Free A Crime of Fashion by Carina Axelsson Page A

it, if I suited the clothes), and if I managed to walk without falling, I just might get booked to walk down the runway.
    The first thing I put on was a deceptively simple-looking dress made of cream-coloured tulle overlaid with delicate strips of cream silk. As I slipped it on over my head, Ellie came to join me. She crinkled her nose as she eyed me.
    â€œWe forgot to get you some new underwear. I’m afraid white cotton just won’t do, Axelle – it shows through everything. Remind me to take you to Le Bon Marché for some flesh-coloured undies, would you? But first,” she whispered as the stylist walked away to find some ornament that was missing from the dress, “I’d better give you a few pointers on how to walk.”
    We both looked down at the eight-inch heels I was perched on. Even with their thick platform soles they didn’t exactly fill me with confidence.
    â€œI get vertigo just looking at them,” I said.
    Ellie rolled her eyes. “Don’t exaggerate. And don’t worry – it’s easy,” she said reassuringly. “What you have to do is feel the shoe. Trust yourself and you won’t fall. And, look, hold your head high, like this.” Imperceptibly she lifted her neck. I can’t tell you what she did exactly, but I could note the results: her torso was immediately elongated and her legs looked longer. “Yeah, like that. Good. Now, to walk, just do as you’d normally do. No, relax, Axelle, like normal.”
    She watched as I walked in little circles behind the clothing racks. “Don’t try to prance or exaggerate anything, just relax and let your arms swing. Feel your legs, hold your head high and trust yourself to keep your balance. Yeah, yeah, like that. Don’t think about what you look like – remember: they asked you to come here for a fitting. They want you to walk well. They want to book you. So just relax and don’t think too much about it.”
    By the time I’d taken that information in and done a few turns behind the racks, the stylist had returned with a large enamelled camellia that she pinned on my dress. “You can go out now, Axelle. They’re waiting,” she said.
    Right. Move, Axelle, move , I told myself, because the longer they wait, the more they’ll be focused on you when you step out . Gathering my courage, I took a big breath and stepped out from behind the clothing rack.
    I stepped forward with a bit of a start, but, remembering what Ellie had instructed me to do, I concentrated on advancing one step at a time until I’d carefully walked to the end of the long room, stood for a few seconds before the scorching scrutiny of the design team, and then, before fear got the better of me, I turned and walked back to the safety of the clothing rack – which I quickly ducked behind. “Well done!” Ellie whispered. “You did great!”
    With a huge sigh of relief, I fell onto a pile of discarded dresses and lay there with my face buried deep in lace. I stayed like that until I heard a crisp cough from just above me. I turned my face and pushed a velvet ribbon out of my eyes.
    â€œAxelle, you’d better get back up.” The stylist smiled as she offered me her hand. “They want to see you in another dress.”
    â€œWhat? In another dress?”
    â€œ Oui . It seems they may want to book you for Wednesday’s show.”
    Ten minutes later, Ellie stifled a squeal as she high-fived me behind the dress rack. The fitting was over, Chanel wanted to confirm me. “I told you I had a good feeling about this! And watch – I bet you they’ll have us walk down the runway together – maybe we’ll even get to open the show together!”
    I wish I could have matched Ellie’s elation, but, honestly, I was exhausted after the stress of being scrutinized (how did models go through that day in and day out?) and, while I was thankful that I’d