After a quiet Sunday spent with her parents, eating lunch, going for a walk and watching an old film while she finished off putting some scarlet silk binding on a corset, Elsa woke up the following morning full of energy and ideas.
Without bothering to get dressed she went straight to her workshop. She had done all she could for Carrie until Carrie made a few decisions. There were two designs for bridesmaids' dresses, one long, one ballerina length. Ashlyn had had this, and so Elsa had assumed Carrie would want the same options. As to quantity and size of bridesmaids, Carrie was, as ever, hard to pin down.
So today she would get on with her own ball gown. The moment she heard from Carrie about the designs she had sent her, she would drop everything to get on with her dress, but just for now, she could concentrate on herself.
She got out her swatch books, going through them to make sure there wasn't anything more suitable – or more lovely – for her overskirt than the material she had already picked out.
She got out her book of costumes and found the picture of the one she wanted to make. It was very pretty and although her enthusiasm for creating it was total, the thought of wearing it was more daunting. Ashlyn's wedding had been a one-off; she much preferred to be anonymous, to wear clothes that didn't draw attention to her. And if this was the reason, as her mother insisted, that she didn't have a boyfriend, then so be it.
The phone rang; the voice on the end of it was commanding. 'Elsa? Is that you? Vanessa Lennox-Featherstone.'
‘Oh, hello.' Elsa glanced at the clock. It was only ten to eight in the morning! Who else but Mrs Lennox-Featherstone would ring so early?
‘So sorry to ring you at sparrow's fart,' said her caller, making the word 'fart' sound positively patrician. 'Tried yesterday but couldn't get you. Thing is, I've got an appointment for you. To have your colours done. Today. That OK?’
Damn! She'd so hoped that colours thing had been forgotten about. Still, she supposed she'd have to go now. And today, when she was going to do something for herself. She cleared her throat, coughed and ummed and erred a bit, but eventually had to concede that today was fine.
‘Fab! But I'm going to come with you so I know what you've been told and I can check up on you.'
‘Oh!' Elsa didn't quite know how she felt about this. It was very kind of Ashlyn's mother to give her a present but she didn't really think she wanted it. Sadly, she couldn't refuse – she just wasn't brave enough.
Mrs Lennox-Featherstone told Elsa she'd pick her up on the way to the studio. 'She's a marvellous woman – she'll tell you exactly what to wear and how to wear it. Tips on make-up, too. You'll have to throw away half your wardrobe, of course, but it's worth it! See you at half ten then. Byee!’
If this woman, whom Elsa already hated, and Mrs Lennox-Featherstone thought they could bully her into throwing away her black V-necked tops they were in for a surprise. She may be too shy and cowardly to defy them when they were actually present, but they wouldn't know – or indeed care – if she did nothing about changing. And why should she? She looked just fine in black.
Defiantly she went into the kitchen. A cup of Women's Tea would sort her out. When describing this to friends she said it was what you drank if you needed a strong whisky, but couldn't have one – possibly because it was still before eight in the morning. Once fortified, she went to shower and dress.
The doorbell rang promptly at ten-thirty and Elsa found Bron on the doorstep. She looked different – giggly and a bit wild-eyed.
‘Bron! What happened? Did you decide not to go back to work after all?'
‘I went in, just to see. And although I thought I could go on working for her, I found I couldn't. She did beg me to stay – terrified I'd tell the world, probably. I should have taken pictures with my mobile, I could have blackmailed her for millions!’
Elsa laughed. 'Well, you look great on it, I must say. What a shame your landlady is such a bully!'
‘She's not really, once you get used to her. I met her as I was going back to the cottage and she said I should come along. I didn't have anything else to do and I thought you might appreciate some support.'
‘Yes I do, of course I do. Let's go.’
Vanessa Lennox-Featherstone stood outside her sports car wearing a geranium-red suit that exactly matched her car. She may have been a woman of a certain age but she was no slouch in the style department. Elsa, clutching her bag defensively across her chest, admitted this with trepidation.
As she walked to the car Vanessa said, 'Morning, darling. Do hope this isn't terribly inconvenient but Hilary is incredibly booked up and we got a cancellation. Has Bron told you what's happened to her? Nightmare! Thank you so much for telling her about my little house. She's going to be the perfect tenant.'
‘I hope so,' said Bron.
‘Of course you are! A hairdresser on my very own land – how much better could you be? I usually go up to London to have mine done but now I can pop along to see you.’
They all clambered into the car. Elsa, the smallest, folded herself into the back, Bron got into the front with Vanessa.
‘OK,' said Vanessa a few moments later. 'Everyone in? Seatbelts? Off we go then.’
The back of the car dipped slightly as Vanessa roared off. 'We're going to have huge fun getting Elsa out of the ubiquitous black. Such a waste of your beauty, darling.’
