“London particular,” restricted the visibility in the city streets making it impossible to tell the house numbers without peering rightup against the door. She told of how the smoggy dirt from coal fires that belched night and day from the city’s chimneys was intensified by the diesel fumes from the increasing number of cars on the road. What is more, Wallis could not abide the dust and grime that had found its way inside the houses.
Dirt and chaos did not suit Wallis. The photographs of herself that she sometimes enclosed always confirmed that everything about Wallis was clean and tidy; she was as assured as a flamingo on one leg. The attractive waviness of her youthful hairstyle had long since disappeared. Instead she had become streamlined in every detail from the fine symmetry of the parting of her hair right down the middle, to the precise manner in which she posed for the camera in her chic and cinched dresses. Even the pencilled-in shape of the upended smile of her eyebrows that brought some relief to the otherwise empty expanse of her broad forehead had apparently been subjected to the same strict dietary regime. Some of the girls at school had nicknamed her “Skellis.” Evangeline tried not to dwell on the name they might have called her when she was out of the room, but skeletal she was certainly not.
Evangeline settled herself further into the faded blue velvet chair next to the fire, the silver paper knife as always on the table beside her. Realising from the startled yelp beneath her that she had sat on top of the new kitten, she extracted the tiny animal from underneath the cushion, relieved when it shook itself out and headed unruffled for the door. Smoothing out the folded pages of blue stationery, she began to read. Wallis wished to ask Evangeline a favour. Mentioning the dinner party at which she had chatted with the “charming Lady Joan Blunt,” Wallis expressed her sadness in discovering so late in the day that Mrs. Nettlefold had passed away. Wallis had heard that Lady Joan was encouraging her goddaughter to take a trip across the ocean and expressed the hope that a word from Wallis, her “oldest friend,” might help to convince Vangey to come.
“I would love to show you how life is so different over here,” Wallis had cajoled. “It might amuse you to know that this democrat has been taking dancing and curtseying lessons, though my curtsey is more of a mop than a floor sweeper!”
Given that her aunt Bessie was now too elderly to cross the Atlantic more than once a year, Wallis was missing the company of someone to talk to about the way they did things back home. She was not sure if Evangeline was acquainted with a fellow compatriot, Thelma Furness, with whom Wallis had previously spent a good deal of time. Sadly Wallis saw little of her these days, and if Evangeline could keep this one confidence to herself for now, the truth was that Wallis was beginning to feel a little overwhelmed by the British. Sometimes she did not know which nationality she belonged to. She loved the British dignity and their wide outlook but she preferred the American sense of humour and its peculiar brand of pep. Sometimes, despite the social swirl around her, Wallis felt a little out of things. Even the friendship of one or two special individuals (other than that of her dear husband, of course) did not wholly eradicate her sense of homesickness. She wanted to discuss all this and much more with Evangeline in person.
“Do come! Oh do !” she had written, underlining the words three times for emphasis. “We might even find you that elusive beau over here! He is bound to be waiting for you somewhere.”
A longing for her school days engulfed Evangeline. That long-gone sense of innocence and trust reminded her of the feeling she now had when about to put on a new dress, or when given a box of chocolates sealed up in its wrapper. Everything was lovely in the anticipation. There must have been a time , she
Dirt and chaos did not suit Wallis. The photographs of herself that she sometimes enclosed always confirmed that everything about Wallis was clean and tidy; she was as assured as a flamingo on one leg. The attractive waviness of her youthful hairstyle had long since disappeared. Instead she had become streamlined in every detail from the fine symmetry of the parting of her hair right down the middle, to the precise manner in which she posed for the camera in her chic and cinched dresses. Even the pencilled-in shape of the upended smile of her eyebrows that brought some relief to the otherwise empty expanse of her broad forehead had apparently been subjected to the same strict dietary regime. Some of the girls at school had nicknamed her “Skellis.” Evangeline tried not to dwell on the name they might have called her when she was out of the room, but skeletal she was certainly not.
Evangeline settled herself further into the faded blue velvet chair next to the fire, the silver paper knife as always on the table beside her. Realising from the startled yelp beneath her that she had sat on top of the new kitten, she extracted the tiny animal from underneath the cushion, relieved when it shook itself out and headed unruffled for the door. Smoothing out the folded pages of blue stationery, she began to read. Wallis wished to ask Evangeline a favour. Mentioning the dinner party at which she had chatted with the “charming Lady Joan Blunt,” Wallis expressed her sadness in discovering so late in the day that Mrs. Nettlefold had passed away. Wallis had heard that Lady Joan was encouraging her goddaughter to take a trip across the ocean and expressed the hope that a word from Wallis, her “oldest friend,” might help to convince Vangey to come.
“I would love to show you how life is so different over here,” Wallis had cajoled. “It might amuse you to know that this democrat has been taking dancing and curtseying lessons, though my curtsey is more of a mop than a floor sweeper!”
Given that her aunt Bessie was now too elderly to cross the Atlantic more than once a year, Wallis was missing the company of someone to talk to about the way they did things back home. She was not sure if Evangeline was acquainted with a fellow compatriot, Thelma Furness, with whom Wallis had previously spent a good deal of time. Sadly Wallis saw little of her these days, and if Evangeline could keep this one confidence to herself for now, the truth was that Wallis was beginning to feel a little overwhelmed by the British. Sometimes she did not know which nationality she belonged to. She loved the British dignity and their wide outlook but she preferred the American sense of humour and its peculiar brand of pep. Sometimes, despite the social swirl around her, Wallis felt a little out of things. Even the friendship of one or two special individuals (other than that of her dear husband, of course) did not wholly eradicate her sense of homesickness. She wanted to discuss all this and much more with Evangeline in person.
“Do come! Oh do !” she had written, underlining the words three times for emphasis. “We might even find you that elusive beau over here! He is bound to be waiting for you somewhere.”
A longing for her school days engulfed Evangeline. That long-gone sense of innocence and trust reminded her of the feeling she now had when about to put on a new dress, or when given a box of chocolates sealed up in its wrapper. Everything was lovely in the anticipation. There must have been a time , she
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