Molly almost spit the juice out. She’d stopped laughing.
“What else do you think I was doing this morning while I worried about you all?”
Molly could only shrug.
“I checked you out on ze Google.”
“Ze Google?”
He nodded. “I see that you graduated at the top of your year at university, I saw pictures of your designs at your end of year show. I even read part of your thesis on Delametri.” He raised his eyebrow.
“Oh…that…” Molly blushed.
He patted her hand. “There is nothing in it that is not perfectly well researched, do not worry. But your intensity and passion for your work is beyond question.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Molly said. She was convinced that Pascal was just being a gentleman, talking hypothetically, sprinkling a little stardust into her terrible day with dreams of something that was possibly years away at best.
“I’m serious, Molly. I have gotten to know you well over the past two days and I think you exude quality. Not just as a couturier but also as a human being. You would bring sunshine to my workplace. Will you come?”
“Pascal, I’m loving this.” She was—it felt like being flattered on a first date with things that weren’t quite true but it was nice to hear them. “But I’ve got a strong feeling you’re just being kind to me.”
Pascal frowned disapprovingly. “My dear Molly, the eggs Benedict was kind; I will perhaps grant you that, but this? This is a job offer. That i
s not kind. That is business.”
Molly knew Pascal took his work seriously. He wouldn’t offer her a job just to be kind, would he? “I wouldn’t want to let you down,” she said in a small voice. “I’m scared you’d be disappointed in me.”
Pascal exhaled and thought hard before replying. “I believe there is a lot I can teach you, that is for sure. And I am sure that yes, there will be mistakes along the way. But there is nobody I would rather have by my side at the beginning of this new…adventure.”
Molly picked up her orange juice again. Then put it down. “Wow. You’re actually serious. Pascal…I…”
“Will you come and work for me, Molly Wright?”
The overwhelming feeling of fear came over her. Fear…and excitement. “Yes. Yes!” She tried to stop herself from squealing. “Thank you. I will work so hard, Pascal, I really, really will…” She held back tears of happiness. “Oh, did I say thank you?”
“Good. That’s settled,” Pascal smiled. “And yes, you did.”
“Pascal…Are you sure?” Molly was suddenly gripped with the sensation that Pascal would suddenly snatch the offer away again.
“I am sure. I like your style, Molly Wright, star of the future.”
“Well,” Molly gasped, “coming from the man behind the most beautiful clothing I’ve ever seen, that’s the greatest compliment I’ve ever been given. Thank you. Again!”
Molly’s head was so full of everything that had happened today that she felt she might explode. This was the opportunity of a lifetime!
“We can make plans,” Pascal smiled, reading her mind, “once your sister’s crisis is solved and your mother’s condition is more stable. There is no rush.”
“I’ll have to move to Paris,” she breathed, shaking her head at the beautiful preposterousness of what she had just said.
He nodded. “Would you hate that?”
She shook her head. “The…the opposite. I would love nothing more.” Then she thought of Simon. She didn’t know where the image of him came from, but he was right there in front of her. “One thing…” she said sternly. “Fair trade. Local, properly-paid workers. No outsourcing to…” she tailed off and thought of Yvonne. “You know the sort of places I mean.”
