RetroXotique

"The great thing about these small towns, Pilár, is that they're grateful to you."

"Yes, Mrs Backscue."

"In the big cities they can be so snobbish. You go to one of these big shops like Versace, they won't even let you in if they don't think you look right, and if you do get in they make you feel common if you've got the wrong accent."

"Yes, Mrs Backscue."

"Out here, though, they're not used to rich people. They think it's a privilege to deal with us. I can bring as much money to a local shop in a day as they'd normally see in a week, maybe a month, so they always give me the best service. Mind you, I suppose even this place looks luxurious to you, compared with what you were used to in the Philippines."

"Yes, Mrs Backscue."

When she was as sure as she could be that her dainty stilettos would not betray her, she tensed her arm and began to pull herself upright. It was Pilár's task, of course, to do most of the work, and there was quite a bit of work to do. As Poppy's maid, live-in hairdresser, seamstress, wardrobe adviser, dogsbody and confidante, Pilár knew every pound her employer had gained in the two years she had had this job: Poppy had lamented them all in detail, over and over again. She had not, however, done much to stop them accumulating, neither by diet nor exercise: her approach seemed to be that if she convinced herself it was only temporary, it wouldn't last. As Pilár hauled her employer to her feet, taking care not to give any sounds of effort Poppy would consider insulting, the problems of this method emerged from the luxurious seclusion of the Mercedes into the hard light of day.

Poppy had ordered the brown cashmere suit to have something suitable to wear for her husband's business functions. He hadn't been inviting her along, which hurt her feelings, but she could see that her usual style didn't really fit in with those people, and she had tried to adapt herself to the way they dressed. That Jonathan Backscue considered the cashmere suit even more unsuitable than the turquoise satin strapless minidress she had chosen for the BUPA conference hurt her even more. As far as she was concerned, it was a classic cut and fitted perfectly, made especially to her measurements. The fact that the skirt was barely mid-thigh-length and revealed her stocking tops and suspenders if she sat down was surely an advantage: men liked to look at that, didn't they? And though the measurements to which it had been made were those she aspired to rather than those she possessed, well, it showed off her curves, and she had always had plenty of them. Maybe it was just a little strained here and there, but Jonathan said himself he liked the look of it: why couldn't she go along with him when she was wearing it? It was just like the other businesswomen wore, except a little bit more sexy. What could possibly be wrong with it?

