her granddaughter. ‘Cornwall’s charming, and it was your grandfather’s home, but this is where my friends are.’
Sophie’s great-uncle Tom now lived in the manor in Cornwall, along with his family.
‘It wasn’t really my cup of tea,’ Bessy would say when Sophie asked her about her move from the West Country.
Bessy placed in front of Sophie a plate of steaming creamy mashed potato, browned under the grill, that covered minced lamb with onions and vegetables, then bustled off to her cooker to put the kettle on.
‘Always good to see you, Sophie,’ her gran continued in a singsong way.
Pudding, Gran’s rather large tabby cat, hopped up onto Sophie’s lap and kneaded her thigh as Sophie considered Gran’s words. She wished she came to see her more often. She loved it. But the sadness of the last year had crippled her; it had taken all of her focus just to dress and get to work in the morning.
‘Well, obviously I wanted to see you. But I also have a mystery I’m hoping you can help me solve,’ Sophie stated, unable to resist heaping a large forkful of the delicious shepherd’s pie into her mouth, suddenly feeling ravenous.
‘A mystery?’ Gran said, raising her eyebrows under her permed blonde hair.
‘I have a photograph I need to show you.’
Her grandmother retrieved her reading glasses and settled on a chair at the table next to Sophie to look at her phone. She peered at it. ‘How am I supposed to be able to see that?’ she asked. ‘It’s tiny.’
Sophie laughed and pinched and stretched the image on the screen to enlarge the picture for her grandmother to see.
‘Well, that’s fancy,’ Bessy chuckled, as if Sophie had just performed magic. She stared at the photograph in her granddaughter’s hand as Sophie explained the museum exhibition.
‘The photographer took this shot in Baker Street during World War Two. But look at this woman coming out of the building next door to the rubble, Gran.’
Bessy drew her chair in, and lifted the camera even closer to her eyes. ‘Why, that’s uncanny,’ she mumbled. ‘It looks like one of the Hamiltons, doesn’t it?’
‘I know, I thought the same,’ Sophie responded. ‘And look at the brooch.’
Her grandmother stared again at the phone. ‘Well, blow me down. If that isn’t that awful ugly thing that’s the Hamilton coat of arms.’ She shook her head. ‘I detested that brooch. Your grandfather tried to give it to me. I respectfully refused. This is a mystery though, you’re right. Your great-grandfather had business interests in London, but the whole family was down in Cornwall, particularly during the bombings. Nobody wanted to be in London. All of them evacuated down there. What year was this taken, love?’
‘It was a picture of the bomb destruction taken in early forty-four.’
‘Oh, well, that narrows it down. It can’t have been your great-aunt Caroline. She moved to Canada in 1943, and I always remember because John says she left just before his seventh birthday. That means—’ She stopped and sucked in a breath. ‘It can only be one person…’ Her voice petered out to a whisper.
Sophie waited, but there was a long pause where her gran appeared thoughtful. Then she stood up abruptly, responding to the whistling kettle, saying offhand, ‘Let’s see about that cup of tea, then.’
‘Gran?’
‘I think you should leave things in the past, love. I mean, this looks a little like one of the Hamiltons and it could be similar jewellery, but I don’t think it’s anything more.’
Bessy poured hot water into the teapot and brought it back to the table, then moved to get her biscuit barrel, placing chocolate biscuits on a plate and putting them in front of Sophie.
‘Tuck in, love. We won’t get any meat on those hips unless you eat something.’
‘Gran, why are you avoiding the conversation? Who is this?’
Her grandmother took off her glasses, rubbed her eyes, and blew out a long, slow breath. Then, after a long pause, continued in a serious tone, staring at a spot on the table. ‘It’s a family story nobody ever talked about, dear. If it’s not your great-aunt Caroline, it could only be one other person, Villainous Vivienne.’
‘Villainous Vivienne?’ Sophie echoed, her eyes growing wide, a smile creeping across her face. ‘She sounds like a criminal in a 1930s’ detective novel. Who the heck is Villainous Vivienne?’
‘That was the nickname the locals gave her, love. She was your grandfather’s other sister.’
‘Grandad had another sister as well as Caroline? Nobody has ever even mentioned another sister.’