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. It ran along one wall and held all of her clothes. 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 center of her life since she had arrived in Little Skell village ten years ago.
Bright, intelligent, 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 money that had paid for her education at Harrogate College.
She hardly dared to 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 went 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 leukemia 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, went 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 most of her free time with them, when they could, too.
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, 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 extraordinary photography. 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 of Victoria’s fashion shoots, and was determined to use her for the summer collection Cecily Swann was about to design for next year.
* * *
An hour later, 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 suitcase, and left her flat, went downstairs to the entrance hall of the four-story Victorian house converted into flats.
When she stepped outside she saw the gray 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 PhotoElite. 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 taxicab 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 behavior to their boss, Michael Sutton.
But she wasn’t too thrilled with that idea. There might be repercussions, and who knew whether or not Phil Dayton would retaliate in some awful way. She had sudden rather bad feelings about him. 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 neighbor 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 center 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, 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 case 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 farther down in Belsize Park Gardens.
She couldn’t help hoping that Mr. Phil Dayton was watching them in the mirror of his car. Then he would think she had a boyfriend and might leave her alone.
Eleven
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 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 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 farther along was the Reichstag, where Hitler and his cronies sat plotting their heinous deeds in their headquarters, envisioning their conquest of the world.
They were 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. They were escorted on the train to Paris by an Englishman called Tony Jenkins and his friend Alex Dubé, an American impresario who had recently died, much to their sorrow.
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 her system to realize she was free. That her brother and her parents were free.
A small involuntary shiver ran through her as her mind filled with thoughts of her mother. Heddy Steinbrenner had not traveled with them to London in the end. She had remained in Paris. Elise knew the reason why she had stayed, because she had gone back to Paris and Berlin in 1946, wanting to find out about her mother’s fate, and discovering the truth.
Pushing these thoughts to one side, Elise walked into the attic that Kurt had called his lair. Years ago, Greta had furnished it with a desk and chair, several comfortable armchairs, bookshelves, and a chest of drawers. He had spent a lot of time in here.
Now, staring at the corkboard above the desk, Elise smiled to herself. There had always been a small Union Jack flag and a bright red poppy for Poppy Day, in remembrance of the First World War, pinned to the board. His special keepsakes. Those spots on the board were empty. Kurt had taken his flag and his poppy with him when he had left for New York to continue his medical training to be a brain surgeon at a hospital in Manhattan—New York Presbyterian.
Kurt, independent and determined by nature, had always had his sights set on what he termed “the new world.” He loved London, but the other shore beckoned, lured him with its modernity.
When their father had unexpectedly died from a massive heart attack in 1947, Elise had known Kurt would start making his plans. And he did. He had been gone for almost two years already.
Turning, leaving Kurt’s lair, she glanced in the other attic, which had been her brother’s bedroom, and sighed to herself. At the moment Kurt was having romantic problems, but he was far away and all she could do was offer advice—
The ringing of the doorbell cut into her reverie, and she ran downstairs to the foyer. Seconds later she was greeting Victoria and Declan on the doorstep.
“Won’t you come in for a drink?” Elise asked the young actor, whom she’d met before.
Declan shook his head, smiled, then explained, “I’m running late, but another time perhaps?” He smiled again, eyeing her appraisingly, and raised a brow.
Elise laughed. “Of course. Vicki will give you my number.”
Declan nodded, looking pleased, placed Victoria’s suitcase on the foyer floor, and said his good-byes.
Once they were alone, Victoria and Elise hugged, and then went upstairs together. Elise said, “I know you like the green-and-white trellis bedroom, so I’ve put you in there, as usual.”
“I do like it, yes. Thank you. But you know I love the whole house. Greta’s a great decorator. She’d have been a huge success at it.”
“She would, but she’s dedicated to Cecily Swann and the business.” Pushing the guest room door open, Elise went in, followed by Victoria, continuing, “Greta told me this morning that Cecily has promoted her. She is now general manager of Cecily Swann Couture, and Dottie is now joint managing director with Cecily.”
“That’s great news!” Victoria exclaimed. “I know from Aunt Alice that Cecily will be spending most of her time at Cavendon now … because Lady Daphne has gone to Zurich, and anyway Cecily is the Countess of Mowbray.”
“Greta’s a real career woman, you know, and I suppose we are, too.” Elise sat down in an armchair, and Victoria began to unpack her small case. She said, “I love my job, but sometimes I think about getting married and having a family. Don’t you, Elise?”
