Free Memories of the Storm by Marcia Willett

all the siblings. Both of
Edward's younger brothers are at sea but Patricia's
two small boys are at hand, waiting to be introduced.
    The eldest, three-year-old Jack, shakes Eleanor's
hand, staring up at her curiously, but small Robin is
overwhelmed by this tall dark woman who bends
over him. He begins to cry. Patricia gathers him to
her, comforting but mildly reproving, as though
she fears that their guest might in some way be
offended. Eleanor simply laughs, takes a sweet from
her bag and pops it into his mouth.
    As if he is a dog, thinks Hester, to be silenced
with a biscuit. Quickly she catches herself up: she
must make an effort to be friends with Eleanor,
though some deep instinct warns her against this
elegant, self-possessed woman.
    'And this is Hester.' Edward's thin sensitive
face is alight with pleasure at the prospect of his
favourite sister meeting his bride-to-be.
    Eleanor's hand is warm; her look manages to be
both critical and amused.
    'Hello, Hester,' she says – and each is immediately
aware of the other's antagonism. Eleanor
makes some casual, laughing remark about Hester's
letters to Edward – 'How do you manage to think of
so much to say? Pages of them! I'm always so impressed, but then I can hardly think of enough to
cover a single sheet, especially to a brother.' Within
the compliment there is a little barb, something
that implies that it's all rather pathetic – surely
Hester has better things to do with her time than
write screeds to her big brother? Hester refuses
both the compliment and the jibe, simply smiling
politely and saying nothing. Eleanor stares at her
for a moment; then, with a tiny shrug and a little
moue of the lips, which says that if Hester chooses
to be unfriendly that's her problem, she turns
away to join Edward who is now speaking to his
mother.
    Nevertheless, Hester is suddenly conscious of her
old flannel skirt and unflattering jersey, and she is
relieved when Robin comes to her on unsteady feet
so that she can resume her seat on the fender and
take him onto her lap.
    And then Edward is perching beside her, still
with that excited expression, saying, 'What do you
think of her, Hes? Isn't she sensational?'
    'Oh, yes,' she says obediently, staring at his
flushed cheeks and the over-bright eyes that are
still fixed on Eleanor as if he cannot bear to lose a
minute of her. 'Yes, she's very beautiful.'
    'It's like he has a fever,' she says to Patricia later.
They are sharing a bedroom, just as they did when
they were children, because Eleanor has been given
Patricia's bigger room. Patricia is using the other
single bed that is usually covered with piles of
books. Hester has put them back into the bookcase,
and she has allotted part of a drawer in the old
painted chest for Patricia's needs. The wind rattles
the windows and the river roars tumultuously.
    'He has,' says Patricia, bending to peer into the
spotted looking-glass, turning away rather despairingly
from her pretty but rather indeterminate
reflection. She too feels inadequate beside
Eleanor's dark, highly polished brilliance. 'He's in
love. That's how it takes you if you're lucky.'
    'Lucky?' Hester makes a face. 'I wouldn't want to
be like that, burning up with something that makes
you different and . . . silly.'
    She sits up straight against her pillow – arms
folded, legs stuck straight down beneath the
blankets – hating Edward's new silliness and resenting
Eleanor for making her beloved brother look
foolish; lovesick.
    'It's not his fault,' says Patricia wisely, folding her
clothes on the small chair and climbing into the
narrow bed. 'You'll see one day.'
    'I knew you were going to say that,' says Hester
furiously. 'Honestly, you're so predictable, Pat.
It's always the same thing: I don't know anything
because I'm too young. I'm not that young. I'm
thirteen, remember. I know how to feel things,' she
adds rather grandly.
    'But not being in love,' says Patricia. 'Not yet. It's
like a kind of madness, really. A fever, like