By Amy Ephron
Rosemary Fell used to be born into privilege. She has wealth, well–connected buddies, and a good-looking fiance, Philip Alsop. ultimately she has every little thing she wants.
It is then, in a second of beneficence, that Rosemary invitations Eleanor Smith, a penniless younger girl she sees lower than a streetlamp within the rain, into her domestic for a cup of tea. whereas there, Rosemary sees Eleanor trade an unmistakable glance with Philip, and she or he sends Eleanor on her approach. yet she can't undo this opportunity come across, and it results in a tempestuous and all–consuming love triangle –– till the tides of struggle throw all their lives off balance.
Inspired through a vintage Katherine Mansfield brief tale, A Cup of Tea engages with its shiny –– and infrequently a laugh –– solid of characters, impressive interval element, awesome evocation of the doubtful days of global warfare I, and delightfully spare and picturesque experience of story.
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Additional resources for A Cup of Tea: A Novel of 1917
Miss Wetzel cut her off. “Step into the light where I can see you,” she said. Eleanor did as she was told and stepped under the dim light of the hall so that she might be examined. ” Miss Wetzel asked. “Yes, I did,” said Eleanor. Miss Wetzel studied her. Eleanor stood frozen in the entranceway until Miss Wetzel finally edged a few steps down the stairs. “Gas is included in the rent,” she said, as she continued to descend. Eleanor was uncharacteristically thrown by Miss Wetzel but it had been a remarkably long few days.
She wrote him a cheque, ripped it from her chequebook, and casually left it on the counter. Rosemary watched as Rhenquist wrapped the velvet bag and letter opener deftly in brown paper, his pale hands amazing for their dexterity. Nothing rare was ever broken here. He handed her the parcel and bowed his head slightly. It was clear he would have kept them for her forever. Rosemary smiled and started to leave. As she opened the door, the bells on the shop door jingled slightly. It was still raining but Rosemary didn’t seem to mind as she walked down the street to the flower shop.
Hello,” he said, “I’m supposed to pick up Miss Fell’s hats,” he said and smiled. There was a dimple evident just below his right cheekbone. There was something kind about his eyes, yet serious, as though he’d seen things, knew things, was somehow deeper than he’d first appeared. The muscles in his arms were well-defined. She was aware that they were alone in the hat shop. ” It was the voice that tipped him. He remembered her voice. It was oddly cultured, yet direct, as though she could defend herself if pushed.
A Cup of Tea: A Novel of 1917 by Amy Ephron