“I do. Don’t forget, I’m twenty-eight. I should be having babies. But I can’t bear the thought of leaving the Daily Mail. My job as a reporter is important to me, but sometimes I do yearn to have a baby, feel very broody at times…” Elise’s voice trailed off and she shook her head, and suddenly found herself confiding in Victoria. “I’ll never really understand how a mother can abandon her children, as mine did.”
Picking up on the sorrow in Elise’s voice, Victoria turned away from the wardrobe and came and sat down in the other chair. Leaning forward, she touched Elise’s hand affectionately, and there was sympathy in her voice when she spoke. “It is hard to comprehend, and I must admit it baffles me, too. After your visit to Germany in 1946, I thought you seemed less troubled.” Victoria stared at her friend. “Were you just putting on a good face?”
“To a certain extent,” Elise answered truthfully. After a moment’s reflection, she continued, “What I managed to find out gave me her reasons, but I realized later they did not excuse her behavior. She was selfish.”
“You’ve never told me about her reasons. I don’t want to pry, Elise, but I am happy to listen, if it helps you.”
“I think it might do me good to get it off my chest. I never confided in anyone other than Papa, Kurt, and Greta, because they had a right to know.”
Victoria nodded, leaned back in the chair, giving Elise time to sort out her thoughts.
After a long silence, Elise said, “My mother had a childhood friend, a boy called Heinrich Schnell. Their families lived next door to each other in Dresden. As teenagers they became very close and apparently fell in love. But my mother was Jewish and the Schnells weren’t. Actually, they were adherents of Hitler, ardent Nazis, members of the Party. And Heinrich was in the Nazi Youth movement, but he got sick and couldn’t join the army. My mother’s parents, Esther and Hans Mayer, moved away. To Berlin. Eventually, my mother met Papa, after his first wife had died in London, that was Greta’s mother. They married. I was born, and then Kurt. But at some moment, Heinrich found my mother in Berlin and they became lovers again and it never stopped. That’s why she abandoned us. She refused to come to London. Remained in Paris for a few weeks and then went back to Germany.” Elise paused and closed her eyes for a moment, her emotions churning. She wasn’t sure she could continue.
Victoria sat very still, knowing she must give Elise a chance to gain control of her feelings. Perhaps she even regretted what she’d just told her.
After a while, Elise opened her eyes and sat up in the chair. “My mother finally returned to Dresden and Heinrich. He had never married. They moved in together.” Elise let out a long sigh and shook her head. “He was apparently more important to her than we were. And they died together. When Dresden was consistently and heavily bombed by the Allies. And that’s the story. Most of it.”
> “I’m so sorry she left you all, her family and in the way she did, Elise. Really so very sorry. I know how painful it must be. Things like that don’t go away. They stay inside.”
Elise nodded. “Finding out helped me a lot, and Kurt, too. And I’m glad I went to Germany and dug up the true facts, as hard as it was, and difficult.”
“That’s what you do as a reporter. Charlie has always said you’re a natural, a born journalist. You just dig till you get the facts.”
Elise smiled but it suddenly faltered when she added in a tremulous voice, emotion flooding her, “And guess what? Papa had suspected everything anyway. You see, he’d always known about her affair, had turned a blind eye.”
“Everyone has always said Professor Steinbrenner was a brilliant man, and Aunt Alice once told me that a spouse usually knows when there’s hanky-panky going on.”
“What on earth made her say that?” Elise asked, puzzlement echoing in her voice. She stared at Victoria.
“She was explaining something to me that happened long ago, when I was little. Nothing of real importance, nothing about you. And it’s taken great courage for you to reveal these secrets about your mother.”
“Thank you for listening, Vicki, confiding in you has helped me, and will continue to do so, I think. Now, let’s go down to the sitting room and have a glass of wine. And you can tell me all about Declan O’Sullivan.”
Victoria jumped up and so did Elise, and they went down to the next floor, where the sitting room was located.
It was a wide room, and two tall windows filled it with light. It always seemed airy and sunny because Greta had had the walls painted yellow, and yellow silk draperies, floor length, hung at the windows. A mixture of paler yellow and cream fabrics upholstered two sofas and several armchairs, and the polished wood floor was partially covered by a large cream- and-yellow area rug. Several modern paintings added bright color to the walls, and pink and pale green pillows enlivened the sofas.
Victoria sat down on a sofa, and glanced around admiringly. She loved rooms full of light; dark rooms alarmed her, brought back frightening memories of the cupboard where her mother had locked her in for hours at a time, hiding her from the man who came to see her mother.
Secrets of Cavendon Page 8