A Crime of Fashion Read Free Page B

supreme…and she was here to pick me up.
    The distinctive scent of her perfume heralded her imminent presence (she’d been wearing the same perfume since before I’d been born), the click of those amazing stilettos confirmed it. But before she hugged me or asked me how the journey had been or even how I was feeling, out came the question that had haunted every visit with her since my childhood, the question I never had a suitable answer for, the one question she always asked. Like a rabbit caught in her headlights, I waited…
    â€œAxelle, darling. What are you wearing?”
    Ten minutes later, Aunt Venetia’s driver was zooming along the streets of Paris at a speed that would have made my parents think twice about sending me here. Furthermore I was sweating – an inevitable by-product of sharing a small enclosed space with Aunt V. I found myself suddenly wishing that I did have short hair – if only to keep me cooler in situations like this. I was feeling so hot, my glasses were beginning to steam up. I took them off and wiped them on my sleeve.
    â€œAxelle, darling,” she tut-tutted. “Eww. Honestly. We’ve got to do something about those dreadful glasses. And they’re filthy. How can you possibly see anything? Anyway, one thing at a time. So how was the ride? I hope you were sitting on your own. There’s nothing worse than being surrounded by ghastly-looking people for two hours.” From underneath the soft black brim of her hat, Aunt V’s arctic blue eyes focused intently upon me. “Axelle, are you all right?” Her voice was low and smoky, nearly growling.
    No , I wanted to say, no I’m not all right . Even my suitcase is probably sweating in the boot right now . Anyway, for once discretion got the better of me. “I’m just a bit tired…” I answered.
    â€œFrankly, Axelle, you’re looking a bit pale. I certainly hope your mum didn’t send you here with a cold. If that’s the case, I’m sorry to tell you, but you’ll just have to remain quarantined in your bedroom. Carmen can take care of you. I cannot risk catching even the slightest cold during Fashion Week. We’ll take your temperature as soon as we’re home.”
    â€œI don’t have a cold, Aunt V, nor do I feel unwell or ill in any other way…” Great, this is getting off to a good start, I thought. I mean, needless to say, while I’d love to get out of trailing behind my aunt from one fashion show to the next, the thought of being quarantined in my bedroom for a week was even worse.
    â€œYes, well, all forms of mass-transportation are chock-a-block with strange germs. You may have caught something, you know. Anyway, we’ll see.”
    Out of the corner of my eye I stole a look at my aunt, while with my left hand I carefully reached into my tote bag and took out the notes for the story I was working on for my school magazine, The Notting Hill News . Aunt V had a pair of black professor glasses on. She was perusing her printed schedule for the upcoming week. Without looking up from her schedule, she said, “What are you doing, Axelle?”
    â€œJust taking out some…uhhm…homework, actually…”
    Taking her glasses off, she turned to look at me. Her hat was off, the black stripe that ran through the middle of her platinum hair prominent. My very own Cruella de Vil. “That homework wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with your school column, now would it? What is it this time? The Case of the Missing Lab Rat?”
    I knew it – I should have opted for the London internship. My mum was beginning to seem cute and fluffy – harmless, even – compared to Aunt V.
    â€œI’m joking, Axelle. Don’t look so frightened,” she said curtly. Then, leaning her head back, she sighed. “Listen, Axelle…your parents have sent you here because they feel you spend too much time