Old Money, New Hair

Charlotte was a hardworking consultant at a prestigious firm in the city in her mid-twenties. After a humble upbringing, she went on to study hard at college where she gained excellent qualifications. She had been employed for the past five years and had gained a senior position more quickly than most people. Her colleagues admired her for her intelligence and dedication to her work. She was also known for her signature tight bun and formal dark skirt suits that she wore every day to work, maintaining a smart and professional appearance which she considered essential to her role.

However, at weekends, Charlotte’s appearance was completely different. She let her hair down, quite literally, and dressed in a far more casual and relaxed way.

Charlotte often enjoyed a sandwich lunch in the park, away from the hustle and bustle of the office. She would then treat herself to a cup of coffee before heading back to work.

During her lunch breaks, Charlotte often noticed a handsome and smartly dressed man strolling past her. Her male colleagues had adopted “smart casual” attire in the office which often led to them appearing scruffy in her eyes. Charlotte always liked to dress smartly for work, and she admired men who adhered to the same standards.

The man in the park was different to her work colleagues. He always wore an immaculate tailored suit, crisp white shirt, and smart tie. His hair was noticeably short and combed flat with a precise parting. For someone who was a similar age to herself, he had a more traditional air about him that made him look far more mature. For better or worse, he radiated the comforting aura of Old Money. She could not help being impressed by his neat and tidy appearance, and she got a very warm feeling each time she saw him.

= * = * =

Charlotte and the mysterious handsome man would often exchange smiles. But they never spoke to each other until one day a shadow passed over the park bench where was sitting. ‘May I buy you a coffee?’ a male voice asked while Charlotte was nibbling on her sandwich.

Charlotte looked up, delighted to see the same handsome man she had noticed so often in the past. ‘Thank you,’ she replied with a smile.

The man returned soon after with two steaming cups of coffee. I am Simon,’ he said, and they started chatting. Charlotte spoke of her work which she dismissed as boring, but Simon listened attentively and occasionally interjected with perceptive questions. Simon said he was proud to hold a position in his family’s long-established small firm in the city, although he was reluctant to give any details. They very much enjoyed each other’s company and found they shared common interests including art and music.

After two weeks, Charlotte found herself becoming increasingly enamoured with Simon. Unusually for Charlotte, she allowed her meandering thoughts and growing excitement about their forthcoming meetings to distract her from her work during the mornings. In the afternoons, she recalled how enjoyable their meetings had been.

Being a modern woman, Charlotte considered asking Simon out on a date. Given how well they got on, she was surprised that he had yet to ask her. However, he presented an aura of traditional values, and she assumed that if she took the initiative then her actions might offend Simon.

= * = * =

After two weeks, Charlotte decided to turn the heat up a little. Before leaving the office for lunch in the park, she let her long black hair down from its usual tight bun. It arced upwards from her crown in an elegant ponytail, snaked around her neck, flowed down over her chest, and finally reached her waist. She thought that softening her formal appearance, would make her look more attractive to Simon.

Following their established routine, Simon bought their coffees from a kiosk. He then strolled over to their usual bench where he greeted Charlotte. She looked up warmly, absently playing with her loose hair. As he looked down, Simon appeared shocked by something and nearly dropped the drinks he was carrying. Charlotte looked around but saw nothing untoward nearby.

‘Oh!’ he exclaimed glumly, looking oddly irritated, and sounding strangely disappointed. ‘You have long hair.’

Charlotte could not help but feel a twinge of disappointment at his reaction, given she had worn her hair down in the expectation of pleasing him. Everyone had always complimented her on her long hair when she wore it loose. She accepted the praise gratefully, and she always expected it. So, Simon’s reaction was as surprising as it was disappointing.

‘Yes, Simon. I only wear it up in a bun for work. You know, to maintain a professional appearance,’ Charlotte explained, slightly irritated. ‘The rest of the time I like to be free,’ she said merrily, lifting her ponytail up provocatively, attempting to warm the strange and unexpected frostiness that had suddenly crept up on them.

