Memories of the Storm Read Online Free

and drew out a small
snapshot. 'I thought this might interest you.'
    Jonah bent over it eagerly: two figures posing just
outside French windows opening on to a sunny
lawn. The bigger girl with short dark hair was
kneeling beside a small child. One arm was round
the little girl, the other gesturing towards the
camera as if to fix her attention. 'Look,' she might
be saying. 'Look, Lucy. Smile.' On the back in
fading ink were the words: 'Hester with Lucy in the
garden at Bridge House. June 1945.'
    As he looked, a memory, whole and complete,
slid into his mind. He was standing at the door of
the small attic room watching his mother searching
for something in a chest. The musty scent of old
clothes and books was in his nostrils and the
unshaded bulb glimmered weakly, lighting pieces
of broken, dusty furniture but leaving cobwebby
corners unlit and rather menacing. His mother
wrestled with the drawer, tugging at it sharply so
that it slid out suddenly and a big envelope with old
snapshots came spilling to the floor.
    He ran forward and caught at one of the snapshots,
peering at the small figures before turning
it over to see the names written on the back:
'Lucy with Robin and Jack at Bridge House. August
1944.'
    'Who are these children?' he asked his mother
curiously. 'Lucy. That's you, isn't it? But who are
these little boys?'
    'I don't know.' She took the photograph from
him quickly and put it back into the envelope,
shoving it into the drawer and closing it. 'It's all too
long ago to remember.'
    An atmosphere of fear and distress alerted him,
young though he was, and later he crept back to
look at the snapshot again: the three children
captured in the grainy texture of the past, beaming
at the camera, and the name typed on the big buff
envelope: 'Major Michael Scott', his grandfather's
name.
    Now Hester watched him as he turned the snapshot
over and he glanced at her almost unseeingly
and shook his head.
    'This is extraordinary,' he said at last. 'This
reminds me of the one we have at home except
that, in that one, it's my mother with two little boys.
Jack and Robin. Their names are written on the
back of the snapshot just like this.'
    'That would have been my nephews. My sister,
Patricia's, two little boys,' said Hester. 'Jack and
Lucy were very close friends.'
    'The photograph always fascinated me but she
simply refuses to talk about it. Can you imagine why
that should be?'
    'It was a very painful time for her,' Hester replied
cautiously. 'Tell me, how is Lucy? Where does she
live?'
    'In Chichester.' Jonah was reluctantly diverted.
'My parents have lived there all their married lives.
My father was a science teacher but he's got this
ghastly disease called lupus. Have you heard of it?
The body's immune system goes into overdrive and
attacks itself. It's pretty grim.'
    'I am so sorry.' It was Hester's turn to be horrified.
'How frightful for him. And for poor Lucy.'
    'She'll be amazed when she knows I've actually
been here. I hope she won't be upset. How long was
she here with you? I didn't realize that you were all
friends. I assumed it was just a normal evacuation
thing.' Jonah settled more comfortably in his chair,
ready for confidences. 'It must have been wonderful
for her to come here to you all, having just lost her
mother. Did my grandfather bring her down?'
    Before Hester could answer, the door opened
and Clio put her head round it.
    'I thought you'd be in the drawing-room,' she
said. 'Supper's ready and Jonah's bed's made up.
Come and eat.'
    The breakfast-room was connected to the kitchen
by an archway through which the working area
could be glimpsed. The paraphernalia of cooking,
pots and pans and utensils hastily cast aside,
was prevented from intruding on the comfortable
simplicity of the room by the simple mechanism of
an amber-coloured velvet curtain twitched across
the archway after the last plate had been carried
through. Coming in from the small, cosy bookroom,
Jonah was struck by the light, uncluttered
space: