She had had enough of high fashion for a few hours. The day had been unbearably hot, without any sign of the cooling breeze that she had come to expect, blowing in off the Indian Ocean and stirring the steamy heat of the equatorial coast. All the girls had wilted in the crisp dresses they had been modelling and even the photographers, normally indifferent to anything but the picture in their lens, had said that the conditions were intolerable.“Smile, Arab! Come on, girl! That’s the peach of a dress you’re wearing! Show it off, can’t you? No, I see you can’t! Duckie, you’ve only had it on ten minutes and you look as though you’ve slept in it! Haven’t you ever heard that ladies only glow? Well, you’re no lady, my pet! That dress is a mess!”Arabella sighed. At least she didn’t have to care if her shirt was grimed with sweat. Her shirt was her own and not on show, to be photographed and demonstrated in any number of glossy brochures that advertised the latest off-the-peg fashions from some of the cheaper manufacturers.“Cheer up, Arab, it may never happen!”Arabella started and then smiled.
What do You think about The House Of The Scissors?