She took a few tiny steps, limited by the impossibly tight suit skirt, and then stopped to admire her reflection in the draper's window. It pleased her, as it always had. She had always been pretty, and she still was, even if what bone structure she had shown as a young woman was now blurred by a soft layer of fat gently spreading beneath the skin of her face. She noticed again a suspicion of a double chin, but putting her head back convinced herself it was only a shadow. Her hair was the same mass of golden-blonde curls that had enchanted Jonathan back when she was working as his receptionist, her eyes still large and handsome and dark green, carefully outlined with shadow and mascara to make them look larger and greener. She had plucked and pencilled her eyebrows carefully this morning as every morning, coloured her lips in deliciously kissable carmine, and complimented them with the heavy earrings Jonathan had given her before they were married-gold filigree fittings around a pearl core, with a pendant two inches across hanging from them, a fat carmine agate polished till it glowed set in a wide gold filigree disc. She practised a few coquettish turns of her head, and admired the way they swung about. The rest of her face she had carefully layered with powder and paint until even the slightest suggestion of a line was buried like a fossil. Below, the jacket tightly buttoned up with no blouse beneath it exposed a triangle of skin, soft, smooth and pale pink, dipping down to the beginnings of her lush cleavage. The suit was modestly cut compared to the tops and dresses she preferred, showing just a hint of the upper slopes of her bosom, but she had had it fitted on purpose several inches smaller than her actual bust measurement, so that the straining button proclaimed to the world how difficult it was to fit such a magnificent bust inside a mere suit jacket. It certainly drew the eye, which was what she wanted. There were disadvantages to this kind of fit, especially that the button was liable to pop off suddenly in moments of stress, but after all there was always Pilár to chase after it, to pick it up, and to sew it back on again. Below that the jacket was carefully darted to hug her sharply pinched waist, and cut short to end at the hip with pleats to show off how suddenly those hips expanded again. The short, plain skirt was a guaranteed draw: she thought with pride as she turned side on that it was the tightest skirt in the county, and she still had the best-shaped bottom. It took a little help these days, of course, but the way it stuck boisterously out from the back of her waist, straining the skirt as if trying to burst through the fabric and demand attention, was one of her best features. No wonder Jonathan liked it when she wore that too-tight uniform back at the clinic! And the short skirt showed off her legs too. Not skinny like some girls, but well-rounded. Maybe she could stretch one leg back to make it look longer. That pose should work well in this skirt. The only trouble was that there wasn't really enough room to do it, the hemline was so tight. Attempting a cheeky smile, she began easing her left foot back, teetering more and more as she tried to keep her weight balanced on one of those dainty sandals, with just the tip of her left toe to steady herself against the increasing wobble. She could see Pilár reflected in the window behind her looking worried: silly woman didn't believe she could keep her balance on one foot in five-inch stilettos. She'd been wearing them for twenty years-no, that made her sound old, and in this outfit she didn't look a day over twenty. Well, twenty-five. Well...she decided to concentrate on the view. She was getting a hint of stocking top now. What man could resist that? A little further and there'd be a bit of suspender, not too much, just enough to suggest that it was a little accident, she wasn't showing off on purpose-

"Mrs Backscue?"

Poppy whipped round, tottered on her heels, and almost fell. She was first relieved and then embarrassed to find Pilár ready to catch her. When she had sorted out which way was up she struggled back to her own feet and said crossly "What?"

The draper had come to the door and was looking out. "We're ready for you. Your...you know. I thought you'd come to collect it, but then you didn't come in, so-"

"Yes, of course I'm coming in! You country people are so silly! Come on, Pilár. Bring Topsy with you." She turned round and clicked into the shop. Pilár reached into the car to lift out a small fat Peke and followed.

"You don't have many customers, do you?" Poppy observed, looking round.

"We get by," Mrs Fea said defensively.

"All the same," Poppy said, relishing her superior position, "it wouldn't matter too much if you closed the shop until you've finished with me? I mean, it isn't as if there are a lot of people coming in, and I'm your best customer."

Mrs Fea took a deep breath, or as deep a breath as her high-waisted girdle and strongly-built longline bra allowed, then let it out slowly. "There's nobody else here at the moment, Mrs Backscue," she said, "but that doesn't mean nobody else will come in before you leave. It has been known for other people to come in from time to time."

The sarcasm made no impression on Poppy, who wasn't really equipped to detect it. "You can't deal with them when you're dealing with me. You'll have to close the shop. After all, you wouldn't be able to help them anyway, until I'm done."

"I can't really afford to lose that much business-"

Poppy waved her hand airily, and her bracelets rattled. "Oh, that doesn't matter, does it? Pilár has my chequebook." Behind her Pilár nodded warily.

Mrs Fea thought for a while, then nodded. "All right," she said, walking forward to lock the door and turn the sign to Closed. "Follow me, please. Is that dog of yours housetrained?"

"Of course she is!" Poppy said defensively, and wiggled over to kiss the forehead of the fat little dog Pilár was still holding. "Aren't you, sweetie?"

"I hope so," Mrs Fea said. "Please walk this way."

She led the way behind the counter, through the curtains, and past rows of boxes in the dingy back of the shop to a narrow flight of stairs. "Why are we going up here?" Poppy grumbled.

"I do all my adjustments in my flat, Mrs Backscue," the draper said as she headed up towards a small patch of light at the top. "It's something I can do in the evening while I'm watching the television with my family."

