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- Oh!
- Watch it!

What's it to be, Eddie?

Good news or bad?

Oh!

Oh.

- Morning, Chandler.
- Good morning, Mrs. Harris.

- How are you?
- It's my lucky day today.

Same as every day.

Thank you.

All right.

Why's no one took that seat?

Maybe I saving it for you.

Shove over, then.

You won't believe this, Vi.

The strangest thing's
just happened.

I reckon it's a sign.

Ada Harris, why
that man of yours

can't use the post
like everybody else?

Not much of a writer, my Eddie.

Ooh! So cold.

- Anyone coming?
- No.

- No?
- All clear.

Oh, morning, Mr. Newcombe.

Up bright and early.

Duty calls, Mrs. Harris.

Uh, my niece, Portia.

Oh, delighted, I'm sure.

- Morning.
- Morning.

Ooh-ooh, Miss Penrose.

Bombs away.

Aren't you awfully early?

It's gone half past 1:00, dear.

No.

Christ, my bloody audition.

Oh, I haven't a thing to wear.

Oh, you look lovely
in anything, dear.

There.

What about this?

Oh, what have you done
with my... script?

Oh, hang on, hang on. Hang on.

Oh, for God's sake.

There. Good luck, sweetheart.

Thanks, darling.

You're an angel.

What would I do without you?

Let's enjoy ourselves!

♪ Deep down in Louisiana
close to New Orleans... ♪

Well, if it isn't
the marvelous Mrs. H

and her trusty sidekick.

What can I get you, ladies?
It's been a lucky week.

- Oh.
- Two port and lemon.

Every week's lucky if
you're the bookmaker.

You're not wrong there, love.

Two port and lemon, please.

Course, now I've got your
company, I'm in clover.

You think you get our company
for one drink, Mr. Archie?

Now, these two are a
proper judge of character.

They like you, Ada Harris.

Why they stick with you,
if they're so smart?

Why do you stick with
her, her so crabby?

Met her me first
shift building planes.

Never had a better friend.

Trouble with this one, she
always speak the truth.

Can't help herself.

That is a terrible affliction.

All right, behave
yourself, ladies.

I'll be watching you.

War's been over a long time.

Your Eddie's never coming back.

Go on.

Yeah.

♪ I got a gal, she
looks just fine ♪

♪ Always bring me
whiskey and wine ♪

♪ Breakfast in the morning
and dinner at night ♪

♪ Everything she do,
she do just right ♪

♪ And when I say,
"What you wanna do?" ♪

♪ She said, "There's just one
thing that I want from you" ♪

♪ A little bit of rock,
a little bit of roll ♪

♪ A little bit of rock ♪

♪ Ooh, a little bit of roll... ♪

"Dear Mrs. Harris,

"Please find enclosed
the personal effects

"of Sergeant Edward Harris,

"recovered from a crash
site near Warsaw, Poland.

"As a result of this discovery,

"Sergeant Harris
is now posted...

"killed in action,

"2 March 1944.

"Please await
further communication

from RAF Central
Administration."

Oh, Ada.

I'm so sorry.

I-I should've known he...

He would've got back to me
if he could've, you know...

one way or another.

Well...

that's that, then.

Footloose and fancy-free.

All right, love.

I hope it was quick.

Miss you.

No, the evening do, absolutely,

but not the wedding breakfast.

Uh, you know, Mrs...

Mrs. Harris, excuse
me. Could you just...

just take that...

- No, that is extortion.
- Oh.

You must go back
and explain to them

that we can't
possibly afford that.

Well, of course it
must be champagne.

I-I-I... Remind them
that Charles is their MP.

That must be worth
something, huh?

Yes.

Toodle-pip.

This wedding's going
to be the death of me.

Do you have children,
Mrs. Harris?

A nightmare of expense
from start to finish.

Oh, yes.

Poor old Admiral Dant

had to make the
ultimate sacrifice.

Setting sail for Christie's
and balmier shores.

Dreadful man, by all accounts.

Talking of accounts, Lady Dant,

I was wondering if you
might be able to sett...

We've been tightening our
belts for so long now,

it's a miracle we can
all still breathe.

- Isn't it divine?
- Oh.

I swore I would never set
foot in the Avenue Montaigne,

but what with the wedding
and "when in Paris" and...

The moment I laid
eyes on Ravissante...

- Ravissante.
- I was ravished.

To the tune of 500 pounds.

500 quid for a dress?

Shh, shh, shh. Lord Dant.

I don't mind admitting
things have been

a bit bloody of late, but...

when I put it on...

nothing else matters.

Lotte?

Now, quickly, hide it away.

His Lordship must not see it

until I've had time
to work on him.

Oh.

Ravissante.

By Christian Dior.

Night, love.

South London Post!

Saturday results!

All your football results.

- Oh!
- South London Post!

- Sorry.
- Saturday results!

All your football results.

South London Post!

Saturday results!

Manchester United two,

Blackpool two.

Newcastle five,

Liverpool three.

Preston North End two,

Portsmouth two.

And now we return to the
rest of the sports report.

No! No!

Oh, it's my Eddie.

It's my angel.

You gone simple on me, woman?

I won, Vi.

I've won.

You want to make nice to her.

She's only gone
and won the pools.

Ada, what you going to do?

I'm going to buy a dress.

Something pretty for
the Legion Dance.

Yeah.

A Christian Dior
dress from Paris.

500 quid.

How much you win?

Any more tickets, please?

Where to, ma'am?

Single, Miss Violet?

Mm-hmm. No cleaning up
after no man for me.

- Ah.
- Morning, Mr. Newcombe.

Mrs. Harris, I, uh...

I don't believe you've
met my niece, Samantha.

Oh, no, I haven't
had the pleasure.

