Croissants and Jam Read Online Free PDF Page B

something the cat has dragged in, I approach the desk.
        ‘Excuse me. I don’t suppose anyone has handed in a white gold diamond stud earring have they?’ I ask hopefully trying to ignore her pained expression which clearly indicates she does not believe I was wearing white gold diamond earrings.   
        ‘I can check for you, madam.’
    I shake my head.
        ‘No, it’s okay. I was on the flight to Rome, the one where the guy had a heart attack, and I got jam on my blouse and well, I need a flight.’
    Her eyes lock onto my blouse and I feel sure she smirks.
        ‘Ah, that flight has gone.’
    Yes, well I bloody know that, don’t I?
        ‘What time is the next flight to Rome?’ I ask patiently.
    She shakes her head.
        ‘We are a small airport. We have no scheduled flights to Rome, madam,’ she says apologetically.
        ‘What? But I have to get to Rome. You’re an airport aren’t you, well not you personally, of course,’ I say loudly, ‘you don’t understand, I have to be in Rome for dinner at eight this evening. It is a matter of urgency.’
    This is an airport, how can they not have flights? I hear a snigger behind me. Oh how I wish I had a real fork.
        ‘Compared to world peace and the end of civilisation as we know it, I have to agree. Dinner at eight, in Rome, must certainly qualify for a private jet.’
    I ignore his irritating voice and give the girl a pleading look.
        ‘It really is important. I have to get to Rome by eight.’ Oh God, am I begging? The tears I had struggled to hold back suddenly pour forth against my will. Oh, is it not enough that I have wedding nerves without all this too?
        ‘One moment madam, I shall see what I can do.’
    Oh thank God. I turn from the desk, expecting to walk into Marc Jacob jumper but he has gone. I fall into the nearest seat. I am beginning to think someone is trying to tell me something. Maybe I am not meant to marry Simon. I try my phone again but still have no signal. Then, I remember my laptop. Yes, I can email him. He will get the email on his Blackberry. For the first time in hours I start to feel a little more relaxed. I open my laptop and get into my emails, but, oh, shit, there is no bloody connection there either. What the hell is it with airports? Seeing the assistant has returned I slam the lid shut and rush over to the desk.
        ‘Well?’ I ask anxiously.
        ‘We can get you on a flight to Marseille, and from there you can get a flight to Rome,’ she announces, cheerfully, while looking at the computer screen, and I feel my spirits lift. I look at the time on my phone. Okay, I will be a bit late but at least I will get there.
        ‘Oh that is great, thank you so much, what gate do I go to?’
        ‘The flight isn’t scheduled to take off until ten o’clock, but it will get you there in plenty of time for the connecting flight to Rome.’
    This cannot be happening. It is a bad dream.
        ‘Is that the best you can offer, ten o’clock tonight?’ I say dabbing away at my tears again.
    Okay, so, I will miss dinner, but at least I will be there tonight. And even if I miss dinner at least I will be in plenty of time for the rehearsal.
        ‘No, madam, you misunderstand. The flight to Marseilles is tomorrow morning at ten. The onward flight to Rome is some hours later at about six in the evening, so you should arrive in Rome by about eight tomorrow evening.’
    Shit, bugger and sod it. At the rate I am going I may not even make the rehearsal. I am slowly losing the will to live.
        ‘Are you mad? I have to be there before tomorrow night,’ I murmur. What is it with these people? I struggle to control my tears and lift my bag onto the desk where I begin emptying it until I find my bottle of Kalms. I shake out six and swallow them in one hit. Oh what the hell, I shake out two more and throw them back. Oh my God what the hell do I tell Simon? The thought of