Lydia looked at Claudia who was busy peeling potatoes. The older woman put down the knife, dried her hands and left the room.

Lydia sat at the kitchen table and pulled Bobby down on the chair next to her. He knew she had been born in Russia, she had told him in his first term at the infant school, when he complained about taunts of being a poor little rich boy. Wealth or its lack had never entered his head. He had all he needed and he supposed he was lucky to have all that garden to play in but it didn’t make him different. He rebelled when the bigger boys had demanded money off him and wouldn’t believe that his pocket money was even less than theirs. Lydia had advised him not to give in to them, that if he did, they would only ask for more. She had told him about when she first went to school at Upstone and how frightened she had been, especially when she hadn’t been able to speak English properly.

‘Not speak English!’ he had exclaimed. ‘What language did you speak, then?’

It was then she had told him about being born in Russia and how Grandpa Stoneleigh had saved her and adopted her. He was not her real father and therefore not their real grandfather. She had not said anything about her return in 1938 and the birth of Yuri. She had known one day she would have to tell her children they had a half-brother, but had put it off until they could understand why there had ever been anyone in her life besides their father. Now it seemed the time had come.

She smiled. ‘And you are curious?’

‘Of course I am. Why was I never told? You think you know all about someone and then you discover you don’t know anything at all. And why should Dad and Grandad argue over him?’

‘Were they arguing?’

‘No, not exactly, but Dad got a bit hot under the collar.’

‘I’m sorry for that. It’s nothing they should be arguing about. It was all so long ago.’

‘What were you doing in Russia and why didn’t you bring the baby back with you? And what happened to your Russian husband?’

‘Were you eavesdropping?’

‘Not on purpose. I was playing on the floor. They didn’t know I was there.’

She and Andrei had played on the floor at Kirilhor, she remembered, and had heard things they shouldn’t which had only become clear years later. Believing, as she always had, that if children asked questions, they deserved honest answers, she told him a watered-down version of what had happened

‘Wow!’ he said when she finished. ‘That’s like a fairy story. Can’t you find him again?’

‘I don’t think so. Russia is nothing like England, you can’t move about freely and if you are a foreigner you can only go where the Russians choose to take you. And it all happened too long ago.’

‘But you must think about him.’

‘Sometimes I do. It’s only natural, I suppose.’

After he had gone, Lydia returned to her pastry, musing as she rolled it out. Her son had set her thinking about the past again. Fancy Papa thinking they ought to try and find Yuri. Of course, it was impossible. She didn’t like them arguing over it and she must warn Papa not to mention it again. And she must make a point of taking Tatty on one side and telling her the story before she heard a garbled version from Bobby.

How swiftly the years had flown by, Lydia mused. The children were no longer babies, they were little people with personalities and temperaments all their own. Nine-year-old Bobby was like Robert, though not so patient and tolerant. He might learn those virtues as he grew older. He was certainly brainy. Tatty, two years younger, was intelligent but could never sit still long enough to learn her lessons; she would rather be active, skipping and running, climbing trees, taking part in sport. But she was also tender-hearted and would weep buckets over a wounded bird. How she would react, Lydia did not know.

Getting the children ready for school next morning, after an unusually stormy night, she was only half listening to the breakfast news on the wireless; she was still musing on Tatty’s reaction to her tale. Her daughter had gazed at her in wonder and asked all sorts of questions Bobby would never have thought of: What colour was Yuri’s hair? His eyes? Was he fat like her friend Chloe’s baby brother was? Did he cry much? When was he coming home? All of which she had endeavoured to answer. Tatty must have been satisfied because she had gone to bed and straight to sleep, and hadn’t mentioned it since waking up.

Struggling with Tatty’s wellington boots, she heard the newsreader speak of extra high tides which, combining with wind and rain, had caused widespread floods down the east coast, from Lincolnshire to Kent. It was feared there was some loss of life and many injuries as people tried to escape the water. Some were trapped in the upper storeys of their houses, some had gone out onto the roofs of their bungalows and sat there awaiting rescue. Thousands had lost their homes, especially those close to the low-lying coast.

