nineveh_uk (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nineveh_uk) wrote2006-06-27 09:58 am
nineveh_uk) wrote2006-06-27 09:58 am
Wimseyfic
Because it wasn’t enough to spend all day yesterday staring at the computer screen, but I had to do it in the evening as well. At least it was a change from spreadsheets of exam marks.
1930, a missing canon moment ficlet - Lord Peter’s catastrophic Christmas present to Harriet. Should any unwanted suitors ever fancy giving me beautiful glass vases, this one by Anja Kjaer (scroll down) will do nicely, though I prefer it in purple to red. I promise not to return it.
*
Indulging herself in a fit of temper, Harriet reflected that she might have been a great deal less angry with Peter had it not been such a nice Christmas present. To send a present one could not possibly keep was bad enough – though she wasn’t quite sure that a book, flowers or chocolates might not have been somehow worse – but to send something that cost a pang to give up was adding insult to injury. Harriet set the little glass vase resolutely back in its box and turned to hunt out brown paper and string. Damn Peter! It was a lovely vase; not embarrassingly expensive, though more than she could ever have spent on herself, exquisitely tasteful, and no doubt carefully chosen to imply absolutely nothing at all – except that he had given it to her and she had accepted it, and that simply would not do. She would have to write a note – at least that offered scope for the relief of feelings. How could he have done it? What did he think of her to imagine that she could ever have accepted it from him? Yes, that would do quite nicely: I cannot possibly allow you to imagine. She stoked the fury with a little speculation concerning what she might say to him if he objected. Not that he would, of course, but a little drama helped one to pretend the fury was not nine parts humiliation.
For a letter produced in the eloquence of fury, Harriet reflected, she had managed quite a nice and even tone of cutting censure. Her pen had scrawled a little, but it was tempting to leave it for effect. She addressed the envelope rather more neatly and folded the paper in half. Oh, but there was one more thing after all. She picked up a clean sheet and amended the first line with vicious satisfaction, Dear Lord Peter. That would do very well indeed.
She stamped and sealed the envelope and invented an errand that would take her past the pillar-box. It was quite some time later, careful apologies offered, things smoothed over, sulks moved on to something else, that she thought of her note again and wondered whether he had kept it.
1930, a missing canon moment ficlet - Lord Peter’s catastrophic Christmas present to Harriet. Should any unwanted suitors ever fancy giving me beautiful glass vases, this one by Anja Kjaer (scroll down) will do nicely, though I prefer it in purple to red. I promise not to return it.
*
Indulging herself in a fit of temper, Harriet reflected that she might have been a great deal less angry with Peter had it not been such a nice Christmas present. To send a present one could not possibly keep was bad enough – though she wasn’t quite sure that a book, flowers or chocolates might not have been somehow worse – but to send something that cost a pang to give up was adding insult to injury. Harriet set the little glass vase resolutely back in its box and turned to hunt out brown paper and string. Damn Peter! It was a lovely vase; not embarrassingly expensive, though more than she could ever have spent on herself, exquisitely tasteful, and no doubt carefully chosen to imply absolutely nothing at all – except that he had given it to her and she had accepted it, and that simply would not do. She would have to write a note – at least that offered scope for the relief of feelings. How could he have done it? What did he think of her to imagine that she could ever have accepted it from him? Yes, that would do quite nicely: I cannot possibly allow you to imagine. She stoked the fury with a little speculation concerning what she might say to him if he objected. Not that he would, of course, but a little drama helped one to pretend the fury was not nine parts humiliation.
For a letter produced in the eloquence of fury, Harriet reflected, she had managed quite a nice and even tone of cutting censure. Her pen had scrawled a little, but it was tempting to leave it for effect. She addressed the envelope rather more neatly and folded the paper in half. Oh, but there was one more thing after all. She picked up a clean sheet and amended the first line with vicious satisfaction, Dear Lord Peter. That would do very well indeed.
She stamped and sealed the envelope and invented an errand that would take her past the pillar-box. It was quite some time later, careful apologies offered, things smoothed over, sulks moved on to something else, that she thought of her note again and wondered whether he had kept it.
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Love the last line :)
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I had mixed feelings about the last couple of lines (they were nearly omitted), so good that it works.