Um, Mr. Newcombe.

If you know of anyone who
could use me services... um...

one of your nieces, perhaps?

Samantha, Mrs. H is
the soul of discretion.

One would never know she'd been
but for the polish on my knobs.

Oh, Giles.

Thank you.

Oh.

Sorry about the audition, love.

Oh, I don't know why I bother.

"Too young." "Too old."

"Too tall." "Too fat."

You're just right, ducks.

I'm twenty... three.

Couple more years, and
it's all over for me.

Oh, you've plenty of time.

You can't imagine what
it's like, Mrs. Harris,

always having to worry
about your looks.

Hey, Cinderella, why'd
you bring them rags?

I will go to the ball...

when I get me dress.

Oh, here comes trouble
with a capital "A."

Hello, Archie.

Ada, the very girl I was after.

- What can I do for you, ducks?
- Now, don't get me excited.

You know I've got
a dodgy ticker.

Oh, get away with you.

She got bigger plans than you.

I can see that.

So, would you mind
doing me a favor

and look after
Spring and Summer?

Because Cynthia there's

not exactly a dog's best friend.

Go on.

Thank you.

You are an absolute star.

And you're all right.

C? All right, here we go.

Shake that tail, baby.

That's what we are, Vi.

The invisible women.

Speak for yourself.

They see me coming. ♪ Mm! ♪

Oh!

Beg your pardon, milady.

Milady, um, my account.

I was wondering if
you might settle up.

Oh, I'm so sorry, Mrs. Harris.

I'm afraid I forgot
to pop to the bank.

This wedding is a nightmare.

Everybody has said yes.

Oh, um...

you wouldn't mind waiting
until next week, would you?

Well, uh, the thing is,

it's become a bit pressing
because I need to...

Oh, is that the time?

Actually, Mrs. Harris,

I'm afraid I'm going to
have to reduce your hours.

Reduce? N-No, please.
Milady, please...

Well, we all have to economize
these days, don't we?

Sorry.

I know you're there, woman,
in the dark and cold.

I'm all right, Vi.

Archie has got us
free into White City.

Oh, no, I've got
all this mending.

- Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah.
- N-No. No, no, Vi.

Vi... Oh.

Have us a bit of fun.

Oh, good Lord. Look.

It's a sign.

You got a good tip?

Yeah!

Yeah, I have!

- Um... excu... excuse...
- Hey.

- Excuse me.
- Ada, you fancy a flutter?

- Yeah.
- What'll it be?

100 quid on number six.

To win.

A ton?

For the love of Mike,
Ada, no, put it away.

No. Number six.

- Haute Couture, please.
- The dog's a bag of bones.

It couldn't win with
a rocket up its arse.

You tell her, Archie.

She's lost her marbles.

No, it's Haute Couture.

It's a sign. How could
it be anything else?

Ada, girl, I've been doing
this a long time, all right?

Signs don't win races.

Not till tonight, they didn't.

My money's good.

Count it, please.

Yeah.

Here.

Here we go. That's good.

Oh, we got a good spot. Right.

Oh. Wish me luck.

- Oh, Ada.
- Come on, Haute Couture.

Oh, look, she's in the lead!

Come on!

It's in front.

Come on!

It's Clever Count,

Blue Streak, and Stormy Bay.

And would you look at that...
Haute Couture has just

woken up and remembered
what she's here for.

Well...

Hats off to you, girl.

You went for it.

I'll go find a St
John's Ambulance.

They might have a tot of brandy.

For me.

You were right,
Vi... All that money.

My Eddie'd be ashamed of me.

I'll be right back, huh?

Nothing wrong with
dreaming, Ada, hmm?

When I came to London,

the streets were
paved with my dreams.

That's what you are.

You're a dreamer.

Plain as the nose on your face.

Give over, Vi. I'm all right.

Mrs. Harris?

Mrs. Edward Harris?

It's about your husband.

Sit down, please.

Sergeant Harris wasn't
declared missing in action

until April the 19th.

Uh, yeah, that's when
I got the telegram.

It's a day after his birthday.

Ah, yes.

Well, um, as we now know,

Flight Polo Lima 326 crashed
on March the 2nd, 1944,

meaning that Sergeant
Harris was paid

for almost seven
weeks after his death.

At, um, six shillings a day.

Is that what you
come to tell me?

After all this time.

That my Eddie owes you back pay?

When he never owed
a penny in his life.

When he give up his life
for king and country.

You got a nerve.

Coming into my home,
drinking my tea,

blackening his name.

- Um...
- How much do you want?

How much? And then
you can leave.

I-I think you've got the
wrong end of the stick.

Oh, have I? Well,
I'll tell you

where you can shove
your stick in a minute,

- if you don't watch out.
- Oh, golly, no. Um, I, uh...

I'm here to give you
money, Mrs. Harris,

- not-not to take it from you.
- I've had enough of...

What'd you say?

Y-Yes. Righto.

Uh, you should
have been receiving

a-a war widow's
pension since 1944.

It comes to quite a tidy sum,
uh, with that small deduction.

So long as you
haven't remarried.

Oh, give over.

He might have come
back any minute,

I'd have looked a right Charlie.

Uh...

well...

I suppose you'd better sit down.

Have that cup of tea after all.

Um, no milk.

She's never done a thing
wrong her whole life, sir.

She went a bit crazy on
account of some dress,

but she's fine now.

Nothing to worry about.

- Oh, hello.
- Mrs. Harris?

You come to tell me I
got the crown jewels?

She's still not
right in the head.

Almost. That diamond
clip you handed in...

The owner wants to
give you a reward

for being an honest citizen.

Oh! She is, sir,
honest to a fault.

Come in and have a cup of tea.

Don't mind if I do. Thank you.

