A Cold Reception: Thirteenth Tattersby

A Cold Reception


A Cold Reception


She’d written him a letter too confiding

for a cold reception

(Flying an enthusiasm, scientific enquiry, not…in his book)

A girl of twenty…she has since learned her lesson

1911—April it was—she’d been introduced at Newmarket races

to Mr. Ismay

All so gay

She thinks of his face

But…there he is—

Simon, always now, hovering

behind her in the glass, eyes beseeching

It makes Fiona want to spit

‘Simon!’ she snaps. ‘I do forgive you, of course.’

And this lie dispels nothing

She is the sort who does the expected thing

The powder puff obscures him in a cloud of talc

The very words call up a succession

of infuriating faults

Most of all that twitch of the lip that was not a smile

Because she’d put it down in ink

‘Is it possible? I think I love you.’



More of this piece on Tattersby page

A Scientific Family (excerpt)


(copyright 2017 Stephanie Foster)



Bonus! New Clip on YouTube



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