"With your family!" Poppy exclaimed as she picked her way carefully up the steep stairs, grateful for the railings on both sides, taking each step carefully with her right foot first and drawing the left after it. "I thought your sign said 'Foundations fitted with confidentiality and integ-integ-integration'!"

"'Integrity', Mrs Backscue," Mrs Fea said, as she reached the top of the stairs. Seeing her best customer was struggling a few steps down, she leant forward and offered her hand. Poppy's hand, she found, was soft, plump and smooth, almost like a child's: it was clearly not a hand troubled by washing-up, as the long nails testified. "My family know better than to talk about anything they might see. Besides, I never let them know who the garment is for."

"You'd better not," Poppy complained as she reached the top and found there wasn't really room enough for the two of them at the top of the stairs. An ordinary person caught in the crush as they squeezed past each other might have noticed the steely solidity of the curves under Poppy's too-tight suit and Mrs Fea's severe white blouse and black trousers, but shopkeeper and customer were both too well-corseted to feel how corseted the other was when they made contact. Seeing Poppy go by, Mrs Fea had no alternative but to say "In through the second door on the left, please. That's our sitting room."

Poppy wiggled along the narrow corridor. From the point of view of the two women behind she almost completely blotted out the light from the window at the far end which was its only illumination, but a great deal of daylight showed between her elbows and her waist before the sumptuous outward curve of her hips followed below. As Poppy turned to open the sitting room door, the pattern of curves changed: now it was the outward thrust of her bosom in front and her bottom behind that caught the attention. Mrs Fea and Pilár both knew perfectly well that there should have been another bulge in front lower down, but they were well paid to keep it under control and not say anything about it.

When the other two women reached the sitting room door Poppy was over by the window, looking out. "Put Topsy down and let her run around," she ordered. Pilár did as she was told, and the Peke waddled panting into the middle of the room and lay down to watch. Without turning round, Poppy asked "Are you sure this is safe? I mean, nobody's going to look in through this window and see us."

"That's a field. The only people out there, Mrs Backscue, are cows. I don't think they're interested. Anyway, there are net curtains on the window. You don't have to worry."

"If you say so. Pilár, come and help me undress."

Mrs Fea sat down. The first time Poppy called on her, she had been surprised by how difficult and protracted was the process of taking her clothes off. Now she knew what to expect.

Pilár began with the jacket. This was tricky, because of the strain on the buttons: the top button, which she left to last, was a particular effort. Finally, though, she managed to pry it open, and put the jacket on a hanger Mrs Fea had thoughtfully provided on the back of the door. The top half of Poppy's underwear was exposed: a tight, powerful longline bra, its large cups filled to bursting point, and from just below her bust downward something even tighter squeezing her in still more firmly. Despite the strong fabric of the bra's bodice holding her to a smooth line, there was a definite ridge of flesh pushed out through it. Pilár unfastened the back zip of the too-tight suit skirt next, and it showed absolutely no inclination to come down by itself. She began patiently working it downwards, and it resisted her every inch of the way as it slid over the smooth black Lycra and satin of the girdle it slowly revealed. Poppy's girdle was clearly even tighter than her bra and skirt, which was an achievement. It was very strongly made and held her waist and hips to a splendid hourglass curve, nipping in and then spreading out luxuriantly. Despite the boning and layers of reinforcement, though, the strain it was under was so tremendous that a few creases appeared here and there. Pilár squatted down to finish removing the skirt, and Poppy thoughtlessly leant a hand on her head to keep her balance while she was standing on one leg to step out of it. Then she tapped over to an armchair and sat down, sticking her legs straight out. Having hung the skirt up along with the jacket, Pilár began patiently unpicking the complex arrangements of straps and buckles that kept the delicate sandals on her employer's feet. As the first one came free Poppy gave a thoughtless sigh of relief, then noticed Mrs Fea looking at her. Embarrassed, she said "They're ever so pretty, but it's so tiring wearing high heels in this hot weather, don't you think?" The draper murmured agreement as Pilár finished removing Poppy's other sandal and put them on a shelf. Among Mrs Fea's decorative bric-a-brac they didn't look at all out of place: in fact, they were more tasteful than anything in the draper's collection. Pilár carefully unfastened Poppy's sheer black stockings from the sturdy and taut suspenders that helped keep her girdle from riding up, then hung them to the back of the chair.