Oh, come on, Vi. We
can have a knees-up.

Oi, wait for me.

And, uh, you might want
to break out the bubbly.

You having another
lucky day, Archie?

As a matter of fact,
I am, and so are you.

News travels fast.

So, that bet you put on
that two-legged dog...

Oh, y-yeah, don't...
don't worry about that.

I've come to me senses.

No, the boss was there,

so I had to take the money,

but I managed to
hold back a tenner.

You shouldn't have
done that, Archie.

You could have got into trouble.

All tickety-boo, Mrs. Harris?

Oh, sorry, I didn't
realize you had company.

Hello. What's going on here?

- Oh.
- For the love of Mike.

- Uh, I'll see you later.
- Uh, no, Archie, Archie.

Uh, can you just
give me a moment?

It-it's personal.

- That the kettle calling?
- Ah, righto.

What's going on? Something up?

It's a long story.

What were you saying?

So, I took your money

and put it on a sure
thing in the last race.

And, um...

your stake back
and a wee bit more.

Oh, n-no, Archie, I couldn't.

- I...
- It's your money. Take it.

I can't keep it, woman.

PC Plod in there would
have my license. Come on.

Just promise me a
dance at the Legion.

Thanks, Archie.

Much obliged.

Blimey.

Are we flying?

We're terribly sorry,

ladies and gentlemen.

There seems to be a
fault with one engine.

There will be a slight delay

while we try and
fix the problem.

Delay?

How long?

I've got to be there
and back in a day.

Oh, God.

Paris.

Righto, Paris, here I come.

It's a fair old walk.

Oh. Um...

bonjour.

Beg your pardon?

Hey.

Thank you. Yeah.

Um, I'm here to buy a dress.

From Dior.

Dior?

Ah, oui. Me also.

Is it far... Dior?

Oh...

20 minutes.

Uh, but after you
take wine, two hours.

I walk you there.

Tomorrow morning, eh?

Oh, no, no, thanks.

I couldn't, no.

All right, go on, then.

Oh, blimey.

Why is all this
rubbish on the streets?

The big boss cheats...

- The worker, yes?
- Yeah, yeah.

The worker say, "No more."

The binmen are on strike?

Ah, yes.

Now all Paris, uh, smells, uh...

uh, like me.

Oh, God.

You are a noble woman.

And remember, in France,
the worker is king.

Oh, miss!

You all right, love?

- Did you hurt yourself?
- No. Sorry.

Thank you.

- Are you sure?
- Yes.

Oh.

Miss?

Miss!

No, miss.

Ooh-ooh! Miss!

Miss?

Here you go.

Once again, you save me, madame.

- Oh.
- I'm sorry. I'm very late.

- Oh.
- Thank you.

It's all right. As long
as you're in one piece.

Ooh.

Ooh, uh...

Oh. Excuse me, dear.

Where would I find the frocks?

I fear you have the
wrong address, madame.

I will call someone
to show you the way.

No. No, no.

Sorry. I'm-I'm...
I'm after a frock.

One of them 500-pound ones.

Please, if you could
wait over here,

somebody will
attend you directly.

Now, hang on. Excuse me.

Madame, I-I was here first,
before any of this lot.

Ain't you heard of queuing?

Excuse me. Look, I'm sorry.

-Please.
-I'm-I'm... I'm not one to make a fuss,

but where I come from,

shopgirls are pleased
to be of service.

Shopgirls?

This lady wishes to buy a dress.

Direct her to a suitable shop.

Go.

Uh, please let me
escort you out.

No, no, no, no, no,
hang on a minute.

I've come miles.

Saved every penny
scrubbing floors

and I don't know what
so I can buy this frock.

A Christian Dior gown
is not for pennies.

Right.

If you think I ain't
got the money...

there.

Oh là l.

Are you Mr. Dior?

Oh, oh, no, I'm
Mr. Fauvel, accounts.

Let me help you with the...

Excuse me, chère madame,
but it would be my honor

to have you view the
collection as my guest.

There you are.

Merci.

Shall we?

Oh.

It's here.

Thank you.

When you see the dress you want,

you can write the
number down here.

Oh.

Oh, I was just admiring
your buttonhole.

Oh.

- It's Louise Odier.
- Ah?

Yes, it's lovely. Proper scent.

Are you a connoisseur of roses?

My husband Eddie worked
at Covent Garden,

the flower market.

He was always bringing home
odds and ends, you know.

Roses are me favorite.

You after a dress for your wife?

Ooh. Lucky woman.

My wife is dead.

Oh, I do beg your pardon, sir.

My clumsy clogs.

My Eddie and all.

Oh, um...

But yes, uh, my wife and I
would come here together.

I like to see beautiful clothes.

And beautiful women, of course.

Oh, here we go.

Ooh.

Oh, that's lovely.

Oh.

Oh, will you look.

Oh, that's lovely.

Vénus.

- What number's that?
- 73.

- Vénus. Yes.
- 73. Vénus.

- What number's that?
- 89.

Temptation.

Oh, yeah.

Bravo!

Who's that bloke?

Well, that's the master
himself, Monsieur Dior.

Go on.

He looks like my milkman.

Well, good luck, madame.

I hope you find what
you're looking for.

Oh, well...

Here.

You do not wish to keep it?

Yeah, it's-it's
lovely. Thank you.

Enchanté.

Don't mind me.

- Yes, madame?
- Oh.

Have you made your selection?

Yes. Um...

Number 89, please. Temptation.

Of course.

- Your name, please.
- Harris.

Mrs. Ada Harris.

My apologies, madame.

- Excusez-moi.
- Oh, yeah.

- Ah.
- Oh. Ta-da.

Madame Harris, I regret...

Well, there is a
difficulty with Temptation.