‘Oh, right … I see,’ Simon said dismissively, before quickly changing the subject. He had suddenly appeared happier and more animated, as if he had mentally devised a solution to whatever had been troubling him. They continued chatting jovially as if nothing had happened.

As they were about to part, Simon suddenly became serious. ‘Charlotte, would you like to join me on Sunday?’

‘A date?’ she squeaked excitedly, like a schoolgirl, mentally kicking herself for acting so foolishly.

‘Yes, that’s right, a date,’ he confirmed. Charlotte nodded eagerly. ‘We will meet for afternoon tea at my home in the country. I will send a car to fetch you.’

Charlotte found it a peculiar arrangement for a first date. But, given her growing infatuation, she readily agreed. She felt the opportunity for the two of them to spend more time together outside their usual routine was too good to turn down.

= * = * =

The prestige chauffeured car was outside her flat at the appointed time and whisked her away in comfort. Having left the city, it was a pleasant drive through tree-lined country lanes before turning into a long curving drive bordered by well-maintained verdant lawns. At the end of the drive, a modest country house proudly stood in the middle of an estate that clamoured Old Money. Modest it might be, thought Charlotte, but it looked far too large and fancy for a single man.

Charlotte thanked the chauffeur as he held the car door open for her, and she approached the porch. The large wooden door opened to reveal an elegantly dressed older woman with a stern countenance. After the experience with the chauffeured car, Charlotte assumed the woman might be the housekeeper. Charlotte smiled as she approached the doorway and was about to utter a greeting.

‘Trousers?’ the woman bizarrely queried, by way of a welcome.

Charlotte stifled her own greeting, dumbfounded.

The woman proceeded to thoroughly inspect Charlotte’s appearance, looking her up and down twice, before sniffing disapprovingly. ‘Oh well,’ she sighed. ‘I’m Mrs Pierce,’ she snapped. ‘Simon’s mother,’ she added curtly, while holding out a hand.

‘Delighted to meet you, Mrs Pierce. I am Charlotte,’ she replied, putting out her own hand to shake that of Mrs Pierce as she stepped through the doorway.

‘No, no, no!’ the older woman exclaimed, shaking her head vehemently. ‘Your coat … er, garment.’

Charlotte shrugged off her fashionably worn denim jacket and handed it to Mrs Pierce. The woman held it between the tips of forefinger and thumb, as if contaminated, graphically demonstrating that such apparel should have no place in the house. To emphasise her point, she promptly hid it away in a cupboard and slammed the door closed.

Before the car had arrived for Charlotte, she had changed outfits four times, ending up with the one she had initially selected. She thought the tailored white trousers paired with an elegant, but sexy, pink lace top went well together. The denim jacket, meanwhile, gave a dash of country casualness for the weekend, but she held her tongue.

Charlotte was waiting for a caustic comment about the expensive top that she had discovered the day before after four hours traipsing around the fashion stores. Still, she had dressed to impress Simon and not his mother, and she was confident he would appreciate her efforts, when he finally appeared. Where was he, she wondered.

‘Simon said you had long hair,’ Mrs. Pierce remarked.

At last, a compliment, Charlotte thought although she was confused by her scowling as she said it. She had decided to wear her hair loose today. Abundant waves of glossy black hair tumbled around her shoulders and cascaded like a waterfall down her back.

‘Thank you, Mrs Pierce,’ Charlotte replied, politely accepting the compliment, and happy that the awful woman found no fault with her pink top.

Simon’s mother looked intently at Charlotte with her piercing eyes. It was if she was looking for any suggestion of mockery from her visitor.

‘I must say that blouse is rather too revealing,’ Mrs Pierce sniffed, before spinning around and marching down the long hall that led away from the door.

Must you say that, thought Charlotte angrily, although she now wished she had worn one of her plain office skirt suits with a crisp white shirt to avoid the constant complaints.

