Storm Island

by Ken Follett

  "How did you trick them?" David asked, with the child'? assumption

  that his forebears did everything in history.

  "Well, see, we made them think Grandpa's voice became low and

  conspiratorial, and the child giggled in anticipation.

  "We made them think we were going to attack Calais ' That's in France,

  not Germany."

  "Yes, but the Germans were all over France, then. The Froggies didn't

  defend themselves as well as we did."

  Jo said: "Nothing to do with the fact that we're an island, of

  course."

  Ann shushed him.

  "Let Grandpa tell his war stories."

  "Anyway," Grandpa continued, 'we made them think we were going to

  attack Calais, so they put all their tanks and soldiers there." He

  used a cushion to represent France, an ashtray for the Germans, and a

  penknife for the Allies.

  "But we attacked Normandy, and there was nobody there but old Rommel

  and a few pop-guns! Cunning and stealth, see?"

  "Didn't they find out about the trick?" David asked.

  "They nearly did. In fact, there was one spy who found out. Now not

  many people know that, but I know because I was a spy catcher in the

  war."

  "What happened to the spy?"

  We killed him before he could tell."

  "Did you kill him, Grandpa?"

  "No Grandma did."

  David's eyes widened.

  "Grandma killed him?"

  Grandma came in carrying a teapot, and said: "Fred Bloggs, are you

  frightening the children?"

  "Why shouldn't they know?" he groused.

  "She's got a medal, you know. She won't tell me where she keeps it

  because she doesn't like me showing it to visitors."

  Grandma was pouring tea.

  "It's all over now, and best forgotten, just as Jo says. Anyway, not

  much good came out of it." She handed a cup and saucer to Grandpa.

  He took her arm and held her there.

  "Some good came out of it," he said. His voice was suddenly quite

  gentle, all the elderly grumpiness gone.

  "I met a hero, and married her."

  They looked at each other for a moment. Her beautiful hair was

  pepper-and-salt now, and she wore it in a bun. She was heavier than

  she used to be. For years her clothes had always been fashionable and

  glamorous, but she no longer had the figure for haute couture. But her

  eyes were still the same: large and amber, and remarkably beautiful.

  Those eyes looked back at him, now, and they both were very still,

  remembering the way it had been.

  Then David jumped off his Grandpa's lap and knocked the cup of tea to

  the floor, and the spell was broken.