It seems Madame
Avallon demands it.

How's that work, then? You
only got the one dress?

I'm sorry. Madame
insists on exclusivity.

Madame Avallon is one of
our most devoted clients.

And her husband is known
as "The King of Rubbish."

But we would be so sorry if
you were to leave Maison Dior

without a purchase.

And you also wrote
number 73 on your card.

- Oh.
- Vénus.

Yeah, I never thought nothing
could be more beautiful.

Not till I saw Temptation.

An excellent choice, madame.

Yeah. How much is it?

Vénus is 600,000 francs.

430 pounds.

Wrap it up. I got
a plane to catch.

I'm a day late as it is.

Oh, you cannot have this gown.

Oh, don't tell me someone
wants that exclusive and all.

Mais Madame Harris,
every dress is made

and fitted individually
for the client.

Yes, this is haute couture.

We will, of course, reproduce
Vénus exactly as you saw it,

but the thing is...

Make me one?

How long's that gonna take?

Well, at least two weeks.

Ooh. At least.

Several fittings are necessary.

What, leave my people
for a fortnight?

They'd find someone else, and
then I'd be out on the streets.

Vite, vite, to
the airport, then.

I would not forgive myself
if you missed your flight.

- What, without my dress?
- Excusez-moi.

Perhaps there is a
friend you can call?

Someone who can assist
you with your cleaning.

Well, uh, there's Vi,

but I've tried her
patience enough as it is.

Anyway, she's not on the phone.

Uh, we might send
her a telegram.

Uh, Mrs. Harris,

uh, it might be
possible to encourage

the cutter and seamstress
to work a little faster.

And Madame Vi could fill you
in for one week, perhaps?

Well...

you're kind, but I can't.

Anyway, I got nowhere to stay.

I'll have to give it a miss.

My sister is away.

If you... would accept, um,

you could stay at my place,
uh, in my sister's room.

You're a proper
angel, aren't you?

It'll be my pleasure.

Um, we can have your
measurements taken at once.

N'est-ce pas, Madame Colbert?

Come, Madame Harris. Come.

- Oh.
- We must be quick.

S'il vous plaît.

Oh.

- Bravo, madame.
- Bravo.

- Please, madame.
- Oh.

You don't get all this hoo-ha

when you buy a frock
down Woolworths.

Well, I can tell you such things

do not happen every
day here, either.

Ah, the lady who must
have her dress...

Your coat, please.

Oh.

- Et le cardigan.
- Yeah, me cardy.

Thank you very much.

Oh.

Madame has the
proportions of a model.

Model railway, more like.

One of the curvy bits.

Oh, thank you.

Thank you very much.

Madame?

Oh.

May I give you a lift?

Oh, well, if it's no bother.

No.

Uh, I'm going to Mr. Fauvel's.

The 18th, yes. That's easy.

- Oh, forgive the mess.
- Oh.

Is he a friend of
yours, Mr. Fauvel?

No. No, I-I know Mr. Fauvel

only as the hand
that signs my check.

Oh.

Oh.

L'être et le néant.

It's, uh, "Being
and Not Being."

I like to curl up with
a juicy mystery meself.

Oh, look, there's
the Eiffel Tower.

Oh, that's lovely.

Oh.

That's the opera.

May I help you
with your luggage?

Nothing in it yet.

Oh. That's something, innit?

Ooh.

I don't think his sister
knows where the mop is.

There must be a dustpan
and brush somewhere.

Uh...

Oh.

Oh, you don't have
to do that, love.

You must have
better things to do.

No, not really.

After the défilé, there's always

a certain feeling of emptiness.

Oh.

All right, ducks.

Oh. Aha.

Now we're in business.

Oh.

- Mrs. Harris?
- Hello, love.

Mademoiselle.

She's a good worker.

I can always find
you a job, my girl,

if the modeling don't work out.

No, no.

Oh! Oh!

M-Mrs. Harris has
cooked the dinner.

You look like you could do
with a good square meal,

the pair of you.

Well, Mademoiselle Natasha
has other engagements.

I'm sure the face of Dior is
always at a party or premiere.

There's a soirée later.

Come on. Grub's up.

Here we are.

Don't let it get cold.

- Bon appétit.
- Bon appétit.

My Eddie's favorite.

Be even better if we
had a bit of gravy.

Um, and what's the dish named?

Toad-in-the-hole.

What a lot of books, Mr. Fauvel.

Oh.

Natasha's got a corker,
a murder-mystery.

Don't you, ducks?

We should speak English.

Oh, yeah. Of course.

Um, I-I'm interested to learn

that Mademoiselle
Natasha is reading a book

-by the French philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre.
-Oh.

The author asks us to consider
the case of the waiter.

Is the waiter the waiter,
or is it just an expression

of what the waiter is?

Um, similarly, am
I the accountant,

or is that an
outward impression?

Um, is Mademoiselle Natasha
only the most beautiful,

the most exquisitely divine
Parisian model, or...

Or is there another
person behind the facade?

Yes.

Is Mrs. Harris the cleaner,

or is there more to
define her existence?

Exactement.

I'm a cleaner from
Battersea. No mystery there.

Uh, no, you're a
cleaner who dreams

of the most beautiful
gown in the world.

Oh, dreams, eh?

God knows what Vi is gonna say

when she gets that
blooming telegram.

Mrs. Harris?

Uh, please help yourself
to my sister's clothes.

Oh, thanks, love.
Um, I'm all right.

Uh, she would insist.

Good night.

Night, love.

Sweet dreams.

Ooh!

Stand straight, madame.

- Oh!
- Non, mais...

Keep still. Why do you move?

Sorry. Sorry.

Princess Margaret?

Oh, I like her.