Without being prompted, Poppy stood up again, a tense look on her face. Pilár walked respectfully up to her. "Mrs Backscue," she said, "please take a deep breath and hold it."

Poppy did as she was told, her bust swelling almost out of its confinement within the heavy bra. Pilár reached round to the strong zip that ran down the left side of the girdle, from a few inches above the waist down to the top of the hip bone. The designers had thoughtfully equipped it with a loop of ribbon to give better leverage, and it was a good thing: otherwise nothing but pliers would have shifted it, and that wasn't really very feminine. Poppy stood her ground, hands on hips, trying not to breathe, her face becoming visibly red even through the thick layer of make-up, as Pilár tugged harder and harder on the zip. At first nothing seemed to happen, but then it reached a crucial point and rushed down to the bottom. Poppy let her breath out in a gasp and relaxed slightly as Pilár began the complex task of pulling the now opened girdle off. Even unzipped it was still extremely tight about Poppy's upper thighs, and Pilár had to work her way round and round, tugging here and there, before it at last came free. The uncompressed hips and bottom revealed were rather different to those Poppy had been proud of exhibiting in her too-tight suit skirt: considerably larger, inclined to sag, a little lumpy here and there, and heavily imprinted with the seams and panels of the girdle that had been forcing them into shape. A pair of obviously Marks and Spencers panties protected her decency.

As Pilar lowered the girdle to the ground Poppy stepped out of it. Mrs Fea watched as the Filipina carefully lifted it up again and put it with her mistress's stockings. Comparing it to Poppy's unrestricted dimensions the whole thing seemed ludicrous: how could so much woman be contained by so little satin and elastic? She would never have dared recommend any customer of hers to wear a girdle so tight, but she had no intention of questioning Mrs Backscue's taste. She had appeared from London a few months ago, too-tight girdle and all, and had generated an enormous amount of business. Her taste in underwear tended to the elaborate and strong, and she bought a lot of it because it tended to wear out quickly under the strain. That just meant more sales, and Mrs Fea wasn't going to argue with that. If the customer didn't mind being packed into her foundations so tightly that she could hardly breathe, that was her choice.

Pilár had now moved behind Poppy and gone to work on the line of hooks down the back of the bra, which freed from the girdle was now seen to reach her waist. Poppy was holding her breath again. The hooks were under a lot of tension, and as she approached the waist Pilár had more and more trouble. As she neared the bottom Pilár became stuck, and while she was still struggling Poppy let her breath out with a whoosh.

"Please, no breathing yet, Mrs Backscue."

"I can't hold my breath any longer! What are you waiting for?"

"The last two hooks are stuck...Mrs Fea, perhaps you would help me...?"

Knowing her duties as a professional, Mrs Fea at once came to join in. It was quite obvious why Pilár was having trouble: the tension at the back of Poppy's longline bra was so tremendous that the hooks seemed welded into the eyes. At least half a centimetre of freedom was needed to pull them out, and that was inconceivable. For the moment, Mrs Fea was defeated.

"Well, you put it on this morning," she said, "so you must know how to get it off. What did you do?"

"It wasn't so bad this morning," Pilár said. "On the way here, though, we stopped in the tea-shop, and Mrs Backscue had some doughnuts-"

"Only one! Well, one or two. Three perhaps. Five at the outside. And a cream cake, but that was only a small-Pilár, stop making remarks like that and get on with your work. Remember who's in charge here."

"Yes, Mrs Backscue. Mrs Fea, if you would press in her sides, perhaps I can free the hooks."