‘I wouldn't say-'
‘Of course you wouldn't. But I would.' She stopped at the crossroads. 'Ashlyn's having a brilliant time on her honeymoon, by the way. She's lucky to be able to have a nice long one. They're visiting her in-laws for an extended time now, of course.' Vanessa looked both ways and shot across. 'I went on an outward-bound course in Scotland for mine. Bloody freezing, I can tell you!’
The studio where Elsa's torture was to take place was in a pleasant housing estate on the outskirts of town. It didn't look too daunting on the outside, but Elsa was not reassured. Awful things could go on behind a neat front garden with a picket fence and an up-and-over garage on the side. She'd seen movies – she knew.
The woman who opened the door was not daunting, however. She was very attractive and well groomed, there was no getting away from it, but she also had a warm and friendly smile. She didn't look like a style Nazi; she wasn't wearing strange binding garments which would indicate rigid ideas of right and wrong. But Elsa refused to allow herself to be reassured; she was going to resist what was about to happen, no matter what. She spent all her life making clothes to her clients' exact requirements. To be a client (courtesy of Vanessa) and be told what to wear went against the grain.
Bron and Vanessa obviously warmed to Hilary straight away, but it was easy for them – Vanessa already knew her and they weren't going to be given a forcible makeover. A vision of herself being strapped into a dentist's chair while make-up was applied flashed into her brain.
‘Do come in,' said the woman. 'I'm Hilary. Hi, Vanessa, lovely to see you again.'
‘Darling!' Vanessa kissed Hilary warmly. 'This is Elsa, who needs the makeover, and this is Bron, a wonderful hairdresser – did the hair for Ashlyn's wedding and turned little Elsa into Audrey Hepburn. Don't you just love that fringe?'
‘Absolutely! You've got lovely big eyes, Elsa – or is that just because you're terrified?’
Elsa laughed, partly because Hilary was spot on in her diagnosis and partly because it seemed polite. Elsa was nothing if not polite.
‘Well, come in, everyone. Through here. Anyone got anything they want to take off? No? It's a lovely day, isn't it?’
Hilary ushered them into a large room full of sunlight. There was a row of mirrors down one end and a huge rack full of clothes. There was also, to Elsa's eyes, enough jewellery to supply a medium-sized market stall. Further along was a counter and shelving where different kinds of hats were displayed. It would be good to have some idea of what suited you before you took yourself off to a hat shop, thought Elsa to take her mind off what was to come. They were very expensive items on the whole.
‘So, is Elsa going to be a season?' asked Bron. 'I'd say she was an Autumn, myself.’
Hilary shook her head. 'We don't do it like that any more – too restrictive – and another golden rule, never second-guess! But I can see exactly why you said that.’
Hilary was one of those people able to make people feel at their ease, even when contradicting everything they'd just said. They must send them on courses to learn the technique, thought Elsa, still a little resentful.
‘Now.' She swept Elsa further into the room, making a quick dash for the exit impossible. Then, like a magician with a flock of doves, she produced a flurry of white gowns from a cupboard. 'Anyone who's going to comment on Elsa's colours must wear one of these in case the colour they're wearing confuses the issue.'
‘Oh, absolutely!' said Vanessa, grabbing a gown. 'This is such fun! I almost want to have my colours done all over again!’
A moment later Elsa felt she was surrounded by dental patients. She felt exactly like one herself as she sat in the chair. She only just stopped herself asking for a strong anaesthetic.
‘Now dear, have you got any make-up on? Good, saves me having to take it off,' said Hilary.
‘I can't wait to see you in some colour, darling,' said Vanessa. 'Black is quite wrong for you, don't you agree, Hilary?'
‘Possibly, but first we've got to discuss what the right colours do for you.' Hilary paused, making sure everyone was paying attention. 'When you look at an attractive, well-put-together woman, you don't think, Wow, look at that jacket-'
‘Don't you?' asked Bron. 'I quite often think that.' She glanced at Vanessa. Embarrassingly, Vanessa noticed. 'Oh God, don't tell me I've got this wrong!' She tugged at what she was wearing under her gown. 'I love this jacket! I was absolutely sure it was fine for me.’
Hilary started to laugh. 'It is fine, Vanessa. Really. It's perfect for you.' She turned to Bron and Elsa. 'Vanessa is a wonderful client. She really took it seriously. She's the only woman I know who actually threw out everything in her wardrobe that wasn't on the colour swatch.'
‘Wow,' said Bron, out loud this time, but very quietly.
‘I didn't throw it away, I gave it to a charity shop,' said Vanessa.
‘And she keeps her swatches in her bag when she's buying anything new,' Hilary said triumphantly. 'Well, there's no point in paying for the specialist help and not following the advice, is there? Now, can we get on with Elsa?' Despite her outgoing personality, Vanessa obviously didn't really like being held up as a shining example.
‘OK.' Hilary got everyone's attention again. 'What I was trying to say was that we should see the woman before the individual items of clothing, so we say, "she's attractive -oh, what a nice jacket," not, "what a fabulous jacket," without noticing the woman wearing it.'
