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Elizabeth Taylor: Angel
She had never cared much for books, because they did not seem to be about her, and she thought that she would rather write a book herself, to a pattern of her own choosing and about a beautiful young girl with a startling white skin, heiress to great property, wearing white piqué at Osborne and […]
Elizabeth Taylor: The Soul of Kindness
He was one of the various men Flora invited to the house whenever Meg was expected. She eagerly waited to hear Meg’s reactions, when next they met alone – sometimes in Meg’s lunch hour when Flora was shopping. If she could get Meg settled, Flora had decided, she herself would be quite happy, but her […]
Elizabeth Taylor: A View of the Harbour
Tory Foyle unwound the black chenille scarf from her hair. She was what was once held to be the typical English Beauty, her pink face, bright hair and really violet eyes. ’I had a letter from Edward.’ She took a small piece of lined paper from her pocket and smoothed it. Beth poured tea and […]
Elizabeth Taylor: In a Summer Season
Lady Asperley, at whose home years ago Kate and Alan had first met Dermot, had been lukewarm about a marriage – disastrous as she believed it must be – for which she held herself responsible. She had known Dermot was a drifter, but his voice reminded her of his father’s – a man she had […]
Elizabeth Taylor: Blaming
’I am consumed by a desire to see your house,’ Amy read. ’Laurel House, Laurel Walk sounds so English.’ Martha’s spidery, American hand-writing. Ernie, bringing in a pot of coffee, asked, ’Everything all right, madam?’ His new teeth clicked badly. If they were to do it for ever, she felt that she could not bear […]
Elizabeth Taylor: Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont | Naistenviikkohaaste 2021
Desmond did not come. The sweater Mrs Palfrey was knitting for him neared completion, and everyone knew that he had not come to claim it. Saving face had been an important part of life in the Far East, and Mrs Palfrey tried to save hers now. Trouble usually comes from doing so, and it came […]
Elizabeth Taylor: At Mrs Lippincote's
Oliver Davenant did not merely read books. He snuffed them up, took breaths of them into his lungs, filled his eyes with the sight of the print and his head with the sound of words. Some emanation from the book itself poured into his bones, as if he were absorbing steady sunshine. The pages had […]
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