Mrs Fea went round to the front and enveloped Poppy in what looked like a bear-hug. She groaned. Pilár fought with the hooks again, and this time was victorious. "There! Mrs Backscue, now you can breathe."

Poppy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Now," she said, "have you got the new corselette?"

"I have. Pilár, if you'd take off the bra, you can try it and see how it looks."

While she went to search in a cupboard, Pilár came round in front of Poppy again and gently helped her to slip her arms out from under the bra straps. The figure revealed now without its substructure of corsetry was one that had sadly gone to seed. Her bust was quite as large as it had looked, but it sagged down onto a small paunch that spoiled the impressive wasp-waist her girdle had exhibited. Poppy, too, seemed to sag as a whole without the support of her underwear: she seemed older, sadder, less flamboyant. She looked at herself sideways in the long mirror, then quickly looked away and said "Have you found the corselette yet?"

"I have," said Mrs Fea, bustling back. "If Pilár will help me, you can try it on."

"Let me have a look at it first." Mrs Fea handed over what she was carrying, and Poppy held it out to admire it. She smiled, as if at a much-loved child, the collapse of her ageing figure temporarily forgotten. "It looks like you did the alterations the way I wanted."

"I was very careful about that, Mrs Backscue. I did search the catalogues, but nobody seems to make an extra firm control corselette in this cup size which doesn't have a high neckline. I don't know whether Miss Mary would approve of me cutting away at the cups like this to give that plunge effect, but I think I've given you the style you wanted."

"It looks good," Poppy agreed, admiring the deep neckline of the otherwise rather matronly flesh-coloured corselette. "I don't like being so covered up. It's silly the way that the biggest women, the ones with the most to show off, end up in full-cup bras and it's all hidden. This is much better. Right! Let's try it on."

It was a good thing Mrs Fea had had the sense to request Pilár's help at the start: she would never have managed it on her own. She had seen Poppy putting on a girdle before, though, and knew that four hands were better than two. Getting stuck halfway and calling for help embarrassed the customer and made her feel fat: it was much better to start off with two people and pretend it was the usual thing. Most women who wore girdles and corselettes, of course, managed to get into them without any help at all, but then most women weren't Poppy Backscue.

Poppy stood with her hands on her hips, staring into space and trying to look as if she didn't know how much force her assistant and draper were putting into hauling her underwear up her widening thighs and over her hips. The corselette had a single zip down the front, and it didn't give quite as much room for Poppy's mighty posterior curves as the side zip of the girdle had. Still, with a great deal of struggling and twisting and pulling they did manage to set it in position, and Poppy was able to put her arms through the straps.

"Breathe in, hold it, and pull in your tummy, please," Mrs Fea said, with the air of one repeating a phrase that had become second nature. Poppy did as she was told, and the gap between the two sides of the open zip reduced from being impossible to merely disheartening. Mrs Fea stood behind her client and wrapped a pair of strong arms around her waist, crushing it inward, while Pilár yanked on the zip with both hands. It took a long time, and all three were very red in the face by the time the zip reached the top, but at least they managed it without trapping any tender bits of flesh in the teeth of the zip. That could be very embarrassing.

"You may breathe again, Mrs Backscue," said Mrs Fea, coming back round to the front. As Poppy began panting to make up for the air she had missed, the draper turned her round so that she could see her reflection in the long mirror. "Do you like it?"

"I love it!" Poppy gasped. "That's just the effect I wanted. Look!"

She pointed to her neckline, now dramatically exposed after Mrs Fea's alterations. As the zip was forced upwards it had forced ahead of it all the fat and flesh for which there was no room inside the strict corselette, and the only place available for it to expand was into the cups at the top. Poppy's own bust sat on top of all this, and there was barely room for it. She swelled out of the top of the corselette like a wave perpetually on the verge of breaking. The way it heaved up and down showed that the corselette was so tight it was hard for her to breathe, but that just made it even more impressive. She raised her hands to point at it, and a ripple ran through the undulating sea of bosom that took several seconds to die out. She watched it smiling until it faded beneath the constant surging and sinking of her struggle to breathe, then turned back.

