Free A Crime of Fashion by Carina Axelsson

against one of the cream-coloured walls so that he could take my picture. “I’ll make you a temporary zed card which you can use until we get you some nice pictures,” he explained as he tried various angles. (As I knew from Aunt V, a zed card is a large card made of thick paper with a picture of the model, the name of the agency representing her, and personal information such as height and hair and eye colour.)
    â€œIt’s a bit dark here,” he said as he snapped the first shot. “Hmm…more to the right… Ah! Yes, that’s it! Good.” He continued to click away. “Chin down a bit. More to the left. No, your left. Hmm. Okay. Now don’t smile. Good. Now a smile. Great! Take a look,” he said, as he came to me holding out his camera so I could look at the little screen on the back. Excitedly he scrolled through the photos he’d just taken. “Not bad for a first shoot.”
    â€œRight! Axelle, time to go.” Aunt V had just stepped out of Victor’s. She took a quick look at the new photos, then kissed me goodbye and wished me luck. “I’ll tell you about all I hear later tonight,” she said with a knowing look.
    While Hervé had been taking my picture, Victor had been busy emptying the contents of my old, worn tote bag into my new Prada shoulder bag – a gift from Aunt V. Slouchy and big enough to hold the “book” I would eventually be lugging around, it would be a necessary accessory to my new career. “You’ll see, by the end of the week it’ll be holding your entire life,” Ellie said as she untwisted the bag straps on my shoulder.
    I was now officially a model. Or, more precisely, a model under cover . The secret thrill of it coursed through me as I said it silently to myself. I was on my way to solving this case!

Located on the Rue Cambon, directly opposite the back entrance of the Ritz Hotel, the Chanel boutique and showroom are housed in the building Coco Chanel herself chose. And upstairs, so they say, her grand apartment is still exactly as she left it.
    If I’d thought I’d be able to quietly follow Ellie in, I was mistaken. She waltzed into the boutique like an urban glamazon, commander of all she surveyed. As she exchanged hellos, she introduced me to everyone as her new friend and as a new model with Miriam’s. Finally, Ellie and I climbed Coco Chanel’s famous mirrored staircase and turned down a corridor that led us to the showroom.
    â€œAre you ready for your first casting?” she asked, pushing open a pair of tall double doors. “I have a good feeling about this, Axelle. I think he’s going to like you and that you and I will go down the runway together on Wednesday.” As long as it brings me closer to finding Belle, then I hope so too , I thought, as I followed her into the showroom.
    The atmosphere was buzzing with energy, models were in various states of undress, and long racks of tulle, lace and tweed dresses stood at the end of the room. The head designer and various assistants and stylists stood near a large trestle table. At least three different languages werebeing spoken at the same time, as rapid-fire commands and ringing telephones punctuated the frenzied air.
    â€œFashion can never move too quickly.” Ellie smiled as she saw me staring.
    At that moment one of the stylists came to lead me away and Ellie moved off to say hi to the rest of the team. Ellie had briefed me on what to expect on the way over, so I knew that I was here to try a few outfits on from the new Autumn/Winter prêt-à-porter collection. The fashion calendar is always far ahead of the rest of the world so, for instance, even though spring had only just begun, it was the Autumn/Winter collection that would be shown at Fashion Week, as usual a good six months before the clothes would hit the stores. Anyway, if the outfits I tried suited me (or, rather, as the designer would phrase