You can see a little bit
of mischief in her eye.

Our distinguished clients
demand our utmost discretion.

That's all for today.

Little bit of that one
goes a long way, don't it?

What's eating her?

Well, the more grand the
client, the more difficult.

Their wishes must be
accommodated always,

even if it means
starting afresh.

-And they do not pay until delivery.
-Oh!

If then.

There are so many
salaries to find.

The fabric, braid,
embroidery, buttons

all must be the very best.

The pressure is on everyone:

on Mr. Fauvel and the accounts,

on Madame Colbert
and the seamstresses,

even on Monsieur Dior
himself, always such pressure.

Well, no wonder
Mr. Fauvel was so pleased

to see my little handbag.

Well, in truth, Madame
Harris, all of us fear

the House of Dior cannot
keep going this way.

Oui, monsieur.

You all right, love?

Wakey, wakey.

They're calling for you.

Oh.

Um, I'm sorry.

- I'm just tired.
- Mm-hmm.

You could do with
a little holiday.

It's doing me the
power of good already.

Yes, that would be nice.

By myself at the seaside,

where nobody...

I'm sorry.

- I must go. Thank you.
- Oh.

Thank you.

How was your fitting, madame?

Oh.

Well, if it isn't my
old pal, Mr. Rosebud.

I regret we were not
properly introduced.

Marquis Hypolite de Chassagne.

Ooh.

Ada Harris, widow of Battersea.

Who's this fine fella?

- This is Nesquik.
- Oh.

So, I trust Monsieur Dior
fulfills your heart's desire?

Oh, they're being ever so kind.

Louise Odier. I'd
forgotten the name.

Oh, I must show you something.

Please, I won't detain you long.

So, tell me, how are you
enjoying your time in Paris?

My wife adored the
Marché aux Fleurs.

Mm.

We came here almost
until the end.

It's been seven years now.

We mend, but we don't forget.

When you display your
Dior dress to the world,

- it will be perfection.
- Oh.

My pal Vi thinks I'm barmy.

"What do you want
that dress for?

When are you gonna wear it?"

Oh, I do not
question your desire

for a gown of such quality,

even if it is for
your eyes alone.

No, no, on the
contrary, I understand.

You see, a rose like this one

or a beautiful
gown such as yours,

they... they recall the days

when we were in the full
flower of our youth.

Oi, don't write me off just yet.

- Oh, a thousand apologies.
- Oh, no.

Please, allow me to make amends.

Have you any
arrangements for tonight?

Voilà.

Oh, thank you.

Some champagne?

Uh, oh, yes, please.

Just a drop.

Thank you.

Now, you-you must
try the caviar.

Oh. Right.

- Cheers.
- Cheers.

- Nice, huh?
- Mm.

Uh, oh, hello!

I don't think that getup's
gonna fool anyone. Do you?

Lovely girls.

Hmm. Soon, you'll
see how lovely.

Ooh! Oh. Steady on.

Blimey, they earn
their keep, them girls.

Well, least when I'm cleaning,

I don't have to smile
and strip as well.

Bonsoir, Mrs. Harris.

Natasha. Hello, love.

Hello.

Bonsoir, mademoiselle.

- Would you like to join us?
- Uh, yes, please.

Who are you here with, then?

Investors.

I escape but only for a moment.

They don't half keep you at it,
all day and all night as well.

For Maison Dior, this
is my obligation.

Ah, well, Dior is
not just about gowns.

It's also about
elegance and decadence

and the savoir-vivre
of Paris, and...

and you, Mademoiselle
Natasha, you are the jewel

of this Dior crown.

Well, I would prefer to
be at home with a book.

It's funny you should say that.

I've left Mr. Fauvel
at home reading a book.

It was called...

"Nosy"? Something like that.

- La nausée?
- Don't know.

Why does he tolerate
the fashion house

compared to his world of
Sartre and the intellect?

Well, I-I think he
has his reasons.

Do you enjoy the show?

Yeah, the one... the
one at the end, she...

she's a dead ringer
for my Aunt Tilda.

From behind.

Well, this was lovely,
but I should go.

Thank you.

Oh, just-just a minute, love.

Your fringe.

There's a little gap.

That's it.

You have made a conquest.

Oh, get away with you.

You dare to follow your
dreams, Mrs. Harris.

- Bravo.
- Oh.

Bye, love.

- Bonsoir.
- Bonsoir, Natasha.

- Some more champagne?
- Oh, just a drop.

I've got me fitting at 9:30.

Oh, God!

Oh, Gordon Bennett!

Oh, oh!

Oh! Oh!

Careful!

Oh, oh, oh!

Oh!

I can't believe this.

Sorry!

Sorry. Sorry.

- I'm so sorry.
- No, no, no.

This is not
possible, not at all.

No, no, no, please, I-I'm...
I'm never late. I...

R-Really, I'm not.
I'm never late. Sorry.

You demand of us,
"Vite, vite, vite,"

but you have no respect.

No, this cannot be done.

Not at all.

Now I depart.

This is finished.

No, no, no, no. Please,
please, p-please, Mr. Carré.

Madame Colbert, please.

Monsieur Carré
refuses to proceed.

What can I do?

No. No, of course, I...

No, I understand.

Yeah, of course I do. I do.

Dior, it's-it's not just a gown.

It's, um...

It's all the elegance and-and
the savvy and all that.

I-I know that.

I will see what can be done
to return your deposit.

No, I don't...

I-I...

I don't want... I
don't want me deposit.

Right Champagne
Charlie, aren't I?

Serves me right,
living the high life.

I do respect you, all of you.

Never mind, eh?

Thanks, love.

You've been ever so kind.

Madame Harris, would you
care to see the atelier

before you leave?

Ooh.

