By Amy Ephron
Rosemary Fell was once born into privilege. She has wealth, well–connected acquaintances, 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 lady she sees below 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 upon, and it ends up in a tempestuous and all–consuming love triangle –– until eventually the tides of warfare throw all their lives off balance.
Inspired through a vintage Katherine Mansfield brief tale, A Cup of Tea engages with its vibrant –– and infrequently a laugh –– forged of characters, impressive interval aspect, terrific evocation of the doubtful days of global battle I, and delightfully spare and picturesque feel of story.
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Extra info for A Cup of Tea: A Novel of 1917
It was like something one would read about, to find a girl in the dusk and bring her home for tea. Ought she to have been frightened that the girl would turn out to be a thief or half-mad. She didn’t look half-mad. She looked like someone who life had done a wrong turn to, who had never had the proper opportunity. And think how she would feel if she could successfully show this poor creature that life could be wonderful, that all women were sisters, that the world was full of possibilities. She would help her get on her feet.
Her stance was casual, almost disinterested, her gloves and coat still on as though she had not yet decided whether she had stopped in long enough to actually consider anything. Mr. Rhenquist, the owner of the antique store, was all over her. “You see, I love my things,” he said, in low respectful tones, waiting for her reaction. ” He unrolled a tiny square of blue velvet and pressed it on the glass counter with his pale finger-tips. It was an enamel box he had been keeping for her with a glaze so fine it looked as though it had been baked in cream.
Eleanor answered softly from the bottom of the stairs. “Yes, ma’am. It was me. Eleanor. Eleanor Smith. ” 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.
A Cup of Tea: A Novel of 1917 by Amy Ephron