Secrets of Cavendon: A gripping historical saga full of intrigue and drama. Barbara Taylor Bradford

knew she was extremely angry and he didn’t blame her. He’d been foolish to listen to a disgruntled member of staff, never mind bringing it up with her. Taking a deep breath, he said contritely, ‘I’m very sorry, Victoria. I made a mistake. I hope you’ll accept my apology.’

      ‘Yes, I will,’ she answered at once, not wanting any problems to linger with her boss. She wondered if she should tell him about Phil Dayton watching her building at times, and decided against it.

      Michael said, ‘I have an assignment for you which I know you’re going to like. That was the real reason I wanted to see you today.’

      ‘Oh.’ She paused, giving him a quizzical look. ‘What is it?’

      ‘Photographing Alicia Stanton for Elegance Magazine. It’s your big chance. Your first solo job.’

      A smile settled on Victoria’s face. ‘When? I know she’s about to start a new film.’

      ‘Apparently shooting starts a bit later now. I’ve been told there’s some rewriting on the script to be done. Shall I accept? Will you do it?’

      ‘Of course I will … I’ve known her since I was a little girl.’

      He grinned, glad that her anger had subsided. She was his favourite. Everybody’s favourite, in fact. How could he have been so foolish? Listening to pettifogging gossip like that. I’m stupid, he added under his breath. Plain bloody stupid.

      It was seven when Victoria left the agency. She glanced up at the sky as she went out onto Fulham Road and saw that it was heavy with dark clouds; rain threatened. After developing negatives for several hours, she was tired, and pleased to climb on to the top deck of the bus, where she relaxed and turned her thoughts to photographing Alicia. She was aware it would be a wonderful project, that she could get some unique shots because she knew Cavendon and its secret places so well.

      As the bus wound its way through the London streets, past the gaping holes and the endless rebuilding that had begun, she couldn’t believe that she had earned her first proper assignment. Her thoughts were still on the new job when she walked slowly up Belsize Park Gardens. It was a long commute from the Fulham Road to here, especially on a rainy evening. Suddenly she stiffened. There it was again. Phil Dayton’s grey Vauxhall parked a little further up the street.

      Immediately caution kicked in. She turned and ran back down towards the main road, where a cab with its light on was passing. Hailing it, Victoria opened the cab door and jumped in. ‘Quick! I need to be somewhere else right away,’ she exclaimed to the driver.

      ‘No bovver, miss,’ the Cockney said. ‘Where to then?’

      ‘Phene Street,’ she answered. ‘The far end.’ Then she sat back, crouching down a bit as they passed the grey car.

      She was not only infuriated but a little bit afraid. Phil Dayton’s obsession with her, for that was what it was, was abnormal. And tonight it had become troubling. She didn’t relish the idea of being in her flat knowing he was sitting out there. It was too creepy.

      As a child she had not only learned caution and wariness, but also to anticipate trouble, and therefore to be on her guard, always prepared. These traits were now ingrained in her.

       TWELVE

      Greta Chalmers sat staring at the bottle of Dubonnet, and put it down on the table. She had been about to open it, so that she and Elise could have a celebratory drink together, and then remembered that Elise was at the paper, working tonight.

      And, even if she had been off, would she have been here? Of course not. She lived in her new flat now, in Margaretta Terrace. It was just around the corner, a tiny single girl’s place up under the eaves, and she would have rushed over immediately if she hadn’t been working. Greta shook her head, and a sad little smile slid onto her face. She lived alone here now.