‘I think I follow you,' said Elsa, 'but I'd prefer not to be noticed at all. Are there colours I could wear so I'd just fade into the background?'
‘Certainly not!' said Vanessa. 'And if there are, you're not allowed to wear them. Why should an attractive girl like you want to disappear?'
‘Well…' Elsa began, knowing she didn't really have an answer.
Seeing her discomfort, Hilary moved on. 'Vanessa can wear that very strong colour because it's geranium, not pillar-box red.' She made a face. 'I expect you think I'm mad making those small distinctions.'
‘No,' said Elsa, her attention finally caught. 'I know exactly what you mean. I deal with that sort of difference all the time.' She sat up in her chair, suddenly a great deal more engaged in the whole process.
‘I know what you mean too,' said Bron. 'When you're getting the right hair colour, just a shade one way or the other can be fatal! It can be twenty years on or off!' She paused. 'Sasha is rubbish at it.’
Hilary glanced at her. 'OK, Elsa, now wait there while we try a few things.'
‘When we've got your colours sorted,' said Vanessa, 'we're going to talk about style. It's a crying shame that someone who makes such lovely garments wears tatty black trousers all the time.'
‘But these are my best trousers!' protested Elsa.
‘Why don't you go and pick out some nice jewellery,' said Hilary to Vanessa, who obediently took herself off to the other side of the room.
‘Gold and silver. Everyone can wear either, you know.' Hilary turned to Elsa. 'But you have to understand what they do for you. Then, if you're good, you can try on the hats. And there are some wigs in the second drawer down.'
‘Can I stay if I promise not to say anything?' asked Bron softly.
Elsa nodded. 'As long as you tell me what on earth happened at the salon when you went in this morning.’
‘But not now,' said Hilary firmly. 'We're here to work.’
She picked up a swatch of fabric and laid it on Elsa's shoulder. 'What do you think?’
Elsa looked at it. 'I like that.' She did.
‘Good, so do I,' said Hilary. 'What about this?’
Colour after colour was laid on Elsa's shoulder. Then the colours were layered, one on top of each other. Some combinations looked terrible, others brought Elsa's face to life. She was paying attention – and to her horror and surprise she was having fun. She realised that she didn't need to fight it any more. Perhaps there was more to this colours lark than she'd thought.
`Do put some make-up on her,' said Vanessa, who arrived at Elsa's side garlanded with necklaces, belts and chains. 'I'm just dying to see those eyes look even bigger. She's a potential mankiller, you know,' she said to Bron. 'Laurence, the best man at the wedding, is mad for her.’
Elsa laughed. 'No he's not! He just wants someone to go to a ball with him.'
‘Same thing, darling, trust me, I know.' Vanessa held an earring up to her ear. 'Too much of a chandelier? I love big earrings.'
‘But I've only ever seen you in close-fitting ones,' said Elsa, forgetting to be shy.
Vanessa shrugged. 'I know. I do have to restrain myself a bit. But these are heaven!'
‘Go away and play, Vanessa,' said Hilary, 'I haven't finished with Elsa yet. So, Elsa, what sort of make-up do you usually wear?'
‘Um, not much. The usual. Bit of mascara, lip-gloss. I have got some eye-shadow somewhere.'
‘Colour?'
‘Brown.’
Hilary shook her head. 'Do you want to look as if you've been in a fight or haven't slept for three days? No, don't answer, you're not allowed to say yes.' She looked enquiringly at Elsa. 'But at least you didn't say you match your eye-shadow to what you're wearing.'
‘If brown makes her look rough, what would black do?' said Bron, teasingly.
Hilary ignored this. 'Can I do your make-up?'
‘Do say yes,' said Bron. 'This is so interesting.’
Elsa sighed. 'Might as well, I suppose.' She remembered how Bron had made her look at the wedding; she wouldn't let Hilary do anything too outlandish.
Twenty minutes later the white gown was whisked away and Elsa was revealed. 'Oh my God, I never knew I could look like that! It's amazing!' She suddenly felt that with her new haircut, beautifully made-up and dressed in one of her creations she might just possibly be ready to go to the ball.
‘I've made a note of everything I used-' Hilary began.
‘We'll have one of everything,' said Vanessa, currently wearing a long platinum wig and a Stetson-style hat. 'I don't trust Elsa to buy it for herself. I may have to take her shopping one day soon.'
‘Or I could,' said Bron. 'Please don't be offended but I probably know shops more suited to Elsa's budget.' Nobly, Bron was leaping in to prevent Elsa being dragged off to Harrods where either she would only be able to buy a pair of knickers, or Vanessa would insist on paying. She knew Elsa would absolutely hate that.
‘Much better idea,' said Vanessa. 'I always come away with the wrong size when I go to Primark.’
If Vanessa was pleased with the effect this revelation had on her audience, she didn't allow it to show.