by Lulu Taylor
Contents
About the Book
About the Author
Also by Lulu Taylor
Title Page
Dedication
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Part Two
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Part Three
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Part Four
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Author’s Note
Acknowledgements
Copyright
About the Book
Rich Girl
Daisy Dangerfield has been born to a life of pampered luxury. The apple of her father’s eye, she is groomed by him to take over the family’s property empire while she spends his money and socialises to her heart’s content.
Poor Girl
Chanelle Hughes has never had anything. Dragged up by an alcoholic mother on a rundown council estate, all she’s ever wanted was to escape.
But which is which?
When their lives are turned upside-down, their fortunes, too, change utterly. And while Daisy is devastated by her new circumstances, Chanelle decides she’ll do anything to get the security she craves.
Born on the same day, two girls whose lives could not be more different find that they have more in common than they could ever have imagined.
About the Author
Lulu Taylor was brought up in Oxfordshire and has lived all over the world. She is married and lives in London.
Other books by Lulu Taylor
Heiresses
Midnight Girls
Beautiful Creatures
To Lizzy Kremer
Part One
1
1985
IN LONDON’S EXCLUSIVE Portland Hospital, Lady Julia Dangerfield lay propped up on the Siberian goose-down pillows covered in white silk cases she had brought with her, along with all other manner of home comforts. She wasn’t about to feel any more uncomfortable than she had to. She wore a gauzy white wrap trimmed with white marabou and was perfectly made up; her short blonde hair, frosted with highlights, had been blow-dried into place by her personal hairdresser that morning. She did not look like a woman who had given birth only sixteen hours previously.
From her well-padded position, she gazed at the television set that was mounted on the wall and angled so it could easily be seen from the high hospital bed, but she was not really taking anything in. A tumbler full of clear liquid over a stack of ice cubes sat by her bedside and every now and then she lifted it to take a sip. There was a knock at the door of the private room. Julia clicked off the television with the remote control and said, ‘Come in!’
The door opened and a nurse entered, smiling broadly, holding a large bouquet of pink roses and ranunculus in her arms.
‘Not another one!’ exclaimed Julia, rolling her eyes. She gestured around at the dozens of other bouquets all over the room. ‘And they’re all in bloody pink! Why can’t someone send me a bunch of bluebells, for God’s sake! Everything is pink – pink cashmere blankets, pink teddies, pink clothes, pink booties … Everything except pink bloody gin, more’s the pity.’
‘Oh, they’re beautiful, Lady Julia,’ cooed the nurse, ignoring the gin comment, ‘and everyone knows it’s pink for a girl!’
‘Yes, I am aware of that, thank you,’ she snapped. ‘But all this pink is making me ill. People are so unimaginative.’ She sighed. ‘Put them over there. Wherever you want. We’ll be taking them away soon anyway.’ She gestured at the pile of Gucci luggage waiting in the corner. ‘My maid came in earlier and packed. I’m leaving when my husband gets here.’
‘Yes, ma’am. With your precious little bundle.’ The nurse went over to the cot next to Lady Julia’s bed and gazed down with melting eyes at the sleeping baby inside. ‘Ooh, isn’t she beautiful?’
Julia watched her, shaking her head. ‘I can’t think how you manage it. You must see hundreds of babies all the time, but you really sound as though you think she’s beautiful! Don’t they all look the same?’
‘Oh, no, ma’am, each one is unique! And this one’s a jewel. Look at that little mouth!’
Julia looked over at her daughter. The baby, dressed in a beautiful white lawn nightdress and covered with a pale pink cashmere blanket, lay on her back, tiny fists to either side of a downy fair head, eyes closed and little rosebud mouth half open. ‘Well … she is sweet, I do agree. Her mouth is rather adorable. But still – she’s just a tiny baby. We don’t really know what she’s going to look like or who she is. She’ll probably be rather boring until she starts to talk.’ Julia lifted the glass to her lips, ice cubes clinking, and took a long sip. She shrugged. ‘I suppose that’s what nannies are for, and thank God I’ve got three.’
The nurse gaped at her, obviously astonished by the new mother’s attitude to her little miracle.
