Katie Fforde - Wedding Season

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.