‘It reminds me of 1947,’ Edward said from the rocking chair by the kitchen hearth. He was still a handsome man, white-haired, a little bent, but still active, refusing to give way to old age. ‘Do you remember? Robert took a rowing boat out and helped rescue people and brought them here, and you and Claudia wrapped them in blankets and gave them tea and soup.’

‘I remember. It was a terrible time.’ Valleys all over the country had become lakes; the Fens, so close to Upstone Hall, had become a vast inland sea. Field after field had become inundated, the farmers lost their crops, cows had to be rescued using boats. But it was not only the floods, the shortages and the strikes which made it terrible, but the fact that Robert had not been able to settle down in civilian life and gone back into the navy. She sometimes wondered if he needed to get away from Upstone and her memories. However careful she was not to mention Alex or Yuri, he knew she could never completely let go. It filled her with guilt because her husband deserved to be more than second best.

He had left very early that morning to return to duty. The war in Korea between the Communist North and the non-Communist South had been going on for three years. South Korea was being backed by troops from America and Britain and it involved the Royal Navy.

‘When Robert comes home again, I think you should think about taking a holiday,’ Edward said, almost as if he had read her mind. ‘He needs you to himself sometimes, you know. Claudia will look after the children.’ Claudia was still with them, but for how much longer, Lydia did not know. The fifty-year-old was courting a bus driver who drove the bus that passed their gate and took passengers into Upstone. Apart from two women who came in daily, she was the only live-in servant left, though no one thought of her in those terms. She was a friend and helpmate to everyone, especially the children, whom she adored. She had told Lydia she was torn in two when Reggie had proposed, not wanting to leave Upstone Hall, but Lydia had told her not to be so silly and to go ahead.

‘I know. We’ll talk about it when the time comes.’ She finished putting Tatty’s coat on and buttoning it up, then turned to Bobby. ‘Are you ready? Have you got your lunch and your football boots?’

‘Yes, Mum.’ He picked up his satchel and all three said cheerio to Edward and left by the kitchen door. The wind was still howling round the house and it was raining hard. Water was streaming down the drive like a small river.

The school was within easy walking distance and usually she encouraged the children to walk there and back, but today even she was struggling to stand upright. ‘I think I’d better take you in the car today,’ she said. In 1950 when petrol rationing was abolished, Robert had bought Lydia a new Morris Minor.


The storms abated at last. Over three hundred people had lost their lives, twenty-four thousand houses had been damaged, some beyond repair. In the countryside thousands of animals drowned and fields inundated by salt water could not grow crops. Winston Churchill, who had been returned as prime minister after the general election of 1951, declared it a national disaster.

Stalin died in March and Lydia wondered if it would make any difference to East-West relations. The entente of the war years had soon disappeared and the Soviet Union and its satellites were as cut off from the Western world as they had been when Churchill spoke of an iron curtain. Any news from Russia set Lydia thinking of Alex and Yuri; she supposed she would never stop thinking of them, but the pain had dulled, leaving a quiet nostalgia that she deliberately kept at bay. To let it come to the forefront of her mind would be a catastrophe and unfair to Bob and her children. They deserved the very best she could do for them.

One happy event was the coronation of Queen Elizabeth on the second of June, which was televised almost in its entirety. It was a day of great pageantry, which the country loved. They turned out in their thousands to watch the procession as Elizabeth travelled to Westminster Abbey in the golden State Coach.

The Korean War ended and Robert came home in time to take them all on holiday in Scotland during the school holiday. The weather was kind to them, and they had a lovely time, walking in the Highlands and sailing on the lochs. They returned sunburnt and happy, and then Robert and Lydia left the children at Upstone and went to Balfour Place for a long weekend. They wandered about doing nothing in particular, seeing the sights, shopping, going to the theatre and making love. ‘We’ll do more of this when I leave the service,’ Robert said.

‘Are you thinking of leaving?’