Just then a man walked through the open doorway and at once the room seemed to be filled with his presence. He was of medium height and full-figured, his perfectly tailored suit not quite able to hide the rounded stomach and chunky back, and striking to look at: although in late middle age, he still appeared youthful and vibrant. His skin was tanned and scarcely lined and his black hair was luxuriant, receding only slightly at the hairline and tinged with grey at the temples. It was not simply his appearance, though, that drew all attention to him. He radiated a magnetic quality, a force of personality, that was intensely powerful. The nurse seemed to feel it as she almost shrank away from him, obviously hoping she wo
uld go unnoticed.
Julia had sensed him there almost before he had walked in. Now she turned to him with a bright but slightly brittle smile. ‘Darling!’
He stood still and opened his arms in an expansive gesture, a broad smile crossing his face. ‘My dear!’ he declared. ‘Where is our little angel?’
Julia nodded towards the cot. ‘Asleep.’
‘Ah!’ The man quickly skirted the bed. He bent over the cot, his expression softening as he gazed at the baby. ‘She’s gorgeous. You’ve excelled yourself, my love. This is the best birthday present you could have given me.’
‘It was rather lucky, wasn’t it? I didn’t plan to have her on the same day as your birthday, but it’s worked out rather well.’
‘Perfectly,’ he said with satisfaction. He put one of his great brown hands on a tiny curled fist. ‘She and I will always have a special bond. People who are born on the same day do.’ He smiled tenderly.
Julia studied her husband’s expression with interest. She had been fleetingly worried that the baby was not a boy. She’d feared he might share the same attitude as her father – boys good, girls a tiresome drain on resources. But as soon as the baby had been pronounced healthy, her husband had been elated. One of his greatest ambitions had been realised: this little child connected him by blood to some of the great society families, even to a King of England although it was centuries ago and very much on the wrong side of the blanket. To him it didn’t matter what sex the child was; this baby symbolised the fact that the Dangerfield family now officially belonged.
He looked up. His dark brown eyes, so often hard and determined, were now soft and moist with emotion. ‘My darling,’ he said in a low voice. ‘What a precious gift you’ve given me. I cannot hope to match it, but perhaps this will go a little way towards expressing my feelings.’ He slipped a hand into his pocket and brought out a long slender jewellery box of dark red leather edged with gold, stamped with the unmistakable livery of Garrard and Co., the Crown Jewellers.
‘Oh, a present, how lovely!’ cried Julia, clapping her hands. ‘Thank you, darling.’ She took it from him, opened it and gazed at the jewels inside. ‘How beautiful. Diamonds … and they’re pink.’ Her gaze slid swiftly over to meet the nurse’s, watching quietly from her corner of the room, and then back to the bracelet and earrings that lay sparkling on the ivory silk lining.
‘Do you like them?’ asked her husband, smiling proudly.
‘Of course I do, Daddy.’ Julia turned one soft peach cheek up towards her husband so that he could kiss it. ‘They’re simply stunning.’
‘Do you want to put them on?’
‘Oh … yes … but not now. I want to go home first.’ She gazed up at her husband plaintively. ‘Is the maternity nurse here?’
‘Waiting outside.’
‘Then call her in so that she can be told about the baby and what she needs, and we can leave.’ Julia pouted and gave her husband the beseeching look she knew he could never resist. ‘Then we can start being a family.’
‘Very well. Whatever you want.’ Daddy Dangerfield was evidently in the best of moods and his wife’s appeal to his new status as head of the family was just the ticket to get her what she wanted. ‘I shall order the arrangements to be made at once.’
2
ACROSS TOWN, THE maternity ward of the Royal London Hospital was full. Each bed had a curtain around it to separate it from the one next to it, but the thin material did little to shut out the mewling cries of newborns, the chatter of family groups come to admire the baby or the other noises that came from behind it: sobbing, anguished demands or loud complaints.
Elaine Drovey found this part of her job one of the hardest. She hated coming to the maternity ward. While most families were celebrating and enjoying the special moment that a new arrival marked, the people she was visiting were usually either terrified or furious at the sight of her. Social Services appearing in the maternity ward was never good news.
She walked down the aisle between the dull grey baggy curtains, trying to count beds as she listened to the babble of voices coming from behind them. The East End had large Asian communities and the languages spoken here were many and various. She stopped beside one particularly limp curtain. No sound came from behind it. There was no visiting family here, she noted grimly. No anxious husband hovering about, worried about his wife and new son or daughter. Well, that was hardly surprising.