She wondered where Simon could have got to and, equally importantly, when the despicable woman would be leaving them alone.

‘Follow me,’ Mrs Pierce ordered. ‘Come on, girl, keep up. We have a small matter we must address in the lounge before tea.’

Never having referred to as “girl” before – not even when she was one – Charlotte gave a long, loud sigh, before trailing the older woman obediently.

= * = * =

Charlotte, by now feeling nervous, stepped into the large lounge. The room shouted Old Money grandeur with its dark wood panelling, antique furniture, and oil paintings on the wall. Fortunately, elaborate chandeliers hung down from the ceiling at regular intervals to illuminate the large space. However, compared to the bright area where Charlotte had entered, it was noticeably darker at the opposite end of the lounge, and that masked what might be down at the far end. While the lounge was large, it had a cluttered feel that suggested someone had moved furniture to create more space.

Standing in the centre of the cleared and better lit area of the lounge, Charlotte was delighted to see Simon waiting for her. As good looking as ever, he was standing to attention behind a substantial wooden dining chair. Next to that stood a small occasional table. Annoyingly, Simon’s mother was next to him, busying herself with items she had laid out on the table.

‘Good afternoon, Charlotte,’ Simon grinned, his broad smile warming her heart.

As usual, her boyfriend looked incredibly handsome. However, Charlotte was surprised to see him wearing a suit, with a collar and tie, on a Sunday in his own home. It seemed overly formal for what she had expected to be a relaxed and casual first date. His only concession to the weekend appeared to be wearing a grey suit of a slightly lighter hue. He had paired his usual crisp white shirt with a boring striped tie that only added a degree of colour to his attire.

‘Hi, Simon,’ she replied, trying to sound casual although, in the proximity of his odious mother, she was finding that difficult.

‘Good afternoon, Charlotte!’ A chorus of male and female voices chorused from the other end of the lounge, making her jump.

While, she had been highly delighted to finally see Simon, Charlotte was less pleased to see a party of men, women and children observing curiously her from an assortment of chairs and sofas lining the walls at the darker end of the lounge.

‘What the …?’ Charlotte uttered, looking beseechingly towards Simon for an explanation.

Simon was quick to notice the questioning intonation in Charlotte’s voice. ‘This is my family, Charlotte,’ he explained, waving a hand expansively in their general direction. He said it matter-of-factly, suggesting he considered their presence as nothing untoward. ‘There’s rather a lot of them,’ he tittered strangely in a way he never had before, ‘so I’ll introduce you properly over tea.’

Charlotte surveyed the motley assortment of people, covering a variety of ages. But she could not find the will to acknowledge the occasional friendly welcoming wave of a hand.

‘Please sit, Charlotte,’ Simon gestured to the chair in front of him. ‘As mother now needs to cut your hair,’ he added, a hint of malice in his tone.

Charlotte’s heart dropped to her stomach. She laughed nervously, assuming it was part of an elaborate joke that Old Money people felt entitled to play on others less fortunate. Even though she was smitten with Simon, Charlotte found his tone chilling.

Charlotte simply could not believe what she was hearing. ‘Cut my hair?’ she echoed, her voice shaking.

‘The men in our family prefer their women to have short hair,’ Mrs Pierce explained, as if that was ample justification for what she proposed. ‘It looks so much better and is far more practical. So, just sit down, girl.’

From the other end of the lounge, Charlotte heard ‘quite so’ and ‘hear, hear’ and other similar affirmations from Simon’s family at the other end of the lounge, but all her attention was fully on Simon himself.

Charlotte tried to reason with Simon from different angles but, with his charming smile, he repeatedly disarmed her by insisting that she should do as his mother asked.

‘It … it is …’ Charlotte blustered, unable to articulate a response to the ridiculous situation. Throughout it all, annoyingly, she was unable to dismiss the thought that she found him extremely good looking.

‘Yes, it is simple. Simon prefers – like my husband, and all the other men in our family – shorter hair on a woman. It is important for his partner to appear attractive to him,’ Mrs Pierce explained matter-of-factly. ‘So, I must cut your hair.’

