She had a cigarette and a cup of coffee for breakfast, spilling ash all over the blue check tablecloth.
Oh! she had so much correspondence to finish, she felt quite faint just thinking about it ...
After lunch, which was late again (she would have to speak to Mary), she would visit Mrs Bruton to discuss her new black and grey herringbone suit, she thought, as she slowly descended the red-carpeted stairs. A matching cloche was what she had in mind.
She crossed the black-and-white tiled hallway ...
... and decided to change the flowers in the downstairs study. Really, one could simply not rely on the servants.
It was time to redecorate, she mused. She would start with the study. She quite liked the new style she had seen in the latest House and Garden. So modern ...
Her husband had brought her a single red rose the day before. She could not help wondering who got the remaining eleven. He did so believe in buying bulk.
Oh! she had to keep busy, she simply had to, she thought. She would do some gardening. Yes, she would give George instructions and the children could come down with her.
The parrot was looking quite peaky, poor darling. She sometimes had long conversations with it, quite often, actually. But not when the servants were near.
After dinner, which she had on her own, she sat in the library and read a bit, but her attention was not on the book, she was thinking about the party tomorrow night.
She went to bed quite late, and crept under the quilt. Her husband was not home.
Tomorrow, she thought. Tomorrow I will wear my new pink dress ...
(Images from 1920's issues of House and Garden, available from Conde Nast)
6 comments:
Gorgeous! Love the images and love the story - so melancholy. Thank you for this.
kendalee - I am so glad you liked it! The images just called out for a story, and I set out to do a happy little story, but it changed into a sad one ....
These covers are divine! And I love the happy little story.
stephanie - Oh, those covers are beautiful - I spend quite a lot of time at Conde Nast looking at covers of different decades and imagining stories. I am also glad that you saw a happy story instead of a sad one, and perhaps you're right, it could very well turn into one! (Isn't that the essence of that Buddhist story about the boy and the horse?)
Oh, it's tragic... I fear for Mrs Clarissa Pendlebury.
heather moore - Oh dear, what shall we do about Mrs Pendlebury? Her shoulders droop, a crystal tear rolls over her powdered cheek. I think I shall give her a beautiful new cloche to take her mind off things. But she will have to wait until Wednesday
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