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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1426700-Golden-Memories
Rated: E · Short Story · Emotional · #1426700
Helen is back home.....
        Helen Morphine was very excited as she descended the escalator inside the Charles de Gaulle airport. She is going to visit, after what felt like a century, her old house where she lived with her parents before leaving for London. The airport was crowded with people as usual. It took time to claim her baggage and, finally, she is  happy to be standing outside the airport watching the new buildings that had come up since her absence. The sky was an intense blue and the sun was where it ought to be at seven o' clock in the morning. Paris felt like a new world to her. But it was in that world that she lived till that accident, a great tragedy in her life, took her parents away from her forever.

She took a deep breath, called for a taxi and got into it.

The driver gave her a quizzical look and yawned. She smiled and heard herself say, 'Saint-Germain.'

'The suburb?' he asked in a crafted french accent.

'Oui.'

As the taxi pulled into the streets, she leaned back and closed her eyes. Saint-Germain, the place held beautiful memories....


      They called it The Morphine Mansion. It was a cute triplex house with a charming garden and an open backyard which led to a small lake. According to her mother, they had moved into it just after Helen's birth. Roberto Morphine, her father and a great architect himself, had designed the house and had supervised its construction. She grew up in that very house with her mother and father who took great care of her. Her bedroom in the second floor was a special one too. It had a chute which connected her bedroom with her father's study and the kitchen. And the view from the window, she could never forget it. She had a spectacular view of the mountains and the lake and the Oak forest that surrounded it. She later came to know that it was one of her father's special additions to the house.

'Madame?...Nous avons arrive,' he muttered. 'Where to in Saint-Germain?'

    Helen was back in present reality. She looked out of the car window. She couldn't resist her joy of returning after so many years. It was like a dream.

'Number seven, Rue d'est,' she told him from memory.

    She thought that nothing had much changed except for a few more villas in the Rue de Nord. She glimpsed the church at the end of the street and recollected that their house is very near to it. And at last the taxi stopped. She paid the driver some extra francs and ran to hug the man who was waiting for her at the gate.

'Welcome home, Helen.'

'Pierre...oh God, how did you know I was coming?'

'Well...where there's a will, there's a way,' he said beaming. 'Philip informed me about your arrival yesterday.'

'Hey, your english has improved by leaps and bounds!'

'Oh yeah....but you want to visit your house first. Here-' he groped in his pockets and gave her the keys. 'Philip had made sure that everything is left intact.'

'Thank him for me.'

"I will..and also I am thinking you will like to be alone now but join us for lunch, okay?'

She nodded. 'Merci beaucoup.'

    Even as she unlocked the door, she could fell the warmth that was filling inside her. She stood at the entrance to the living room. The furniture was exactly as she
remembered it. She saw the grandfather clock that she had gifted her mother on her birthday. She went inside the kitchen and felt the cupboards her mother used to store things. She remembered the day she learnt how to make pancakes. It had been a wonderful experience. It was just her mother's expertise in cooking that inspired Helen to be one of the top chefs in the world. And that she had achieved in London. Helen is now the most sought after chef for Cooking programs on the TV.

    Next, she made her way to her father's study. It was where she spent most of her time. She noticed the small table at the corner of the room. Memories whirred into her mind.

                              *********************

    She must have been around ten years old then. It had been a rainy day and Helen was bored. She sat near the small table watching her father draw something on his board. After a while, he got up, took a deck of cards from the drawer and placed it on the table.

'Shall I teach you how to play cards, Helen?' he asked sitting next to her.

'Yes, papa. I'd love to.'

    It was the first time she played anything with her father and she enjoyed it. Moments later, even her mother joined them.

                              ***********************

    Helen wandered around the house for another half an hour, visiting each and every room. And at the end she had tears in her eyes. She realized how badly she missed her parents. She hurried towards the lake to see their graves. They were buried there at Helen's request. And on her way to the lake, she spotted the willow tree. It brought back wonderful moments she spent playing with Pierre. He used to tie a tire with a rope and hanged it from the tree. They used to take turns swinging in it.

After a little walk, Helen reached the graves. She felt a rush of loss deep down inside.

                                **********************

'It's Mr. Sam's wedding, Helen,' her father said on a murky Saturday night. 'You sure you don't want to come?'

'Yes papa, I'm sure. There's an exam tommorow and I have lots to study.'

    She was seventeen then. She didn't even say good-bye as they left without her. Two hours later, she got a phone call from St. Ann's Hospital that both Mr and Mrs Morphine had died in a car crash. Helen was devastated. Her mind went blank for a while. She left for London two months later, with a little help from her relatives.

                                ************************     

    That had been seventeen years ago and now Helen sat on a stone ledge near to the graves. Suddenly her phone began to ring.

'Hello'

'Hello Helen! C'est moi, Philip.'

Philip was the colony superintendant and also a good friend of Roberto Morphine.

'Bonjour Philip. What's up?'

'Ah...the professor had called me yet again. He said he's prepared to pay fifty thousand francs extra for the house.'

'I've already told him that I'm not interested,' said she staring at the mansion that was filled with golden memories. 'I could never ever sell this house.'













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