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.’
‘We all tried to forget the stories about Vivienne. It was an extremely painful time, that should have been left behind in the past. No one wanted to talk about it.’
Savouring the tea that her grandma had poured for her, she said, ‘You’re going to have to finish the story, Gran. Why was she villainous?’
‘It was harrowing in those years after the war,’ continued Bessy, staring out of the window as though she were lost in some distant memory. ‘Your grandad talked about it a bit when I met him. The whole family was scarred by what she did. I never met her and I can only tell you of what I know. I have a letter that I could look for that may help piece together more of the story, but the upshot of it is that, yes, there was another sister. She was reckless, not like the rest of them. At the beginning of the war, she ran away from home and somehow ended up out in France, though no one knew what she was doing for certain – giving away all the British secrets and sleeping with Nazis for all they knew. Your grandad told me she was always a bad ’un. Impulsive, you know, thought she could take on the world. After a few months in France she arrived back home overnight with her tail between her legs, and it was rumoured she did something terrible over there, a mistake that cost people their lives. But she wouldn’t talk about it. Your grandad always believed the Nazis corrupted her during that time.’
Sophie sat back. This sounded like a movie. ‘What do you mean, corrupted?’
‘When she got back in 1943 she worked as a nurse on the family estate in Cornwall. As you know, it became a hospital during the war.’
Sophie nodded. She’d heard many stories about the time that the entire manor had been converted into a hospital. Her grandfather and great-uncle Tom had lived there during that time.
Bessy continued, ‘Because she spoke German, Vivienne ended up taking care of a Nazi POW who came down in a plane. Very little was known about him. Not only did she fall in love with him, but she also helped him escape back to Germany to do his work for Hitler. Vivienne converted to Nazism and joined the party. It was an extremely sordid tale, and it practically killed your great-grandfather. He was heartbroken that his daughter had done such a despicable thing. And no one really understood why. She had a beautiful life, everything ahead of her. Why would she do such an abominable thing as to betray her country?
‘After she left, the family suffered terribly, and after the war, they were stigmatised. It took decades for people to cease talking about it. I suppose she didn’t think about that when she changed sides and ran off with a Nazi. How it would affect the family. It was a dreadful time, your grandad said. He still felt fearful about sending our children, your mum, to school. Always fearful of retaliation. But Cornwall was where the Hamilton family home was located. It’s not like they could just get up and leave. When men came back from the war, and they found out stories like this, traitors were victimised, especially in a small village in a place like Cornwall. You can only imagine what that was like.’
Bessy covered her granddaughter’s hand. ‘Thank goodness it’s all behind us now. You don’t need to be raking it up, Sophie. This is not a story you want to dwell on.’
Sophie sat back in her chair and returned to sipping her tea as Bessy rose to start the washing up. She always liked to be busy when she was troubled or worried, Sophie had noticed.
‘What happened to her?’ Sophie asked.
‘Nobody knew,’ Gran whispered, wistfully, staring out of the window. ‘She died in Europe with her Nazi as far as we all knew.’
‘Do you have a death certificate or anything?’
Bessy pursed her lips and shook her head, placed the dishes in the drying rack and shuffled off to get a tea towel. ‘I believe Tom tried, years after the war, just to put the whole thing to rest, but they couldn’t find anything. They were all so ashamed, it was a terrible time.’
Sophie realised she’d seen surprisingly few pictures of the Hamilton family. ‘Do you have any other photographs, Gran? Of Vivienne, I mean.’
Her grandmother thought for a second. ‘I might have one. I only kept it because it was a wedding photograph of your grandfather’s cousin and I didn’t like to throw that away. I think I know where it is.’