Читать книгу Secrets of Cavendon: A gripping historical saga full of intrigue and drama - Barbara Taylor Bradford - Страница 17

Victoria Brown, the shy and somewhat wary little evacuee, whom Alice Swann had taken into her heart the moment she had first met her, had grown up to be a lovely young woman. She had arrived at Cavendon in 1939, just before her eleventh birthday, and she would celebrate her twenty-first birthday later this year.

In the ensuing years she had become strikingly pretty, with a mass of shiny brown hair shot through with golden streaks, and unusually deep green eyes. Tall, even as a child, she had a lithe, willowy figure, and a graceful energy when she moved.

Alice was not at all surprised she had turned into a unique young woman, who made heads swivel when she passed people on the street. And neither was Walter. They knew, too, how talented Victoria was as a photographer, and had permitted her to move to London to pursue her passion. Her love of taking pictures had started when Walter had given her a Kodak camera as a child. Ever since then she had never had a camera out of her hands. But over the years they had grown more intricate and expensive.

It had been Harry Swann’s wife, Paloma, who had noticed Victoria’s budding talent; a photographer herself, she had taught Victoria everything she knew about the art. Victoria’s forte was portraits, but she also enjoyed helping out on fashion shoots and had started to do a few of her own, which she managed to make unique and very different.

On this warm Saturday afternoon in July, Victoria walked around her small flat in Belsize Park Gardens, checking the tiny rooms. Alice had told her to make Saturday her household day when she had first come to London a year ago; it was when they had found this flat. And this she had done. She went shopping for her weekly groceries first, then returned home to clean the bedroom, bathroom, sitting room and galley kitchen. Despite its small size it was comfortable, and she liked its cosiness.

Nodding to herself, satisfied that everything was ‘spick and span’, as Alice always called well-cleaned rooms, she went into her bedroom. Walter had made a closet for her when she had first moved in, with a rail and curtain. It was in a small alcove, and held all her clothes – not that she owned very many, with rationing having been in place for a decade, and Alice being a great believer in make-do and mend. She slid hangers along the rail, picked out several skirts, blouses, cotton shirts and cotton frocks. These were her selections for next week; they were her work clothes.

Alice had advised her to do this every Saturday: ‘being prepared’, Alice called it. It was yet another rule from Alice, but then Alice had been the centre of her life since she had arrived in Little Skell village ten years ago.

Bright and very clever in a variety of ways, Victoria was aware Alice and Walter had helped to make her who she was today. It was their influence and love which had shaped her, their help that had supported her scholarship to Harrogate College.

She hardly dared think what would have become of her if she had not been sent to them as an evacuee. She might well have been dead. They had saved her life, of that she was absolutely certain.

It was to the Swanns that she always turned when she needed advice, or had a problem, and they had never failed her. And she knew they never would. Victoria was determined to make them proud of her.

By the end of the war she had so settled in with them she was scared what would happen to her when peace came. Victoria knew she was where she wanted to be, where she belonged: in Little Skell village on the edge of Cavendon Park.

But the Pied Piper Organization, in charge of the Evacuee Programme, might take her away and send her back to the frightening house in Leeds. That had truly made her shudder at the time. And she had finally found the courage to confide in Alice about her terrible childhood and her horrific mother. Alice had been upset, angry and shocked.

After the war, Alice had gone to Leeds to see the head of the agency in charge 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.