In a modest room on the third floor of 14 Savile Row Fiona Saint Clair is at her desk finishing her studies. In front of her is a tempting cup of tea steaming. As she makes her final notes she closes her folders, places the pen down on the blotter paper and rubs her eyes. She picks up her tea and evaluates the clean handkerchief drying in front of her. She is proud of the new chemical formula, it eliminated the grease spectacularly.
She sips her tea with a smile as she gets out a clean sheet of paper while taking one last look at the handkerchief. She puts down the warm tea-cup and starts to write.
Dear Miss Alaya,
It was enjoyable to meet you today. I must confess, I have noticed the past weeks your face looking at me as I ride by during my deliveries. My bicycle chain breaking was my opportunity to inquire into who is concealed behind those lace curtains.
I wonder how foolish I must seem with my choice of transport, luggage, cricket bat and umbrella.
Your amazing laugh, at the cost of my clumsiness, put me at ease. It summoned my confidence to acknowledge you.
A little about me; I love books, I am in my first-year pre-clinical training for medicine. As you can tell from my accent I am from Scotland, my worst character flaw is my clumsiness and my greatest passion in life is knowledge.
I might not have the time to write every day or week. My studies and other obligations must come first. But, I would like to get to know you. I am curious about the woman behind the lace curtains.
Please tell me about yourself.
Miss Fiona
Fiona folds the letter quickly places it in an envelope. She licks it closed, winces at the wet glue aftertaste and gulps that last bit of tea to cleanse her tongue.