NEXT MORNING THEY WOKE EARLY AND RACHEL leaned over to kiss Alex, saying, ‘Happy wedding day, darling.’ They ate a room-service breakfast of croissants and cherry jam while getting ready to leave.
‘Do we have time to stop at the Alma Tunnel on the way?’ Rachel asked. She had an urge to go back there for the first time since the early hours of 31 August.
‘Plenty of time,’ he said. ‘It’s only an hour on the RER to the airport.’
It was awkward because Alex was carrying the painting, while she had both of their travel bags and her handbag. They got off the Métro at Alma-Marceau station and walked to the road above the underpass, where there was still a mass of floral tributes and notes in various languages – French, English, Italian, Japanese and many more – along with poems and drawings left in Diana’s memory. Alex propped the painting against a wall and Rachel put the bags down beside it.
‘Do you think her death was murder?’ she asked as she read the messages. ‘What’s your conclusion?’
‘I just don’t know.’ He pulled up the collar of his 1940s leather flying jacket, a gift Rachel had given him from the shop. ‘There are still a lot of unanswered questions.’
Rachel glanced at him, and something about his tone made her suspect he knew more than he was going to tell her.
‘That’s where I’ll have to leave it in the programme. Perhaps other facts will emerge over time.’
Rachel peered over the parapet at the cars whizzing past into the tunnel below. Suddenly she had a flashback to the explosions of cameras around the wrecked Mercedes, and she shivered. ‘If she had died in a landmine accident, it would at least have had some meaning.’
Alex put his arm around her. ‘Life is random. It’s the connections we make that have meaning.’
They stood for a moment longer, then he glanced at his watch. ‘Come on. We’ve got a wedding to attend.’
As soon as they walked into the departures terminal at Charles de Gaulle airport, Rachel knew they were in trouble. Over the tannoy, there was an announcement that mentioned ‘Gatwick’ then the words ‘retardé’ and ‘brouillard’. A moment later, it was repeated in English: their flight was delayed due to fog.
Rachel could have kicked herself. The flights on Tuesday had been affected by fog. Why had she not considered it might be an issue today? Her heart began to beat faster.
Alex hurried to the airline help desk, with Rachel following close behind. He spoke in French, telling the woman behind the counter that they had to get to England because they were getting married at five that afternoon.
The woman checked her monitor and called her supervisor across. All the London airports were closed at the present time; the nearest one still open was East Midlands.
‘That’s Nottingham. How quickly could we get from Nottingham to Brighton?’ Rachel asked, feeling a clutch of panic.
‘It’s possible in four hours if the trains are in our favour . . .’ Alex looked dubious. ‘Or we could grab a taxi, but I think that would take longer.’
‘Train is our best chance.’
They got seats on the East Midlands plane and boarded, then sat on the runway, the minutes ticking away. There was an announcement about waiting for clearance for take-off. Alex and Rachel kept recalculating.
‘If we get to Nottingham by one, there’s still a chance,’ he said. ‘We wouldn’t have time to get changed but we could dash straight to the registry office as we are.’ He texted Kenny saying that if they didn’t make it, he should direct guests straight to the restaurant.
Rachel looked down. Her grey wool dress was smart enough but not a patch on the Molyneux; she’d cleaned her boots as best she could and brushed down her coat, but they still looked grubby. Her palms were sweaty. She thought of all the money her parents had spent on the wedding car, the flowers, the invitations, the photographer . . .
It was the best part of half an hour later when the plane finally nosed into the air above Paris.
‘Apologies for the delay,’ the captain announced over the intercom. ‘Our new arrival time at East Midlands will be one thirty.’
‘Sod it. We’re not getting married today.’ Alex shrugged, then called over the air hostess. ‘Could we have a bottle of champagne, please?’
Once Rachel accepted that they couldn’t make it and the wedding wasn’t happening, she felt the tension ease, like warm syrup trickling through her veins. It wasn’t the end of the world; the sky hadn’t fallen in.
‘Here’s to not getting married!’ they toasted each other, to the bemusement of passengers in the seats round about.