All Dressed Up by Lucy Hepburn

Author:Lucy Hepburn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FICTION/General
Publisher: Diversion Books
Published: 2013-06-23T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Hours until wedding: 25

Kilometers to wedding: 394

“Somebody, somewhere, doesn’t want me to get there. Ever.”

Pascal had disappeared into the small shop beside the station, as Molly and Simon stood helpless near the entrance, wondering what to do next that didn’t involve throwing themselves under the next train.

Simon did not respond. He was busy sending texts—to Yvonne, probably. Molly wondered what he would be saying. ‘Am trapped in middle of nowhere with dressmaker and crazy woman, may never see you again…’ perhaps? She was suddenly overcome with guilt.

“Simon?”

He didn’t look up. “Uh-huh?”

“This is probably a good time to apologize to you.”

“Forget it,” he said, though he still didn’t so much as glance at her.

“If you hadn’t been so…well, so kind, you’d be on the Venice train by now. Pascal and I could have gone back for the dress.”

He sighed and finally returned her look. “Yeah, maybe. It’s a bummer, I can’t deny that. But what sort of man would I be if I’d let you go through all that panic on your own?”

“Pascal was there,” Molly said with a sigh, then immediately wished she hadn’t as Simon dropped his gaze and began studying his phone again. “I mean, well, what I mean is…what I’d like to say is…you’re…”

She tailed off. What was he? He was kind-hearted. He was caring. He was definitely hacked-off at the madness of their situation but she could tell he was trying to hide it. He was lovely.

“Whatever,” Simon said after a long while, sparing Molly from having to finish her sentence.

“Well,” Molly was floundering for something else to say. “So. We’ve established that the only car hire company in the whole place is closed, yes?”

“Correct.”

“And there are no buses?”

“None that gets us to Venice before Christmas.”

“Right.”

Molly looked around. The town seemed eerily quiet. A few cars passed by, a local bus, a man with a dog. Then, all of a sudden, a huge pack of cyclists, each dressed in lurid lycra and wearing sharp wraparound shades, flashed by with a buzz of tires and a rush of air. It was a dazzlingly continental scene, but one which Molly was too strung-out to appreciate.

“Going to be the most expensive cab ride in history,” she decided.

“Only I can’t see any cabs,” Simon pointed out.

“Wonderful.”

Pascal emerged from the shop, hidden behind a large map of Italy, which he had evidently just bought. He joined them without a word, concentrating hard on the map, tracing roadways with his fingertip, his tongue poking out.

“Too far to walk,” Simon deadpanned.

Pascal nodded but said nothing.

“At least we’d be moving,” said Molly.

Without any better ideas, they began to walk down the street toward the center of the town. A chilly wind had crept up on them, and Molly shivered. She looked over at Simon, cosy in his terrible sweater, and couldn’t help but smile.

Okay. Fashion—nil. Bad knitwear—one.

They shared the burden of the enormous dress box, but Molly knew she wasn’t going to be able to walk much further. She was about

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