"It's just right," she said. "I hope the dress is as good. Has she been over here for the measurements?"

"Oh, yes. She took them in every detail. I put it on a tailor's dummy, so that she had a proper impression of it as it would be worn, and she fitted the dress to that."

"Good. 'Cause I need this for my new outfit-I want the dress to fit nice and tight over my new figure, so I asked her to make it to the corselette's measurements. Otherwise I'd have had to wait till today for her to measure me, and then God knows how long again until the dress would be finished...this way I can be sure of what size I'll be in advance, as it's a good firm corselette. It is a good firm corselette, isn't it?"

"The firmest they sell."

Poppy looked back at her reflection and nodded. "Yes. Look how slim I am now!"

"Slim" wasn't exactly the word: the awesome curves of hip, bust and bottom still dominated the view from every angle. Still, she was slimmer than she had been with the mere bra and girdle to control her overenthusiastic figure, and for that Pilár and Mrs Fea were prepared to make the right noises of agreement. Poppy was satisfied: that was what mattered.

"Fine!" she said at last, when she had admired her newly corseted figure in every respect. "Pilár, help me dress and we can go on to the dressmaker."

"Would you like to sit down, Mrs Backscue, so I can help you with your stockings and shoes?"

"Oh! No...I don't think I want to sit down just yet. Let's wait until I've, uh, broken it in a little, eh?"

She walked over to lean on a cabinet whose well-polished glass shelves groaned with the weight of twee china bric-a-brac, holding onto it two-handed for balance while she stood on one leg for Pilar to ease the black stockings up her plump legs, taking due care to make sure the seams were absolutely straight as ordered, and then to strap her fat little feet back into the demanding sandals. Once Poppy was sure she had reacquainted herself with the art of balancing on a pair of five-inch spikes she gave Pilár permission to fetch her skirt. Mrs Fea watched in well-disguised amazement the labour of forcing it back up Poppy's legs, across her widening thighs, and finally over her larger-than-life hips and bottom before at last it could be secured round her waist. She had a lot of experience forcing customers' recalcitrant hips into too-tight girdles, but she had rarely met a girdle as tight and as difficult to manage as Poppy's suit skirt was. She knew better than to say anything, but when Poppy said artlessly "Pilár, isn't it good? It's so much easier to get into this skirt than it was this morning!" Mrs Fea forgot herself and muttered 

"What in God's name must this morning have been like?"

"Did you say something, Mrs Fea?" Poppy asked brightly.

"No, I was just clearing my throat."

"Oh, good! 'Cause we need to concentrate, you know."

The skirt was now nearly done. With a series of most unladylike jerks Pilár finally managed to close the hook about Poppy's well-corseted waist, and then forced the side zip up as best she could. 

"It doesn't matter if it doesn't quite go to the top, Pilár," 

Poppy reassured her, "my jacket covers that. Anyway, I'm only wearing it until I change into the new dress."

"If I'd known," Pilár said between gritted teeth, "I would have brought the pliers-"

"Shut up!" Poppy hissed, then looked at Mrs Fea with a nervous smile. "Foreigners do say some funny things, don't they? She says 'pliers' when she means 'brush'. She thinks there's some fluff on my skirt that needs brushing off. Nonsense, Pilár, it's perfectly all right." She brushed affectedly at the straining fabric over her hip. "Are you finished now?"

"I can't get it up any further."

"That'll do. Let me see my reflection again." Poppy did a half-turn in front of the long mirror, maintaining eye contact with herself, something she obviously enjoyed. "Gosh, I'm so much slimmer! Look, this skirt's really loose on me now!" 

