An animal gave a screech of approval in a nearby enclosure, and another wave of laughter swept through the audience. Penny, Michael and their children stood at the front listening, and Olive, Elizabeth and Joe Stevenson were there somewhere too. Tommy, Ursula, Emily and other Partridge employees were scattered through the crowd, as was Mr. Vinall, the penguin keeper. Even the book group had turned up—apart from Marjorie and Terrance, who’d stopped attending meetings when they’d discovered Alice’s status as an unmarried mother. It hadn’t mattered; new members had joined the group, and the esprit de corps had remained, as had Rex, charming as ever and without showing any prejudice, or that he was put out at being part of the subterfuge, which Alice suspected he had rather enjoyed.

“We know that these stories are resonating with young and old, and I’m told that the public have enjoyed reading about the exploits of our new arrival, the mona monkey, and hearing how Joseph the python has recovered from pneumonia. And I’m sure you will all be relieved to know that the four escaped parakeets have returned.”

A cheer went up, and he waited until the noise abated before he carried on.

Alice knew every story and every page by heart, and she’d read them all to Eadie. She’d told her about Peter the brown bear, who put on rather unusual physical displays, and Pollyanna, the only reindeer in the zoo, as well as the ever-popular Ming, the panda who had returned from Whipsnade.

The book had reportedly already created favorites among visitors, with some enclosures particularly crowded, including that of Peter the five-foot alligator. He was initially a temporary guest, on account of being moved from the Hammersmith apartment he’d shared with his owner, Miss Thelma Roberts, and an Amazonian crocodile. Apparently they were quite the socialites, featuring regularly on shopping expeditions as well as fundraising at charity events, but judging by his popularity now, he might have to become a permanent exhibit alongside the aardvark called Adolf and the axolotl named Mussolini.

“Of course, it’s not just the animals we are grateful to,” the director continued. “There are many, many, zookeepers and staff, past and present”—he caught Alice’s eye—“who have helped over the past few years. Directors, curators, researchers, superintendents, surgeons, clerks and gardeners, accountants and secretaries—too many names to mention, but all of whom carry out very important tasks. Without their help and dedication, we would not have been able to keep our gates open, or keep the animals safe.”

Alice glanced at the display of books, thinking back to all the stories that had been included, far more than she’d intended to, but they were all so extraordinary, from the sixteen-year-old boy-keepers, barely more than children themselves, to the full-page photo of Mr. and Mrs. Churchill at the zoo with one of the cubs from his pet lion, Rota.