Charlotte was in shock. She could not believe that Simon would have such a shallow and controlling mother. She looked over at Simon, hoping to see signs of disagreement or protest, but he just stood there with a smirk on his face. Charlotte decided to go on the attack and assert herself.

‘I had long hair when we met,’ Charlotte retorted, just managing to keep her temper under control. Tugging at her gorgeous long waves, she added, unsmiling, ‘I didn’t grow all this overnight, did I?’

‘Perhaps, but you had it all tied up in one those, er … uppity things,’ Simon whined. ‘I didn’t know how long it was, did I?’ he continued, holding up both hands to claim his innocence.

‘You could have asked how long my hair was,’ Charlotte strongly countered, realising as she said it just how bizarre that sounded.

‘Yes, but I liked you straight away, and it looked so small – that uppity thing – so I convinced myself that your hair wasn’t too long,’ he tittered irritatingly. ‘I mean, if it was only down to your shoulders when it was undone … well, it might not have been too long …’

Simon shrugged. His eyes surveyed the other end of the room, as if seeking out guidance. His gaze fell on a gruff looking gentleman about the same age as Mrs Pierce. He was sitting in the most comfortable-looking armchair. His father, Charlotte assumed correctly, as she took in his identical style of dress. Contradicting Simon’s assertion, Mr Pierce gloomily shook his head slowly three times.

The room fell silent, and no one was moving. It was like a freeze-frame on a movie. Charlotte felt compelled to say something. ‘This may be a lot of hair that you can see,’ she waved a section angrily, ‘but I can wind it tightly into an exceptionally small uppity thing, er … I mean, a bun … anytime you like. I do it every day for work. I can do it for you now, Simon, if you like,’ she implored, still wishing to make him happy despite the treatment she was receiving from his family.

Simon shrugged and looked again to his father for advice. Again, Mr Pierce shook his head.

‘Please sit, Charlotte,’ Simon’s mother insisted. ‘I’m not used to repeating myself,’ she admonished, clicking together the blades of a menacingly large pair of scissors.

As Charlotte tried to gather her thoughts and decide what to do next, Simon stepped forward and took her by the arm. She took the back of his hand in hers, believing his move was meant as a comforting gesture. To her horror, she found he was forcefully steering her towards the large wooden chair.

Charlotte was about to tug her arm free. But she paused when she observed Simon signalling with his free hand to someone at the back of the lounge. Out of the crowd appeared two women. Although they may have been younger than Charlotte, they were still adults. However, given their appearance and behaviour, anyone could easily mistake them for children.

Both women wore an identical short black long-sleeved dress, primly buttoned up to the neck. Thick black tights and black shoes completed their outfits. They each wore their hair in a severe short bob, shaved on the neck and around the ears. A style sometimes referred to as a bowlcut.

The two women skipped down the lounge towards Charlotte, both giggling. Without anyone asking, they each grabbed one of Charlotte’s arms. They pulled her backwards, against the seat of the chair, so she had no choice but to sit down. They did not let go of her arms, holding Charlotte firmly in place.

‘My sisters,’ Simon calmly said, by way of the oddest of introductions, ‘Olivia and Portia.’

The women restraining Charlotte giggled in greeting.

Simon then moved behind the chair, away from of Charlotte’s view. He eased her by the shoulders to the rear of the chair until she sat firmly and squarely against the backrest.

Then, frighteningly, Simon’s mother drew closer to Charlotte with her large scissors and, experimentally and meaningfully, she clicked the blades together three times.

‘Now, please be sensible, girl,’ Mrs Pierce chided, ‘this won’t take long, and then we can all have tea.’

‘Hear, hear,’ called out her husband. ‘Smoked salmon sandwiches, I hope, dear,’ and his wife nodded with an indulgent smile.

