Katie finally drifted off just before dawn. When she opened her eyes, sunlight flooded the room, and Victor stood by the bed, grinning.
“I waited all night for you. Where were you?”
“Look at me, love—nothing bad happened. Get yourself sorted, and let’s grab breakfast somewhere,” Victor said.
Outside, the air was warm with summer’s touch.
“Fancy an ice cream?” Without waiting for an answer, Victor strolled to the kiosk and returned with Katie’s favourite vanilla in a crispy wafer cone.
“You’re in a good mood. Win big at cards?” Katie licked the top of her cone.
“Wrong guess. Got an idea, actually. And I’ll need your help to pull it off.”
“But you’ve never involved me before. What do I need to do?”
“Nothing. Just stay by my side. But if you’d rather not, I’ll manage alone.”
“No, I’m with you,” Katie said quickly.
“Knew you’d agree. Go on, pick out a white dress.” Victor smirked, indulgent in his good mood.
“Really? Are you proposing?” Katie lit up, forgetting the melting ice cream in her hand.
Victor had never let any woman so much as whisper about marriage. But Katie was different. She was his lucky charm. A year ago, he’d rescued her from three thugs.
Katie had lived with her mother in a small town until her father walked out. Her mother turned to the bottle and made things worse by bringing home a man who eyed Katie with too much interest. One night, he tried dragging her to bed. She escaped, jumped a train, and wound up in London—no money, no family, no clue what to do.
Lost and vulnerable, she caught the attention of a gang lurking at the station. It might’ve ended badly if Victor hadn’t heard her screams and chased them off. They’d been together ever since.
Katie adored him—tall, fit, sharp-dressed, with a smile that disarmed anyone. He was safe, despite admitting his less-than-honest dealings. But he’d never dragged her into them.
They sat on a riverside bench. The cone softened in the sun, sticky syrup dripping onto Katie’s wrist and the hem of her dress.
“Blast!” She jumped up, holding the cone away.
“Just chuck it,” Victor said lazily, eyes half-closed like a contented cat.
Katie tossed it and licked her hand. “Still such a kid,” Victor thought fondly.
“This job’s a sure thing, but we can’t slip up. A bloke with a fiancée’s more convincing than me alone.”
“Fiancée?” Katie sat back down.
“That’s you.” Victor wrapped an arm around her, and she leaned in.
“Yesterday I heard about this dotty old bird. No family—husband long gone, son killed in action years back. She forgets he’s dead, still sets the table for him. Wears a ring she never takes off. Bet she’s loaded. Husband wasn’t exactly a choirboy.”
“You want to steal her jewels?” Katie guessed.
“Nah, no fuss. She’ll hand ’em over. We’ll show up as her long-lost grandson and his bride. Get it? Your job’s to charm her into gifting you the sparklies.”
Victor had standards. Katie pitied the old woman. Cheating pompous bureaucrats was one thing; swindling a lonely old lady? She hesitated.
“Get yourself a modest dress—something she’d like,” Victor said, oblivious.
“What if she sees through it? What if you don’t look like her son?”
“Memory’s shot, and she hasn’t seen him in ages.”
Two days later, they stood before a third-floor flat in an ageing brick building. Victor gave Katie a once-over—demure, perfect—while he looked every bit the polished grandson.
“Keep quiet, yeah?”
Katie nodded.
Victor rang the bell. Shuffling footsteps, then the door opened. Katie expected a frail crone, but the woman was petite, tidy, in an old-fashioned dress with a lace collar. Her silver hair was pinned up with a black bow.
“Can I help you?” She squinted.
“You, if you’re Margaret Elizabeth Whitmore. This’ll sound odd, but I’m your grandson,” Victor said solemnly.
“I don’t… My son never married. You must be mistaken.”
“Mind if we come in?” Victor flashed his winning smile. It never failed.
“Of course.” Margaret stepped aside.
Victor strode to a framed photo of a young man in military dress. “Mum’s got one from when he was a cadet.” He turned back. “Still doesn’t quite add up, does it?”