- Bonjour, mesdames.
- Bonjour.

So, this room is for cutting.

- Bonjour.
- Morning.

Structure du couture.

Unstructured couture.

Passementerie.

Plumassier.

Broderie.

It's not sewing.

It's making moonlight.

Have I gone to heaven?

I have stood at
Monsieur Dior's shoulder

day and night for ten years,

since le maître unveiled
his first collection.

The most fashionable
women in the world

come to the Avenue Montaigne.

Royalty and courtesans,

thin, fat, young, old, ugly,

or with a certain
je ne sais quoi.

Hmm.

But then there is
you, Mrs. Harris.

All my time as directress,

I have never encountered
anyone like you.

Oh.

In my walk of life,
you meet all sorts.

As a good boss, I must
keep my workers happy,

and their wish is to
complete your dress.

Oh. Much obliged.

So you will do me the courtesy
of answering my questions, no?

Yeah.

Oh. Bottoms up.

Why do you come
here, Mrs. Harris?

Évidemment, the rich and titled
must be seen, admired, copied.

But this Dior dress
that you desire so much,

where will you wear it?

At the Vienna Opera Ball
or Queen Charlotte's?

Will you wear it
to polish floors,

or will you keep it shut
in your little wardrobe?

A Dior dress is designed
to astonish and delight.

How will you do
that, Mrs. Harris?

You...

Forgive me for saying this,
but you are nobody, invisible.

How will you give this
dress the life it deserves?

It's my dream.

And my money's as good
as anybody else's.

Bien sûr. Hmm.

You may buy your dream, but
what will you do with it?

Oui, entrez.

Mrs. Harris, these are for you.

Ooh.

From Monsieur le Marquis.

Oh.

He wishes that you
visit for tea tomorrow.

Le Marquis de Chassagne?

But... he receives nobody.

But I am nobody, aren't I?

I never thought a place like
Dior would have problems.

I saw that dress,

and I thought of
dreams and fairy tales.

Yes, we are like a fairy tale.

Lovely but not real.

Is there a place for that today?

Oh, we need our dreams.

Now more than ever.

If you can have this,
why do you need Dior?

Haute couture is a vanity
for us and our clients.

In truth, I don't think the
House of Dior can survive.

No, love, that
would be a tragedy.

You can't allow that to happen.

Well, I have an idea,

but it requires a
new way of thinking.

What? Bossy Boots in the way?

Madame Colbert, she
guards the temple.

She let a cleaning
lady buy a Dior gown.

Money talks.

Yes, and you know what it says,

so you have to do
something about it.

I know you can.
You're ever so clever.

You're the only
one who believes.

What's going on here?

It looks like a premiere.

Ooh!

Oh, exciting.

Oh, that's Jean
Fabre, the movie star.

Mm, and don't he know it?

Oh, it's Natasha! Oh!

- Natasha! Ooh-ooh!
- What are you doing? No, no.

- Natasha!
- No.

Hello.

Good evening, Mrs. Harris.

You look lovely.

Thank you.

Bonsoir, Monsieur Fauvel.

Bonsoir. Um, we didn't
know you were, uh...

We were just passing.

So, what are you two
doing this evening?

- Oh, well... Oh.
- Natasha.

I'm sorry. I-I must go.

It was great to see you.

Oh, yeah. Ta-ta, love.

I think it's just for show.

I'm not sure that he's
the marrying kind.

Mrs. Harris, I-I beg of you,

you-you need to stop
this coupling thing

- before I die of humiliation.
- Oh...

Please. Enough!

All right. I'm not deaf.

Of course I'm in
love with Natasha.

I mean, who isn't?

I'm sorry, but life is not
all moonlight and movies.

Why can't it be?

I've spent too long on my
own, wishing my life away.

You don't want to
do the same thing.

Mrs. Harris, I think
your dreams of romance

fit Paris very well.

Forgive me, but
perhaps it is you

who wishes to be in love.

You who must attend
to your own heart.

Come on, Eddie, say
something, love.

Try and make some sense
of this, 'cause I can't.

This is all your doing.

Coming up with the readies
to get your girl to Paris.

Paris.

To meet someone?

Ah.

Shall we?

The girls at Dior say my
dress is almost finished.

Yeah. Maybe tomorrow.

And then I'll be...
I'll be back off home.

Yeah, it's lovely.

Really, really lovely.

That rubbish lady's
welcome to hers.

And here's the irony.

Monsieur Dior makes exquisite
poems for beautiful women

in celebration of their
freshness and perfection

only to see them carried
away by old frumps.

Like that dreadful
Madame Avallon.

Oh, yeah.

Whereas, of course, there
are those who retain

a certain je ne sais quoi,

an indefinable allure.

Ah.

Allow me to present to
you a pot of English tea.

Oh, just the job.

Hmm. Merci, Maria.

And now we let the pot brew.

- Is that the correct form, yes?
- That's the ticket.

I'll have to knit
you a tea cozy.

Yes, for reasons that
were never clear to me,

I was sent as a boy of six

to a boarding school in Windsor,

and that's where I
acquired a taste for tea

and of all things English.

While we wait,

there's something I
would like you to see.

Come with me.

There.

Oh. Oh.

Six years old, you poor mite.

Well, home was not much better.

But yes, I suffered.

I was a weak little boy,
perpetually bullied.

Oh.

You know, as soon as I saw you,

I felt this connection
in my heart.

I don't know, perhaps...

your smile, your
kindness, your...

your English humor.

I knew you reminded
me of someone,

someone very dear
to me, but who?

And only yesterday, as
I searched my memories,

did I realize there was a
person who took care of me.

Her life was one of
tireless drudgery,

and yet she found the time to
comfort me and dry my tears.

