of evacuation. They informed her that Victoria’s mother, Helen Brown, had died of leukaemia in 1943, and her maternal grandmother, Bessie Trent, of a heart attack that same year. Her father, William Brown, who was in the Merchant Navy and was on the Russian convoys, had gone down with his ship in 1944.
Alice had asked why this information had never been passed on to them before, but the organization had been unable to give her a proper answer. One kind woman working for Pied Piper said there had been a mix-up and directed her to the correct government department so that she and Walter could fill in the papers to adopt Victoria. This soon happened, and Victoria was adopted by them almost immediately.
They were all immensely pleased – overjoyed, in fact – and Victoria had felt secure at last. She was aware that their loving care had made her more confident over the years, and was grateful to them.
But even now in 1949, various childhood traits lingered in Victoria’s personality. She was still a trifle shy, and always cautious, even a bit wary, in fact, and she certainly kept many people at arm’s length. However, for the most part, she was genial and had made several friends. It was Elise Steinbrenner and Charlie Stanton who were her closest friends, though, and she spent as much of her free time with them as she could.
Victoria had known Elise and Charlie since her childhood, and it was Alice who had asked them, in a discreet way, to keep an eye on Victoria in London, and they had willingly agreed. What they had done at first out of family ties and a sense of duty had soon become a pleasure.
Elise and Charlie had grown to love and admire Vicki, as they called her, and they were both in awe of her talent. Despite her youth, her portraits of people were almost like paintings, and they seemed to capture and reveal the souls of those who posed for her.
She had photographed Charlie for the cover of one of his history books, and he was staggered by it, and recommended her to everyone. So did Greta Chalmers, Elise’s sister, who was a big fan, and was determined to try to use her to give a younger feel to the autumn collection that Cecily Swann was about to design for next year.
Her chores finished, Victoria stood in front of the cheval mirror in her bedroom, checking her appearance, the way Aunt Alice had taught her. She liked the way she looked this afternoon; she was wearing a white dirndl skirt, a blue and white striped blouse and ballerinas. Neat but chic. Alice made her clothes and gave her Cecily’s hand-me-downs.
Satisfied that she was properly dressed for a simple supper with Elise, Victoria picked up her black patent shoulder bag and the small overnight grip, and left her flat, going downstairs to the entrance hall of the converted four-storey Victorian house.
When she stepped outside she saw the grey car parked across the street and instantly went back into the house and closed the door swiftly. Her heart was suddenly clattering and she was filling with dismay.
She had recognized the Vauxhall at once. It belonged to Phil Dayton, who worked in the office at Photo Elite. He had asked her out several times, but she had never accepted his invitations. Despite her efforts to discourage him, he had become something of a nuisance, pestering her to go out with him. Now this. He was spying.
Leaning against the wall, her mind racing, Victoria understood that Phil Dayton had become a threat. Instinctively, she smelled trouble. She would have to find a way to deal with him. Right now, though, she considered her options, wondering what to do.
If she left the house, he would see her. She might manage to get a taxi quickly, but he would follow her. Perhaps she could make a dash for the Tube station nearby. He certainly couldn’t do that, because he wouldn’t leave his car unattended. Her last option was to go over and confront him, and imply she was going to report his behaviour to their boss, Michael Sutton.
But she wasn’t too thrilled with that idea. There might be repercussions, and who knew whether she would be believed. She must be careful.
She jumped, startled by the banging of an upstairs door and the clatter of heavy feet running down the stairs at high speed.
Quite unexpectedly, her neighbour Declan O’Sullivan was calling her name, and a moment later smothering her in a big bear hug in the hallway.
Then he held her away and looked at her intently, his black eyes full of sparkle. ‘You look smashing, Victoria! You should be in pictures.’
Victoria couldn’t help laughing; Declan was always full of good cheer and bonhomie. ‘How was your mother’s birthday party?’ she asked, happy to see him.
‘A good time was had by all, and Mum loved every minute, being the centre of attention, and all that jazz. We partied until dawn.’
‘I’m glad. And I’m also relieved you’re back,’ Victoria said, and meant it. She missed Declan when he was touring in rep, or off making a film. He was one of her good friends, and reliable.
‘I see you’re off now? Going to Cavendon, are you?’ he asked.
‘No, I’m not. I’m about to have supper with Elise tonight. Nothing special, but tomorrow I’m going to see the flat she wants to take, so I can give her my opinion. Since I’m in north London and she’s in Chelsea, it’s always better if I sleep over at her sister’s house in Chelsea.’
‘That’s in Phene Street, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, why?’
‘Because I’m going that way. I’m meeting a mate at a pub in the King’s Road. So I can give you a lift. My car’s parked just down the street. Come on, let’s go.’ As he finished speaking, he picked up her overnight bag and opened the front door for her.
It was with some relief that Victoria fell into step with Declan and clung to his arm as he led her to his Morris Minor. It was parked further down in Belsize Park Gardens.
She couldn’t help hoping that Mister Phil Dayton was watching them in the mirror of his car. Then he would think she had a boyfriend and might leave her alone. No one had warned her that being a single career girl in the big city might carry this risk. But she wouldn’t give it up for the world.
Elise Steinbrenner stood on the landing between the two attics at the top of Greta’s house. She had suddenly felt the urge to walk around it a little earlier, and now her heart and mind were flooded with memories, filling her with happiness, and also a sense of sadness as well.
She loved this warm and welcoming place. Eleven years. That was how long she had lived here in Phene Street with her older half-sister, who had received them with open arms. They had arrived on a Sunday, weary, tired and a little scared, and yet relief and joy had soon replaced these other emotions. Her father and brother and she were safe. At long last.
They had escaped Berlin and the terror of Nazi Germany by the skin of their teeth.
They were in England at last. It was the red, white and blue Union Jack on flagpoles that whirled in the wind in London, and not the German flag bearing the dreaded swastika, that symbol of danger and fear to her.
A sudden memory flashed: the Union Jack billowing above the front door of the British Embassy on the Wilhelmstrasse. It had spelled SAFETY to her, and she had always thought how ironic it was that a few buildings further along was the Reichstag, where Hitler and his cronies sat plotting their heinous deeds in their headquarters, envisioning their conquest of the world.
They had been lucky, she and her brother Kurt and their father. They were Jews. And Jews in Germany were being killed by the thousands in 1938. Their escape had somehow been secretly arranged by Lady Diedre Ingham, who worked at the War Office. She had a contact at the British Embassy in Berlin, who knew someone who knew someone else. And their escape had been cleverly and carefully planned; and once they had their valid travel documents they had been able to leave Berlin. Elise knew she would never forget the moment they had crossed into France, and finally arrived in Paris. It was a strange kind of shock to realize she was free. That her