Clemmie Beaumont: A Short Story
From an alcove, he pulled out a chalkboard on wheels. For a second, he faltered, then with decisive strokes he wrote two words in chalk.
Clemmie Beaumont.
‘As you know, Clemmie has amnesia. But certain things have come to light where I need to act now, rather than wait for her memory to return. One by one, I will go around this table. Tell me what you know. Her flashbacks. Anything. It is time to gather all the pieces, here on this board, so we can slot her life together like a puzzle. Now, who would like to start first?’
‘Can I show you her painting?’ Gilt asked.
‘Oh, yes! That’s a good place to start.’
Once laid out on the table, they saw the painting in finer detail; the green sea, the blue sky. A tiny fishing boat bobbing on the water.
Clemmie Beaumont.
‘As you know, Clemmie has amnesia. But certain things have come to light where I need to act now, rather than wait for her memory to return. One by one, I will go around this table. Tell me what you know. Her flashbacks. Anything. It is time to gather all the pieces, here on this board, so we can slot her life together like a puzzle. Now, who would like to start first?’
‘Can I show you her painting?’ Gilt asked.
‘Oh, yes! That’s a good place to start.’
Once laid out on the table, they saw the painting in finer detail; the green sea, the blue sky. A tiny fishing boat bobbing on the water.