Katie finally fell asleep near dawn. When she opened her eyes, sunlight flooded the room, and Victor stood by the bed, smiling down at her.
“I waited all night for you. Where were you?”
“Don’t worry, little one, nothing happened to me. Get ready—we’ll go out for breakfast,” Victor said.
Outside, the summer warmth clung to the air.
“Fancy an ice cream?” Without waiting for an answer, Victor strode to the vendor and bought Katie’s favourite—vanilla in a waffle cone.
“You’re in a good mood. Did you win at cards?” Katie licked the creamy peak of her ice cream.
“Better than that. I’ve got an idea, and I’ll need your help.”
“But you never take me with you. What am I supposed to do?”
“Nothing. Just be there. But if you don’t want to, I’ll manage alone.”
“No, I’ll go with you,” Katie agreed quickly.
“I knew you would. Pick out a white dress,” Victor said indulgently, the good humour clear in his voice.
“Really? Are you proposing?” Her face lit up, the cone nearly forgotten in her hand.
No woman had ever dared mention marriage to Victor before. But Katie was different. She’d become his lucky charm. A year ago, he’d snatched her from three thugs at the station.
Katie had lived with her mother in a small town. After her father left, her mother drowned in drink. Things worsened when a man moved in—one who leered at Katie until the night he tried to pull her into bed. She fled, boarded a train, and ended up in London.
No money, no family. What now? Where to go? Her lost expression caught the attention of a gang of louts who prowled stations for easy prey. It might have ended terribly if Victor hadn’t heard her screams and fought them off. Since then, they’d been inseparable.
She loved him. Tall, strong, well-dressed, charming—just his presence inspired trust. He never hid that his work wasn’t entirely honest, but he kept her out of it.
They settled on a bench by the Thames. The ice cream melted swiftly in the sun, the soggy cone dripping onto Katie’s palm and then her dress.
“Blast it!” She jumped up, holding the cone away to avoid more mess.
“Just toss it,” Victor said lazily, squinting like a contented cat in the sunlight.
She threw the ruined cone into a bin and licked her sticky fingers. *Still such a child*, Victor thought fondly.
“This job’s a sure thing, but it needs careful planning. No mistakes. A man with a fiancée is more convincing than a man alone.”
“A fiancée?” Katie sat back down.
“That’s you.” Victor pulled her close, and she leaned into him.
“Yesterday I found out about an old woman—gone a bit soft in the head. No family. Her husband’s long gone, and her only son died overseas years ago. She forgets sometimes, still waits for him in the evenings. Wears a ring she never takes off. Reckon there’s more where that came from. Her husband wasn’t some nobody.”
“You want to steal her jewellery?” Katie guessed.
“Quieter than that. She’ll hand it over herself. We’ll show up as her grandson and his bride-to-be. Savvy? Your job’s to make her *want* to gift you her trinkets for the wedding.”
Victor had principles. But pity twisted in Katie’s chest. Cheating wealthy officials was one thing—this felt different.
“Buy a modest dress, something she’d like,” Victor said, oblivious to her hesitation.
“What if she realises? If she doesn’t believe you’re her grandson? You might not look like her son.”
“Her memory’s patchy, and it’s been years.”
Two days later, they stood before a wrought-iron door on the third floor of an old brick building. Victor scrutinised Katie’s demure appearance one last time—pleased. He, as always, was impeccably dressed and disarmingly charming.
“Stay quiet, alright?”
She nodded.
The door creaked open. Katie expected a frail old woman, but before them stood a petite lady in a vintage dress, its high lace collar stiffly neat. Silvery hair was pinned back with a black bow clip.
“Can I help you?” She squinted slightly.
“That depends—are you Margaret Eleanor Winslow? This may sound strange, but I’m your grandson,” Victor said solemnly.
“I don’t understand… My son never married. You must be mistaken.”
“May we come in?” Victor flashed his most disarming smile. It always worked.