Margaret’s voice trembled. “Not entirely.”
“I’m from Manchester. Your son trained there, right? Mum met him months before he shipped out. When he left, she realised she was pregnant. No calls, no letters—she thought he’d abandoned her. Never told me about him till recently. Tracked you down, learned Dad died a hero…”
Margaret gasped, sinking into a chair, eyes swimming. “Oh, my Daniel…”
“She named me Daniel too.”
Katie stared. Victor’s lies were so convincing she nearly believed them. Margaret, charmed as anyone would be, fetched an album and flipped through childhood photos.
Katie fought tears. What if she’d had a father like that? A grandmother like this? No drunken mother, no creeps in the house. She noticed Victor barely glanced at the photos—of course, he was playing a part.
Suddenly, she wanted out. This felt wrong. She wanted to protect this woman who’d lost everything. Victor caught her look and understood.
“Goodness, where are my manners? You’ve just arrived! Where’s your luggage?”
“At the hotel. Didn’t bring much—only here a couple of days,” Victor-as-Daniel said.
“Nonsense! My grandson, staying in a hotel? I won’t hear of it.”
“Work calls, Mum. Only child, like Dad. Plus, the wedding’s coming—so much to do. You’ll come, won’t you?”
“Oh, if only Daniel had lived… And your mother?”
“Remarried, divorced. Thought Dad abandoned her.” Victor skilfully painted the son as flawed but himself as worthy.
Margaret bustled off to put the kettle on.
“We brought cake, sweets, fruit,” Katie said, fetching bags. “Let me help.”
“No, no, rest! I’m not that old yet.”
When Margaret left, Victor whispered, “Don’t pity her. It’s just work. Saw that ring? Get her to show the rest. Understood?”
Over tea, Margaret spoke of losing her son. Victor spun tales of Manchester.
“You were a teacher?” Katie blurted.
“Yes, forty years. English literature.” Margaret brightened.
“You remind me of mine. She wore a big emerald ring. And a brooch—round, with a blue stone and tiny diamonds. I always stared at it.”
“My husband gave me the ring. The brooch…” Margaret left and returned with it. “Like this?”
Victor’s eyes gleamed. “May I?” His hands shook as he took it.
“Heavy, I rarely wore it. But this is for you.” She handed Katie a ring. “Should fit. A diamond—my wedding gift.”
“I can’t—”
“Take it,” Margaret said, as Victor’s glare willed Katie to obey.
Katie slid it on. A perfect fit. “Thank you. I’ll never take it off.” Tears welled.
*Just the start*, Victor’s look said.
Later, Margaret left to shop. Outside, Katie asked, “Why didn’t we stay and search the flat?”
“And have her brag to neighbours about her grandson? No. We’ll leave before she talks to anyone.”
Returning, they found Margaret cooking. Victor “went for a walk”—really rifling through drawers—while Katie chatted with her. Margaret later produced a jewellery box. Katie’s breath caught at the glittering treasure.
“He gave me these. But where would I wear them? Take them, dear.”
“No, I couldn’t!” Katie backed away.
“When I’m gone, strangers’ll take them. Keep them in the family. Don’t tell Daniel.”
Katie hid the box under winter boots in Daniel’s old room.
In bed, Victor whispered, “Got them?”
She nodded.
“Brilliant. Once she’s asleep, we’re gone.” He kissed her. “Found some cash too—funeral savings, probably. Not pushing our luck. That brooch alone’s worth a fortune.”
Guilt gnawed at Katie. She couldn’t betray Margaret—but Victor wouldn’t forgive her if he found out she’d left the jewels.
Half an hour later, Margaret’s snores sounded.
“Time to go. Leave nothing.”
They tiptoed out. Victor eased the lock open.
“And where are you off to at this hour?”
Margaret stood inMargaret’s gaze sharpened in the dim hallway light as she clutched her robe, while Katie—heart pounding—realized the game was up, and for the first time, she didn’t care.
