Cynthia was nervous, but she felt sure she was doing the right thing. She had everything she needed to hand and all she had to do now was wait until it was late enough, and she could put her plan into action. As she waited patiently until she could safely leave her flat, she daydreamed of the life she would have with the kids she adored. And adore them she did, especially her Cherie, but then her little Vincent, though she hated the name the child bore, had stolen her heart as only a boy can. When she recalled the way he would climb up on to her lap and put his chubby little arms around her neck, she felt justified what she was doing for them was right. Anyone would do the same to save their grandchildren from a life of misery and degradation, she was sure of that.

Their father was a bloody blagger for starters! And, as she was always pointing out to the social services, caught not once but twice! She conveniently forgot her own past associations with the criminal classes and her part in them. She was good at rewriting history – she could wipe out anything that did not fit in with her version of events.

But now, thanks to Cherie, and the training she had been given to update her nanny on what they were doing with her mother, Cynthia had the opportunity to prove once and for all to the powers-that-be that her daughter was not fit to look after her own children.

Then they would be hers, and they would stay hers. Let Gabriella and Vincent make a new family, because there was no way they were going to get these kiddies. She would do whatever it took to get what she wanted. A little voice reminded her it wouldn’t be the first time but, as always, she forced the thoughts away. Over the years she had become very good at that.

Chapter One Hundred and Forty

‘No, Cherie, you can’t go back to your nanny’s. Look, you got what you wanted – we came back to my house. Your brother is asleep in the other room, and I’m very tired too. So come on, honey, you can sleep in here with me tonight.’