With Charlotte now held firmly, Mrs Pierce grasped a large section of Charlotte’s hair with her fist. She pulled it taut and encircled the glossy locks with the blades of her scissors. She closed the blades with a loud crunching sound that, from their expressions, gave her and her daughters great satisfaction.

‘Nooooo,’ Charlotte wailed.

‘Yessssss,’ Olivia and Portia chorused jovially.

Mrs Pierce unceremoniously dropped the hair she had chopped off into Charlotte’s lap, its inky blackness contrasting vividly with her white trousers. Promptly grabbing a second chunk of hair, Simon’s mother dispatched it in the same way. With increased, almost manic, fervour Mrs Pierce tugged on section after section of hair from around Charlotte’s head. Snipping off each chunk off, she deposited it on top of the growing mound of hair in Charlotte’s lap. With a theatrical flourish and a satisfied grin, Mrs Pierce sliced off the final piece of long hair from the back of Charlotte’s head.

‘There!’ Mrs Pierce said triumphantly, dropping the final lock on top of all the rest. ‘And, I must say, looking much better already.’

Moving back in front of her, Charlotte saw Simon nodding in agreement. ‘Yes, much better already,’ he echoed, leaning over her, and lifting the massive pile of hair from her lap.

Charlotte rewarded Simon with a malevolent sneer, and Simon backed away. He marched to the corner of the lounge and he, showing no emotion whatsoever, he dropped the huge pile of hair into a large rubbish bin.

‘Good riddance,’ Mr Pierce chortled from his armchair.

Simon rubbed his hands together vigorously. It was unclear whether Simon’s action was to remove any of his girlfriend’s cut hair had attached itself to him, or to distance himself from any responsibility for what had occurred to Charlotte. Simon moved away to the doorway so he would have a better view of the next stage of the proceedings.

Olivia had taken a haircutting cape from the table next to the chair and secured it tightly around Charlotte’s neck. With Portia’s help, they diligently checked that they had completely enveloped their brother’s new girlfriend with the cape neatly touching the floor.

For those observing, the only part of Charlotte that remained visible was her small and delicate head. Upon that lovely head, sadly, was a shock of short and unevenly cut hair. Not one strand came close to reaching the top of her ears.

While the daughters were preparing Charlotte, Mrs Pierce had put down her scissors and she had selected large cordless hairclippers from the nearby table. She removed the plastic guard, leaving the shining blade exposed so they would be capable of inflicting maximum devastation to whatever hair they touched.

Simon’s mother applied pressure to force Charlotte’s unwilling head down towards her chest. She nodded in the direction of Olivia who immediately jumped forward to clamp Charlotte’s head in place and leave it unable to move.

Turning on the hairclippers, Mrs Pierce, without ceremony, drove the shining blade forcefully through what remained of Charlotte’s hair on the back of her head. She stopped when she reached the swan-like curve at the back and brushed away the loose snippets that she had severed. With great care, Mrs Pierce inspected the smoothness of the skin left behind by the clippers and nodded her silent approval.

Mrs Pierce continued by shaving all the hair covering Charlotte’s neck, creating a sharp perimeter high up the back of her head. She indicated that Olivia should release Charlotte’s head. Simon’s mother then pushed her head to the left before shaving all the hair around her right ear. She then tugged her head over to the other side where she used the clippers to expose the left ear.

Simon’s mother precisely levelled the line of hair around Charlotte’s head, before combing down the final strands of longer hair over her forehead. Standing in front of his son’s girlfriend, his grinning mother stared straight into Charlotte’s eyes and used the hairclippers to fashion a blunt fringe high up on her forehead.

All that remained of Charlotte’s abundant locks was a neat and shiny cap of black hair on her crown. Ever the perfectionist, Mrs Pierce ran the extremely sharp blade of the hairclippers back and forth over the closely buzzed expanse. She took all the time she needed to erase the faint bristly shadow, leaving behind pristine white skin.