“Of course.” Margaret stepped aside.
Victor paused before a framed portrait of a young man in military dress. “Mum has a different photo—him in cadet uniform.” He turned. “I’m from York. Your son trained there, didn’t he? Mum met him months before he graduated. When he left, she didn’t know how to tell him she was pregnant. She thought he’d abandoned her. Only recently did she confess the truth. I found you… learned he’d died a hero.”
Margaret gasped, sinking into a chair as tears welled. “*James… my boy…*”
“Mum named me James, too.”
Katie watched, wide-eyed. Victor lied so convincingly, even she almost believed him. Margaret, enchanted, fetched an album and shared photos of her son’s childhood.
Katie’s throat tightened. What if *she’d* had a father like that? A grandmother like this? No drunk mother, no vile stepfather. She noticed Victor barely glanced at the pictures—of course. This wasn’t his family. He was here for the jewellery.
Suddenly, she couldn’t bear it. Every instinct rebelled. She wanted to protect this woman who’d lost everything. Victor caught her look and understood.
“Oh, where are my manners? You’ve travelled so far. Where are your things?”
“At the hotel. We’ve not brought much—just a short visit,” Victor-as-James said.
“Nonsense! My grandson, staying in some hotel? I won’t hear of it!”
“Work calls, Gran. And the wedding’s soon—so much to arrange. You’ll come, won’t you?”
“If only James had lived to see this. And your mother?”
“Remarried, then divorced. She thought he’d left her.” Victor deftly painted his fictional father as flawed—but himself as worthy of love.
Margaret bustled off to make tea.
“We brought cake and fruit,” Katie said, fetching bags from the hall. “Let me help—”
“No, no, rest!”
“Don’t pity her,” Victor hissed when they were alone. “It’s just work. Saw that emerald ring? Your job’s to get her to show the rest. Understood?” Katie nodded.
Over tea, Margaret spoke of losing her son, asked about his life in York. Victor improvised. He was a master.
“Were you a teacher?” Katie blurted.
“Yes! Forty years at St. Mary’s—English literature.” Margaret brightened.
“You remind me of mine. She wore a green ring too, and a brooch—round, with a sapphire centre and little diamonds around it. I always admired it.”
“My husband gave me the ring. The brooch…” Margaret left and returned with it.
“Like this?”
Victor’s fingers trembled as he took it.
“It’s heavy—I seldom wore it. But this is for *you*.” She handed Katie a diamond ring. “A wedding gift.”
“Oh, I couldn’t—”
“*Take it*,” Victor’s glare warned.
It fit perfectly. “Thank you. I’ll never take it off,” Katie whispered, tearful.
*See? Just the start*, Victor’s eyes gloated.
Later, while Victor “rested,” Margaret showed Katie a jewellery box. Gems glimmered inside.
“Take them. Better you than strangers after I’m gone. Just don’t tell James.”
Katie hid the box in an old shoebox under the bed. That night, as Margaret snored, Victor grinned.
“Brilliant girl. Once she’s asleep, we’ll go. That brooch alone’s worth a mint.”
Guilt gnawed at Katie. She couldn’t betray Margaret—but Victor wouldn’t forgive her deception.
A floorboard creaked. Margaret stood in the hallway, backlit like a spectre.
“Leaving in the middle of the night?”
“Didn’t mean to wake you. We got late train tickets—you *will* come to the wedding?” Victor handed her a fake address.
Katie sensed danger. Victor bragged about leaving no witnesses. If Margaret reported the theft—
“Please, she won’t tell anyone!” Katie stepped between them.
Victor struck her—a blow so fierce her vision whited out. Margaret caught her.
“Told you not to interfere,” Victor snarled. “Hand over the money, old woman.”
Margaret gave him a heavy envelopeMargaret clutched Katie tighter, her voice trembling but firm: “Go now, or I swear I’ll scream so loud the whole building wakes—and you’ll spend the rest of your days in a cell where you belong.”
