A Face To Die For Read Free

purse in the top filing cabinet drawer in there, and then follow me. Lady M's due any minute and the swatches for the Ascot and Henley ranges have gone walk about.'
    As I went into the office to deposit my purse I could hear him still flapping about things.
    'Vanessa, darling, it's going to be one of those days; I just know it. Now because Eve's away you realise you'll have to model, don't you? God, it's going to be such chaos!'
    On my way out I remembered my under-slip. Discreetly sliding my hand into the top of my skirt waistband I hitched it up. Just in time, because Vanessa turned and, grabbing my arm, urged me to pursue her and the dark, lanky designer to the fitting rooms. I followed obediently in their flustered wake.
    An elegant, middle-aged vendeuse dressed in navy and cream and wearing fashionably large cream framed spectacles, stretched across her table with a wad of fabric pieces. 'I say, dear…give this to Mr Hamilton, will you,' she whispered. 'He'll go mad if he thinks I've had it all this time.'
    I swallowed hard and clutching it, I rushed to catch up with Vanessa.
    She spied the fabric swatch in my hand. 'Oh, so Iris had it, did she? Now, where the hell's the other one gone?' She snatched it from me and while I followed meekly, we approached the fitting rooms.
    The morning progressed. The other missing swatch appeared miraculously from nowhere. Lady Moore fortunately arrived late, and so things relaxed a little beforehand. I also began to relax myself after a while. A quick learner, I soon grasped the somewhat grovelling procedure of handling such important clients, and made a point of mentally noting which fabrics related to which designs and where things were generally kept.
    Later, while Vanessa was tied up modelling in the salon for another titled lady, Edward Hamilton asked me to assist him and his chief fitter with two more clients.
    Despite running hither and thither for him, it was thrilling to be a part of the scene, even in such a minor capacity. I worked harder than I’d ever done in my life, and later in the afternoon over a cup of tea in the canteen below stairs, he kindly praised me.
    'You've done well today Annabel. I think you and I are going to get along fine. The last girl I had was useless. You obviously know what you're about. Stick with me, and I'll teach you all you need to know about this crazy business.' He then said to call him Edward, which initially made me feel quite privileged until I learned that everybody called him that behind the scenes. Only in the salon and in the presence of clients we had to be more formal.
    At first Edward appeared dreadfully up tight and a tad sharp with everyone whenever his clients were due. Despite this and his rather amusing camp way of talking, I soon warmed to him. I suspected it was just for affect, however, and I was dead right. He was, as I would eventually discover, as heterosexual as the rest of us beneath it all.
    Vanessa also turned out to be friendly, if a little bossy at times. Half Greek, and the daughter of a shipping tycoon - Nikolas Karos - she was, as were the other girls, working just for the fun of it. All frightfully upper class debutante types, they talked endlessly about going off for the weekend to Shropshire or Berkshire ... to Hunt Balls, polo matches, coming out parties, and other la-de-da events.
    Despite her wealthy background, Vanessa didn't look at all Greek to me, especially being so blonde. But she soon explained that she had inherited her fair hair and complexion from her English mother. She lived in a flat in Eaton Square with a friend, Fiona. Eaton Square was a very expensive place to live, I thought. Clearly these girls were all pretty comfortably off with massive allowances from their wealthy fathers. I therefore, soon began to wonder why Edward had chosen me for this job. I was just a middle-class girl from Ealing. How could I possibly hope to relate to these girls with their silver-spooned, upper-crust