Loose was not the word Mrs Fea would have used, but it was certainly looser: it was merely far too tight, but didn't actually look about to burst any more. She kept her counsel, though, while Pilár fetched the beautifully tailored little jacket and buttoned it up from the bottom. Around the waist it was less strained, but at the bust much more so: to fasten the top button Pilár had to force the two sides together with all the strength of her arms before she was at last able to pry the button through the buttonhole. She let go carefully and made sure she wasn't standing in front of Poppy, as if afraid the button was about to pop off. It looked ready enough to do that, but it held.

Poppy was pleased with the effect. "Wow," she said, "don't I look great! Look at that cleavage!" She pointed to the empty neckline of the suit, now filled with a deep and shadowy pass between two smoothly curving mountains of flesh. "That's so much better! Thank you!" She took one last look at herself, then regretfully turned from the mirror and wiggled precariously towards the door. "Come on, Pilár. Bring Topsy with you."

Mrs Fea cleared her through. "If I might remind you...?"

"What?"

"I think, Mrs Backscue," Pilár said respectfully, "she wants to be paid."

"Oh, yes, of course! How much?"

Mrs Fea produced a handwritten bill with the skill of an accomplished amateur magician, and handed it to Poppy. She peered at it for a while, held it closer to her face as if short-sighted, and her lips moved a little before her face cleared. "Oh, that's fine. I'm so pleased, I think I'll give you a bit more. Pilár, have you got the cheque-book?"

"Yes, Mrs Backscue." Pilár handed over a cheque-book bound in what looked like, and indeed was, hand-tooled Morocco leather, and an onyx fountain-pen. Poppy cast about for something to lean on:

"My writing-table is just there, Mrs Backscue."

"Oh, no, thanks. I don't want to sit down until I've broken the corselette in a bit, you see. I need something I can write on standing up...this'll do."

"This" was the cabinet of bric-a-brac she had leant against while Pilár was helping her with her stockings and shoes. Poppy rather hesitantly pushed the knick-knacks on the top aside to clear enough room for the cheque-book, then opened it and cautiously bent over. The too-tight skirt tautened still further, the firm panels of the corselette and the sturdy suspenders beneath showing through the straining fabric, making it quite clear how she was able to fit into it. It didn't give the impression Poppy wanted, but as Pilár and Mrs Fea looked at each other, the same thought occurred to them both: if she didn't know about it, it wouldn't worry her. As for Poppy, once she was sure that her corselette wasn't going to burst from the extra strain of bending twenty degrees forward, and wasn't going to suffocate her, she began writing-or trying to. After some time alternately shaking the fountain-pen and scribbling with it to no effect, she burst out "Oh, this silly thing! I wish Jonathan didn't make me use it. I know it looks refined, but it doesn't write! Pilár, have you got a biro?"

Pilár silently produced a blue ballpoint from her mistress' handbag and passed it over. Poppy wrote rapidly and then signed her name with a flourish so vigorous that it knocked a little ceramic owl onto the floor, where it broke. Pilár darted forward to pick up the pieces. "Mrs Fea," she exclaimed, "we're terribly sorry-"

"Don't worry," Poppy said breezily, tearing the cheque out, "the cheque will cover that." She wiggled over to the draper, once again monarch of all she surveyed, and handed it over.

Mrs Fea looked at the cheque, gasped, looked again, and said "Yes. Yes, it will!"

Poppy beamed: she had been reminded again of her superior social position. "I'm so glad. Pilár, bring Topsy with you, and let's go on to the dressmaker." She left as if she would like to stride out commandingly, but it wasn't possible in that skirt and those shoes: she had to settle for a commanding teeter.

Pilár picked up the overweight Peke from where it had been lying torpid on the floor throughout, and followed her. Mrs Fea stopped her at the door, saying "What about the bra and girdle?"

"Please keep them here," Pilár replied. "We can't carry them about in the street. I'll collect them later."

"Come on, Pilár!" Poppy shouted from the landing. "I want you to go down first, and I want Topsy."