Her name was Mrs. Maddox,

but we used to
call her Mrs. Mops.

There.

I-I remind you of Mrs. Mops?

- Ah, yes.
- The cleaner?

Mrs. Mops dried my tears
and made me smile again,

as you have, Mrs. Harris,
these past few days.

I do wish my Delphine
could have known you.

You see, you give
comfort to those in need

without asking
anything in return.

Is that right?

Is that how you see me?

You see why there is a
connection between us?

Now, let's have a nice cup
of English tea, shall we?

Uh, no, thank you.

I'd best be getting along.

They're expecting
me at the salon.

Marguerite?

What's the matter?

In you go.

What's this about you
letting all these girls go?

Ooh. You all right, love?

It would not be necessary

if they worked for
free, as you do.

They need their jobs.
They've got families to feed.

Excusez-moi.

Yes, it is very sad, but
this is not of your concern.

Well, we'll see about that.

Please, madame, you have reached

into every corner of
this establishment.

Now, I insist that you
respect our privacy.

Hmm.

Where are you
going, Mrs. Harris?

To see the boss.

- You cannot. No.
- Come on, girls.

- Please. No.
- Follow me. Vite, vite.

Here we go, girls. Come on.

Down tools.

Come on, get behind me. Join us.

Yeah, got a really
important job today.

-Ooh, you look lovely, but come on.
-Mrs. Harris!

- Come and do this for me.
- Mrs. Harris!

You must stop this at once.

You have no idea
what you are doing.

Oh, yes, I do.

It's called a strike.

Right, ladies, come on.

Follow me. No time
for that, dear.

Oi! No need to push
and shove. Come on.

On your feet, André.
There's work to be done.

Mrs. Harris, I beg of
you, do not do this.

This is your chance,
André, and how many chances

- do you get in your lifetime?
- No, look...

Monsieur Dior, ten minutes
of your time, please.

That's all Mr. Fauvel
needs to save the company.

Me? What do I-I...

Go on, pet. You can do
it. Tell him your plan.

- Uh...
- Go on.

Rather than the world
coming to Avenue Montaigne,

Dior must go out to the world

with a range of goods
available to all.

Uh, perfume, stockings,
luxury that...

that the ordinary
woman can afford.

Oui.

What?

Oh, right.

Good luck, love.

Merci.

But today, there's a new woman,

a modern woman who
knows what she wants

and needs to be able to buy it.

Today, there's Mrs. Harris.

Oh.

The maître's agreement
to our plan means that,

far from losing jobs,
we will need more.

Many, many more.

Bravo!

Are you sure this
is the right street?

Must be. This is where I
send her check every month.

There won't be a
speck of dust inside.

You can bet your life.

This is it.

No.

Leave me in peace.

Just a word.

Why? I concede.

The victory is
yours, Mrs. Harris.

My husband... He was
damaged in the war.

He requires constant care.

Which you either do or pay for.

No wonder you got all
that front on you.

Say what you want, please.

Madame, I'm so sorry
to have offended you.

I hold you in the highest
regard, and it was

never my intention to
force a change on...

The future you describe
makes perfect sense,

but I want no part of it.

Uh, no, please.

You must not think of leaving.

Perhaps I have been
too long in my post,

too long the invisible
woman behind the great man.

Fighting talk.

You go, girl.

I'm not a revolutionary
like you, Mrs. Harris.

I simply wish to be left alone.

Well, that's... that's
all fine and dandy,

and Lord knows you deserve it,

but you know it'll fall
apart without you, don't you?

Trust me, I've seen
it over and over.

When the lady ups and leaves,
the gent don't last ten minutes.

You're needed.

Now more than ever.

Who else is gonna keep
things up to scratch?

Not André or Monsieur Dior.

What would two men
know about that?

You and me, you know,
we're two peas in a pod.

We clean up everybody's mess

and make everything
in the garden lovely.

We're the ones they rely on.

They don't even know what we do,

but as sure as eggs
is eggs, without us,

it all goes tits up.

Perhaps a conversation
with le maître is required.

Perhaps.

And tomorrow, you tell
Natasha how you feel.

Oh, but Mademoiselle
Natasha has left Dior.

She's leaving Paris.

Like you, Mrs. Harris, she
wishes to follow her dream.

Keep looking, love. She's
got to be here somewhere.

She's gone. It's for the best.

You're gonna get yourself

a good clip round the ear
in a minute if you don't...

Hang on.

Hang on a minute. I know.

Here.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh. Madame Dior.

Magnifique.

Oh, well, not so bad yourself.

Uh, we're looking for a girl.

Um, she's... she's a bit upset.

Um...

She's a Dior model.

- Oh, Natasha.
- Natasha.

This life, it's-it's not for me.

No, of course it isn't.

Stuck on a pedestal,

paraded around like
a beautiful doll.

Anyone can see the
girl doesn't want it.

Mrs. Harris is right.

It's not who I am.

As Sartre would say, y-you
find yourself conflicted

between être-en-soi
et être-pour-soi.

Between "for itself"
and "in itself."

Être-en-soi being those
aspects of human life

that involves consciousness,

whereas physical facts
are être-pour-soi.

In which case,

things would be
what they are not.

Exactement.

Things are what they are not,

and they're not
what they're not.

André, for God's
sake, just kiss her.

Yes. For God's
sake, just kiss me.

Hmm.

You did not find love
in Paris, Madame Dior?

- Oh, no. No.
- Oh.

I thought it was
too late, but...

now I'm not so sure.

- Hello, love.
- Hello, Ada.

Oh. All right, all right.

Gordon Bennett.

All right.

All right.

Oh, hello, love. Come in.

Oh, thank God you're back.

Oh, well, not long.

Do you want a cuppa?

No time.

- This is an emergency.
- Oh. Right.

