A Crime of Fashion Read Free

this last cruel bit, I was in a state of such anger and stupefaction that, honestly, it’s a miracle my hair didn’t spontaneously combust and just disintegrate off the top of my head. To make matters worse, the Watanabes (yes, et tu , Jenny) were oohing and aahing and making all kinds of aren’t-you-the-lucky-one comments.
    â€œBut I don’t want to go to Paris! I know nothing about fashion nor am I even the least bit interested in it! I LIKE WEARING A SCHOOL UNIFORM PRECISELY BECAUSE I DON’T HAVE TO THINK ABOUT FASHION!!!”
    â€œAxelle, calm down, please. It’s only for a week and, besides, this is an opportunity any girl would love,” Mum chirped brightly.
    â€œBut I am not any girl! And I don’t want to go to Paris or work in fashion! And I don’t want to work with Aunt Venetia! She’s a dragon!”
    â€œListen, Axelle,” my dad said, “you know we wouldn’t ask you to do this unless we felt it was important. We feel you’ve been going a bit overboard with your ‘detective work’ lately, and, well, this could be a wonderful opportunity for you to see new things, expand your horizons…”
    ARGH! PARENTS. How corny can they get? “Yeah, but—”
    â€œNo buts, Axelle,” my dad said sternly. “If you don’t go to Paris then Aunt Venetia is ready to set up a week-long internship at one of the magazines here in London.”
    â€œI wonder if Vogue would have you…” my mum chimed in.
    I felt my mouth fall open again. “You can’t be serious?”
    â€œActually, Axelle,” my parents answered in unison, “we are.”
    â€œYou decide,” my mum finished for them both. “Paris or London.”
    I slumped into one of the living-room armchairs and closed my eyes. I couldn’t believe this was happening! Jenny must have wisely decided I needed a bit of time to myself because she stayed at the table. Suddenly I felt claustrophobic. I heaved myself out of the armchair, grabbed my dad’s cardigan, climbed the stairs up to our tiny roof terrace and gave in to my anguish on my own. The one person in the world who would have understood how I felt – and who no doubt would have vetoed the entire Paris idea – was Gran. And she wasn’t here. How I missed her.
    Wrapping the cardigan tighter around myself, I lay down on the chaise longue, looked up at the sky and took a deep breath. I told myself that a week wasn’t for ever. I’d go to Paris – that much was sure. There was no way I’d stay in London and submit to Mum’s daily interrogations on everything I’d been doing at Vogue or wherever. Besides, with a bit of luck my workaholic Aunt Venetia just might forget about me for long enough to let me do some exploring on my own. Seven days in Paris with my fashion editor aunt couldn’t be that bad…could it?
    Actually…
    Yes, it could.
    I know I was angry when I called my aunt a dragon, but, honestly, my Aunt Venetia really is a dragon – and a dragon of the worst kind. She’s a fashion dragon – which means that instead of breathing plain old flames, she breathes silk and patent leather and address books filled with unpronounceable names.
    I admit that after years of listening to my aunt bang on about fashion I know quite a bit about it. But still…that doesn’t mean I want to be a part of it – not even for a week!
    I lay outside for some time, looking at the stars. Eventually, I heard Jenny and her parents leave, after which the house went quiet. Thankfully, I was left alone. Even Halley wasn’t scratching at the door to join me.
    You decide: Paris or London.
    My parents’ ultimatum continued to ring in my ears. Again my thoughts switched back to my gran. She would have known just what to tell me, how to make me see the bright side of things (is there a bright side to fashion that doesn’t involve sequins