Coffin in Fashion. Gwendoline Butler

her eyelashes were false and long.

      The tresses of blonde hair curling down her back were false too, her own hair would not grow beyond her shoulders. As a result, she envied Gabriel her shining mane and had more than once been tempted to give it a tug to see if it was artificial also.

      She had met no one on her way in, but already, in a mad kind of way, she felt like Myra Hindley. Something bad had touched her and Steve and discoloured them.

      She sat down at her desk to start work. It was necessary to consider her programme for the next two seasons. She knew how much she depended on Gabriel’s flair and taste. For years she had succeeded by quietly pilfering ideas from Paris or Rome. Now London was leading the way. Marvellous, good for trade. But it also meant you had to have some ideas of your own. Gabriel had the ideas.