Okay, well, deep breath
and tell me what's up.

I can't go, but if I don't...

Oh, it's so important to make
a good impression, you know?

I do. Who you trying to impress?

Mr. Korngold, the producer.

I'm to partner him to the
big dinner at the Café Royal.

- Ooh.
- Everybody will be there.

It's a priceless opportunity.

But look.

Oh, well, yeah, it's a
bit... it's a bit crumpled,

but we can steam that
out in a jiffy, love.

- Don't you worry.
- No, look.

Oh.

Oh, dear. Yeah, that's
not gonna come out

without a good, long soak.

I'm not sure the
satin's gonna like that.

Ain't you got another one?

What about that
lovely blue dress?

- It's at the cleaner's.
- Oh.

Oh, my God.

I'm going to die.

All right. Come on,
now. That's enough.

Nobody wants to hear that.

But you don't understand.

Nearly all Mr. Korngold's
girls become stars.

It's my chance to lift
myself out of the rut

and be seen at last.

Well, being seen isn't
everything, love.

It is for me.

Come on. Stand up.

It's your lucky day.

What?

Why?

'Cause I think I can help you.

You just said you couldn't.

I can't do anything
if you don't get up.

Right.

Take off your clothes.
You can borrow my dress.

Don't be ridiculous.

Just do as I say, and a
bit less of your nonsense.

Go on, behind the screen.

Mrs. Harris?

Oh.

You look lovely, ducks.

Just the ticket.

How was your trip?
I should've asked.

- Where did you go?
- Oh.

Paris. Yeah, it was...

You said you'd
only be gone a day.

Everything went to
pieces without you.

It was magical.

I mean, you know how
tidy I am... normally.

So romantic.

Mrs. H.

You dark horse.

Oh.

Oh, God. That's him.

Oh. He knew where to come, then?

I knew you'd rescue me, darling.

You're my fairy godmother.

Hello.

Miss Penrose?

Oh.

Dear Mrs. H,

Sorry about the dress,
but please don't worry.

I'm okay.

I was checking my
lipstick in the mirror

when suddenly I
went up in flames.

I might have burnt to a crisp

if a helpful friend
hadn't come to my rescue.

Mr. Korngold says I should sue.

Gone to my mum's to recover.

Ada?

You there?

Yeah.

Sorry, Vi.

You give up the ghost, woman?

You want to scare us to death?

Oh, all right, Archie?

Uh, sorry about your door.

Uh, she was, um...

Best intentions and all.

I'll get some glass, yeah?

Fix it up good as new.

Thank you.

Well, there's no
need to say a word.

You're famous.

At least the dress you gave up
everything to go and get is.

Why you give it to
that no-good girl, eh?

You're too soft, and
that's the truth.

It had to be seen.

It's only right.

Oh, Vi.

I never got to wear it.

Not even once.

Oh, Ada, my darling.

I'm so sorry, eh?

Hey.

We don't need no fancy dresses.

We'll go shake our tail feather
down at the Legion Dance,

and they'll all
be looking at us.

Aw.

Oh, morning, Mr. Newcombe.

Enjoy your holiday, Mrs. Harris?

Very much, thank you.

Missed your touch
about the place.

Oh.

Are you quite all right?

Not quite meself today.

Not sure who that is, even.

Bit of an existential crisis.

Paris will do that to you.

Chin up, Mrs. H.

The revolution is coming.

Did you read about the girl

who set fire to
herself in a Dior gown?

Ghastly publicity
stunt, I suppose.

What a waste.

Will you please accept
my notice, Lady Dant?

I will require full and final
settlement of your account

by the end of the week.

You can't leave me.

Them days are over when you
can treat people like scum

and expect loyalty in return.

Yeah. Good day, milady.

There you go.

Be right as rain in no time.

Who's that, then?

Mrs. Ada Harris?

- Sign here, please.
- Oh.

- Thank you.
- Just a mo'. There's more.

More?

Oh.

Are you sure? It's
not me birthday.

You are Ada Harris?

Well, not sure
about that, either.

Chère Madame Harris,

We hope your return journey
to London was pleasant,

but we were troubled by a photo
we saw in the social pages.

We knew immediately
that once again

you had been too kind.

It seems the rubbish king

was stealing from his workers.

Georges! Georges!

Since his assets were seized,

Madame Avallon failed to
attend her final fitting

or settle the bill
for her dress.

We kept all your
measurements, of course,

and were quickly able
to alter it for you.

If it needs any
final adjustments,

we know you have the skill
to do these yourself.

We all agreed it was

the least we could do.

The publicity has resulted in
a great increase in orders.

You will no doubt
recognize these blooms

as Princess Margaret's Delight.

We hope you enjoy the flowers

and that you will
keep your new dress

well away from naked flames.

We send it to you
with all our love

and our very warmest thanks.

From Christian

and all your friends
at the House of Dior.

Lovely. Thank you.

G-Good to see you.

- See you later.
- All right.

There you go, love.

Get that down you.

- Cheers.
- Cheers.

Thank you, Vi.

Oh, Ada.

You all right, Archie?

Never better.

S-Sorry.

I just...

What?

You seem different.

Well, it's haute
couture, you know?

Is it, now?

Know what?

It's not the frock. I
mean, it's lovely and all,

but, uh...

no, it's you.

You...

You're just beautiful.

Thank you, Archie.

That's very nice of you.

No, I mean, you've
always been beautiful.

Inside and out.

Just, there's something...

I don't know, like, a
new spark or something.

A je ne sais quoi?

That'll be the fella.

I owe you a dance, don't I?

I think you do.

I'd like to claim that dance

with the loveliest
girl in the room.

It's your lucky day.

Oh.

All right.

There is hope for us all.

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