Mrs Pierce turned off the hairclippers and silence fell across the room, only punctuated by the occasional snivel from Charlotte. Portia errant clippings from Charlotte’s face and neck, before running her fingers over the freshly bared skin. ‘Smooth as a baby’s bottom,’ she giggled, and her Olivia shared her merriment. Mrs Pierce gave them both an admonishing look but laced it with a smile.

‘That’s what you say after you shave us,’ Olivia pouted indignantly, and Mrs Pierce nodded her head, conceding the point with an indulgent smile.

As Olivia whisked away the cape, a dazed and confused Charlotte looked around her. ‘What have you done?’ she murmured, observing all the clippered hair surrounding the chair.

‘Oh, I’m terribly sorry,’ Mrs Pierce chortled, ‘I had quite forgotten that you haven’t seen your new bowlcut yet.’

‘B… b… b… bowlcut,’ Charlotte bleated.

Portia grabbed a small mirror from the table and waved it eagerly in front of Charlotte who stared disbelievingly at her drastic transformation. She cleared her throat to speak, but no words came out. Just a deep, animal-like, wailing.

‘Simon’s girlfriend looks just like us now,’ Olivia and Portia joyfully chorused.

Charlotte watched Simon’s two sisters skip to the end of the lounge. Their ridiculously short bowlcuts flapped up and down, revealing the broad extent of their shaved scalp. As Charlotte contemplated their words, she realised her hair would bounce in the same as theirs, causing her to start sobbing once more.

= * = * =

After a brief period of reflection by all, there was a shuffling movement at the far end of the lounge. Simon’s father rose from his armchair and marched towards Charlotte. The resemblance to his son was uncanny. Older and greyer for sure, but the sharply tailored suit and subdued tie were just the same.

‘Excellent work, my dear,’ Mr Pierce said approvingly to his wife as he thoroughly inspected Charlotte’s hair. ‘Come on, girl, on your feet. Let me get a good look at you.’

Charlotte reluctantly dragged herself out of the chair, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and stood to attention.

‘You’ve done well, son,’ Mr Pierce said, nodding his approval. ‘I hope this one work works out for you, Simon. What is she? Number eleven, is it?’

‘Twelve, father,’ Simon corrected, grinning awkwardly.

‘Twelve, eh,’ Mr Pierce nodded thoughtfully, circling Charlotte as if she was a prize exhibit. ‘Well, it must be said, she wears that look better than most, that’s for sure.’

‘Thank you, father,’ Simon beamed, relishing his father’s praise.

‘And well done to you too, girl,’ Mr Pierce added, tapping Charlotte lightly on her shoulder, ‘and I do recommend the smoked salmon sandwiches when we go through. They are quite delicious.’

The situation had emotionally wrecked Charlotte and she was unable to formulate any sort of meaningful riposte, not even a nod or shake of the head. The only thought in her mind was that she was number twelve. Charlotte wondered how those before her had extricated themselves from the unbelievably horrific situation she found herself in.

The rest of the family began to file out from the lounge. As they passed Charlotte, each carefully examined her hair, always nodding their unqualified approval. Olivia and Portia skipped past last of all, giggling conspiratorially, flicking the cap of hair on Charlotte’s head that looked so much like their own. ‘Come on, silly, there’s lovely fancy cakes too.’

Finally, only Simon and his mother remained in the lounge with Charlotte. ‘That’s certainly a great improvement, Charlotte!’ her boyfriend smirked in satisfaction. Continuing, he added, ‘thank you, mother. Now, let us all enjoy our tea.’

= * = * =

Feeling humiliated and violated, Charlotte sat quietly at a large table in the huge dining room. She had accepted a cup of tea, but it had turned cold. All around her was the buzz of the family chatting to each other as if nothing unusual had occurred. And, for them, it may well have been normal.

Absently, Charlotte speculated if the family regularly held haircut nights in the lounge when each women had their hair savagely clippered, while the men cheered them on. The crazy thought was enough for a tired humourless laugh to escape Charlotte’s trembling lips.

‘Ah, cheered up a bit now have you, Charlotte,’ Simon cheerily said, misinterpreting his girlfriend’s utterance.