She pulled back the curtain and stepped forward. ‘Miss Hughes?’
Lying on the bed under the meagre hospital blanket, her face buried in the thin pillow, was a young woman. She was completely still and all that could be seen of her were two scrawny arms marked by multiple wounds and scratches, and a nest of bleached-blonde hair streaked through with strawberry red.
‘Miss Hughes?’ said Elaine again, a little more loudly. She stepped into the little cubicle, pulling the curtain to behind her, and sat down on a black plastic chair by the bed.
The figure on the bed moaned, then the head was lifted and turned to face Elaine so that she could see two bleary eyes and an exhausted face. ‘Whad the fuck do ya want?’ said the woman from between dry lips. ‘I’ve just had a fuckin’ baby.’
‘I know that, Miss Hughes. That’s why I’m here.’ Elaine reached for the capacious bag that was always stuffed with case files, folders and the piles of paperwork that blighted her life. She tried not to appear shocked by Michelle Hughes’s appearance. The girl couldn’t be older than twenty-two but she looked at least forty, her face lined and thin, great dark circles under her puffy eyes and her mouth set in a line of exhaustion. Of course, she had just given birth and Elaine had seen enough new mothers to know that they rarely looked like the mums in glamorous soap operas, who seemed to have done nothing more strenuous than walk up a flight of stairs. But it wasn’t the ordeal of birth that had aged and ruined this poor young thing.
‘Where the fuck is my baby?’ demanded Michelle Hughes, pushing herself up on her thin, track-marked arms. ‘Where’ve you taken her?’
Elaine’s sympathy began to melt away. ‘Your daughter is at present in the emergency neo-natal unit,’ she said briskly. ‘She’s been born addicted to heroin, Miss Hughes, and that’s something we take quite seriously.’ She had just been to see the poor little mite herself: the baby girl, born late the previous night, lay in her high-tech incubator, connected by lines to drips and monitors. A hospital bracelet hung loosely around one miniature wrist and she was dressed only in what looked like an absurdly large nappy, her spindly legs emerging from it like two matchsticks. As she slept, her little chest rose and shuddered before falling again, and she made small shivery mewing noises. It had been quite heart-rending to watch.
Elaine pulled a typed form out of her bag and scrutinised it. ‘The doctors say that your daughter has an unusually low birth weight and shows the signs of opiate withdrawal. So far there are no signs of Foetal Alcohol Syndrome.’ She smiled tightly. ‘So that’s one good thing.’
‘What ya talking about?’
‘Did you drink much in pregnancy, Miss Hughes? Alcohol, I mean. Not orange juice. Sadly.’
‘Alcohol?’ Michelle Hughes laughed in a hollow tone, and fell back on her pillows. ‘Couldn’t afford booze if that’s what you’re saying. No one can, on the fucking pittance this government gives us to live on!’
‘Yet you found money for heroin,’ sniffed Elaine. ‘Some people might consider that rather expensive.’
‘No, I fuckin’ didn’t!’ snarled Michelle, her eyes blazing as she turned to glare at the social worker. ‘I haven’t touched it for months! Not since I found out I was knocked up. I haven’t,’ she insisted, seeing the look on Elaine’s face. She assumed a hurt expression. ‘I haven’t used since the fucking test came out positive.’
Elaine just stared at her, and at the fresh track marks on her arms. She said more gently, ‘Then it’s a mystery how your little girl came to be addicted to it.’
‘Is she all right?’ There wa
s a flicker of anxiety in the girl’s eyes.
‘They don’t know yet,’ Elaine replied, glancing back at her notes. ‘The first forty-eight hours are the most critical. They’ll give her intravenous fluids, a high-calorie formula milk to make up for her low birth weight, and keep her very calm in a low-stimulation environment. She’ll be prone to fits, seizures, breathing problems, muscle pain and distress. We’ll have to see how she progresses. She’ll be in hospital for a week at least.’ Elaine fixed Michelle with a look over the top of her glasses, interested to see how the mother responded to news of her baby’s condition, but Michelle seemed unmoved. She simply sighed heavily and closed her eyes.
