Free Running to Paradise by Virginia Budd

someone wants to stay? I mean where will they sleep?’ We were standing in my spare bedroom: my task of sorting Char’s papers done, I was about to embark on the reading of them.
    ‘ No one ever does want to stay,’ I said huffily. ‘And the first rule for any researcher is to catalogue his primary sources: it’s no use just diving in at random, you’d never get anywhere.’
    ‘ Are you trying to get somewhere then, dear old Guy? You do seem to be taking all this rather seriously.’
    ‘ Don’t call me “dear old Guy”, it makes me sound like the family dog.’ I felt tired and irritable. It had been a hell of a day at the office and the last thing I needed was Sophia in one of her patronising moods. Now, are you going to tell me about Aunt Beth?’ Sophia sat down on the bed, having carefully removed the years 1924 and 1925 and placed them on the floor beside a large, enigmatic photograph of a group of people in pudding-basin hats standing glumly in front of what looked like a gasometer.
    ‘ Aunt Beth was Grandpa’s sister. She died before I was born, but she was one of Mum’s favourite people. She never married and lived with Aunty Roo — I do just remember her —who was a sort of Osborn cousin, in a large flat in Garden Court, Kensington. They lived there for years and years and it became a family meeting place. Mum stayed there a lot when she was a child. When Aunt Beth died she left some of her things to Mum, hence, I suppose, the existence of her diaries. But what are all these bits and pieces with them?’ She pulled out a brilliantly coloured picture postcard of St Peter’s, Rome.
    ‘ Sophia, don’t mix everything up, please . They’re all in chronological order; you see the letters and postcards fit in with the diaries—’
    ‘ Am I being a bore, Guy? You will tell me, won’t you, if I am?’
    ‘ You’re being a bore,’ I said, ‘but rather a beautiful one,’ and was instantly amazed at my temerity.
    Sophia was silent for a moment while she lit a cigarette. Then: ‘That’s better,’ she said. ‘That’s what I like to hear.’
    ‘ Let’s eat,’ I said. ‘Everything’s ready.’ She got up from the bed and took my arm. ‘And afterwards can we look at the diaries together?’ she said. ‘We could read them out loud to each other, take it in turns; make them come alive...’
     
    The Grand Hotel, St, Moritz
    10th March, 1910
    My dearest Scamp,
    We arrived here yesterday from Paris. The weather good and the snow just right for skiing. I do wish you and Baby were here — what fun we all would have! Did you get our postcards from Paris? Don’t forget to keep the stamps for your album that Aunt Beth gave you.
    Ma was a little unwell on the train journey out, but is much better now and sends her fondest love to you and Baby. I hope you are looking after Rags and Augustus and remembering to give the horses their Sunday lumps of sugar.
    We will be home for Easter. They have some fine chocolate eggs in the shops here and if you are a good girl while we are away and work hard at your lessons with Miss Lamont, I ’ll bring one back for you. We leave here next Tuesday and take the night express to Rome.
    All love, dear child, to you and Baby
    Yr loving Pa
    PS I fell over in the snow today, right on my behind. How you would have laughed!
     
    Hotel Trevi, Roma
    25th March 1910
    My Char —
    Rome is so lovely and here I am confined to bed — isn’t it absurd! Pa has to go sight-seeing on his own. Never mind, our hotel is on one of the seven hills of Rome and from my bed I can see through the open window right over this beautiful city. The church bells ring all day long, such a lovely sound, I think, and not in the least like English bells. Some kind friends have just been in to sit with me while Pa is out. A Miss Peacock and Miss Lovridge, do you remember them? They stayed with us last year. Miss Peacock is a first-class croquet player and they are both such clever artists. They are