Rupert was finally determined to be ready if Peter once again brought up last summer in Capri.
Editor’s Note: L. Fellows is arguably one of the two greatest men’s fashion illustrators of all time, the other being J.C. Leyendecker. Unlike Leyendecker’s straight-up ads for Arrow brand shirts, however, every Fellows illustration seems to tell a story—the details of which are left up to the observer. One such observer is our own contributor, Robert Sacheli, the Passionate Spectator. Recently, on his Facebook page, Bob began posting his own, Saki-style vignettes based on 11 of Fellows’ most famous illustrations. They were so priceless that we asked to post them here on our home page. Please enjoy this, our first foray into the genre of illustrated novella. (Not familiar with Fellows? See Mr. Thompson’s superb write-up on the illustrious illustrator.) — M2
Since their arrival in Palm Beach, the only evidence that Everett had seen of Roy’s celebrated acting ability was the number of variations on a pout he could produce.
That letter so carelessly tossed on the cabaña floor had freed Elyot from even pretending to care about Clifford’s choices in swimwear or companions.
4. Rex and Geoffrey
Though it cost them Nina’s friendship, a replacement Aubusson, and bribes to half a dozen doormen and hat check girls, Rex and Geoffrey agreed that Paul’s comeuppance was a bargain.
Kendall was frankly relieved when he spotted his next booking in the lobby of the Ansonia. This one did not look like a groper.
6. Victor and Edwin
Saturday’s incident in the tack room convinced Victor that Edwin deserved a blue ribbon in emotional dressage.
Arthur feigned nonchalance when Jack—with the Viscount in tow as usual — paused to admire his new boots.
Michael wished he could swallow his contempt as easily as the excellent Bengal Lancer’s Punch he tightly gripped. Just three days had passed, and here was Simon again, swanning onto the verandah as if he were Leslie Howard at the Ivy. He regretted, bitterly and sincerely, that he had offered to lead the rescue party. He knew now that he must complete what the monsoon could not.
Roger regarded his lack of self-reflection to be among his more endearing traits, but even he had to recognize the bargain required for each foxtrot with Larita: He could feel a small but vital piece of his soul disappear with the orchestra’s waning notes. He comforted himself with the knowledge he was a man who would never ask the price of a rumba.
Miss Esmond’s “Good morning, sir” now had an insistent vivacity that verged on the sinister. Sweet Jesus, Leo found himself pleading, please let me get through the Lux-O presentation without strangling her.
Julian now saw his father as if for the first time. He realised that everything—the brokerage, Valentina’s triumph at the ballet last night, even his mother’s sojourns in Juan-les-Pins—had unfurled from an elegantly tailored fabric of lies. Why then, he asked himself, was he strangely exhilarated?