‘That’s the spirit, girl,’ Simon’s father yelled across the table, as he popped yet another delicate and crustless smoked salmon sandwich into his mouth.

Across the table, Simon introduced Charlotte to each member of his family in turn. She acknowledged each one with a nod, but no words. However, she realised what Simon and his mother had said earlier was completely true. The women and girls may have slight variations to their hairstyles, but none had hair over their collars and most had their hairline freshly shaved. Charlotte had finally grasped that their appearance represented an Old Money template for what those people deemed acceptable, and that a long tradition had ingrained the pattern in them for generations.

The family continued to consume delicate sandwiches and nibble dainty cakes. They sipped expensive tea from antique porcelain cups. Charlotte simply observed. Simon, sitting next to her, did his best to engage her in conversation, but she felt unable and unwilling to respond.

In her mind, Charlotte kept reliving the unbelievable horrors that had occurred since she arrived. With no other option available, she finally made an excuse to leave and ran from the dining room. She stormed down the hall and grabbed her denim jacket from the cupboard and made her way to the front door.

Charlotte paused for a moment, unsure of what else she could do. She looked back at Simon, who was now standing in the doorway of the lounge, looking slightly bemused and mildly apologetic. She knew that he genuinely liked her, but she could not stand to be with someone who would collaborate with his mother and the rest of his family to dictate their relationship.

= * = * =

Once Charlotte was outside Simon’s family home, she let out a long heartfelt sigh. Standing in the sunshine, a sense of normality began to permeate through her and helped clear her mind.

With great relief, Charlotte noted that the family’s chauffeur was holding the car door open for her. Expressionless and mostly silent on the drive out, he raised an eyebrow when his gaze rested on her hair. An almost imperceptible shake of his head suggested that he had seen it all before. Eleven more times, if Simon’s arithmetic skills were accurate.

Charlotte stepped inside the prestige car and the chauffeur confirmed that he would be pleased to take her home, having received no instructions to the contrary from his employers.

On the drive back into the city, Charlotte could not shake off the feeling of betrayal and anger. She felt like Simon and his family had tricked her and manipulated her, symbolising the selfish and uncaring entitlement of Old Money. She thought back to all those times she had exchanged a smile and a joke with Simon, only for him to have been planning this cruel and humiliating first date all along.

= * = * =

After a restless night, Charlotte vowed to never see Simon or his family again.

At regular intervals until dawn, Charlotte had creative ideas about how she might style her ridiculously short hair to soften its appearance. Anything she tried to do to lessen its harshness, looked absurd. If she spiked it up, she looked like a punk, and if she greased it down, she appeared ready to join the army. Whatever she did, her hair still looked stark and severe. Her inexperience styling short hair was telling. Charlotte ruefully contemplated that she would have time to gain experience of managing short hair. Indeed, all the time she needed, while her hair slowly grew back to its former length in the years to come.

On Monday morning, she returned to work with her cap of black hair looking as glossy and full as she could make it. She could do nothing about the white skin on the back and sides. However, paired with one of her dark skirt suits, she chose a scarlet silk shirt to boldly contrast with her white skin. A more usual white blouse would have blended into the whiteness of her bare skin, giving the impression of an impossibly long swan-like neck. Even if her appearance was now very severe, there was no argument that it evoked professionalism.

Charlotte received gushing compliments for her drastically altered appearance but doubted that they were all sincere. She became aware of guarded and concerned glances between her colleagues, sharing their doubts over her mental health. She even overheard a discussion listing reasons why she may have chopped off her beautiful long hair. But Charlotte, embarrassed by her own gullibility, kept the reason to herself.

From that day on, Charlotte became more guarded and cautious of the people she allowed into her life. She realised that appearances could be deceiving, and she never wanted to fall for someone spurred on by Old Money again. With New Hair, she continued to excel in her career and found happiness in her continued independence.

And she never ate her sandwich lunch in the park again.