Rose stared at Alfie, utterly unable to process what he'd just said to her. She'd heard the words but they made no sense to her. Time stood still. Alfie watched, wondering what was going on in her head, waiting for her to react. She frowned, then shook her head.

"I don't understand. Say it again."

Alfie took a deep breath. The last thing he wanted to do was to say it again but he could see she hadn't taken it in the first time. So he did.

"They're all dead, Sweetheart. I'm so sorry. They're gone."

She let out a small laugh. "No, they're not, don't be silly. They're not. Your people got it wrong. Go and call them again."

Hating himself more and more, Alfie shook his head and spoke quietly, gently. "No, Petal, they're not wrong."

She stared at him in shock, the words finally sinking in, the horrifying realisation of what he meant hitting her like a punch in the gut. She sat frozen for a few seconds as her world fell apart. Then, all of a sudden, she pulled her hands away from his, leaned over the side of the chaise longue and vomited over and over, heaving and retching, trying desperately to expel the searing pain she felt inside. She couldn't stop, her body had taken over and she was no longer in control.

Alfie stared at her in horror. He had not been expecting such a violent reaction. Eventually, realising that she wasn't going to stop without intervention, he grabbed hold of her shoulders and pulled her upright. By this time, there was nothing left in her stomach to bring up, but she was still heaving. Alfie ignored the mess that was on her chin and in her hair and pulled her to him, holding her and rocking her until she gradually calmed down, her heaving stomach slowly settling.

Rose sat in Alfie's arms, leaning into his chest, as the tears came. They came quietly to begin with. She put her hands over her face as wave after wave of sobs wracked her body, each one more forceful than the last. Her shoulders shaking, her stomach cramping, barely able to catch her breath as her sobs became wails, then became a sort of keening sound as she cried for her family, as she felt each loss like a bullet, as she felt her heart shatter into a thousand pieces.

Later on, when Alfie looked back at that morning, he knew that it was at that moment – as he sat holding the sobbing, shuddering, pain-filled girl in his arms – that he realised he'd made the wrong decision. He wouldn't - couldn't - admit it to himself at the time, but as he watched Rose's world implode, he knew deep down that he'd done exactly what he had always accused Tommy of – he'd taken advantage of his own power over her in an attempt to control her life in the way he thought was best.

He was out of his depth and didn't know what to do or say to help her, so he just let Rose cry herself out until she fell into an exhausted, feverish sleep. He could feel the heat emanating off her. Holding her tight, grateful she had stopped making that heart-rending noise, he looked over her head out of the window. He could see a few ships making their way across the sea. It was calm outside. Stroking her hair, he thought to himself that surely this was as bad as it would get. Rose would grieve, of course, but time would heal and this place would help her. He would help her. He would become her family and wouldn't let her down.

A gasp from behind him made him turn his head to see an appalled Mrs. Liebermann. She was looking at the pool of vomit on the floor which was slowly spreading. She put a hand to her mouth, looked at Alfie and then at Rose asleep in his arms. Alfie explained grimly.

"She's not very well, I'm afraid. You'll have to get someone in here to clean that up. I'll be taking her up to her bed. Would you help me, please?"

Mrs. Liebermann looked as if Alfie had asked her to shave her head. She cleared her throat.

"Mr. Baker, I am a housekeeper not a nurse or a nanny. I have no experience with children and certainly not with sick children."

Alfie looked at her coldly. "Then what earthly use are you?"

She gasped. Alfie put his arm under Rose's knees and stood up with her in his arms. As he walked past the Mrs. Liebermann, he growled at her.

"Send someone up who will be able to help me and then call for the doctor."

She looked at the floor. "Yes, Sir."

Alfie carried Rose up the stairs to the second floor. This was the floor he had designated for Rose's use. He had sent instructions for it to be prepared so that Rose would have an entire floor for herself should she want it. There was a bedroom, a small sitting room, a luxurious bathroom and a study where he'd hoped she could read and study whatever she wanted to. He'd had it decorated in pale blues and warm yellows and shades of white. He'd wanted it to be light and airy, the opposite of the dark and sparsely-furnished rooms of Arrow House. The rooms in Margate were full of comfortable chairs, cushions, throws and soft rugs. He had envisioned leading Rose up the stairs to see it all and had imagined her face as she took it all in, a mixture of delight and surprise.

Instead, he carried a practically unconscious Rose into the bedroom and laid her on the soft bed. There was no delight on her face, just an expression of sadness even as she slept. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. There was a soft knock on the open door and he turned to see Helen, the maid.

"Mrs. Liebermann sent me to help you, Sir?"

"Ah yes, yes." He indicated Rose. "She needs to be cleaned up, she… erm… she's not been well."

"Yes, Sir, of course."

"And she should have something to change into somewhere." Alfie looked round the room helplessly.

"Yes, Sir. I unpacked her bag. She has a nightgown. I'll change her."

Alfie looked at her gratefully. He was entirely unequipped to care for a teenage girl.

"Thank you… What's your name?"

"Helen, Sir."

"Helen. I'm grateful for your kindness to my daughter."

"Of course, Sir. Mrs. Liebermann said to tell you that the doctor is on his way."

"Right, good. I'll go downstairs to meet him then. I'll leave you to it. And … should she wake up, she may say some things which make no sense. She's been in a rather … delicate state of mind since her mother died."

"I understand, Sir."

"Good, good."

Alfie left the room and closed the door. Running a hand down his face, he headed down the stairs. This was going to be a long day.

An hour and a half later, the doctor was talking to Alfie in the entrance hall on the ground floor after having examined Rose.

"Your daughter has a mild chest infection but otherwise seems fine, a little undernourished maybe which would account for the weakness. I … er… I understand she's been through quite an emotional time?"

"Yes, doctor, that would be correct. Her mother – my dear wife – died recently."

"My condolences, Sir. Yes, this kind of event can often cause significant problems for young girls and women – hysteria, problems with nerves, over-emotional reactions, difficulty sleeping, things like that. I have something I can leave with her, as well as a prescription for more. It's a wonderful drug called Veronal, a miracle for helping women with these problems."

He was rummaging in his bag when Alfie stopped him.

"No, Doctor, I won't have that drug in the house. It is not any kind of miracle. It is a curse."

The doctor was shocked. "Mr. Baker – as a medical professional, I feel I can speak with some authority on this. It has been proven…"

Alfie interrupted loudly. "Yes, well, thank you very much, Doctor. Allow me to show you out."

He pulled the door open and swept his arm in the direction he wanted him the doctor to go. The doctor, realising he was being dismissed, snapped his bag shut, stood up straight, picked up his hat and glared at Alfie on the way out.

"Good day to you, Sir."

"And a very good day to you too, Doctor. It was an honour, truly, to have you in my home."

The doctor huffed and hurried away to his car. Alfie closed the door and grimaced. He really shouldn't have dismissed him like that; he was trying to be inconspicuous in the town. But he couldn't help his reaction to the doctor suggesting Rose take Veronal again. That was the very last thing she needed – though he had no doubt, when she woke up, that it would be the first thing she wanted. Still, he was glad her physical illness was only mild. He jumped as someone cleared their throat behind him. It was Mrs. Liebermann. Damn that woman, she floated round the house like an evil spirit.

"Would you like me to serve lunch, Mr. Baker?"

He stared at her, amazed at her lack of sensitivity. He was also surprised it was only lunchtime. He felt like a whole day or two had passed since he'd arrived. Pulling himself together, he plastered a smile on his face.

"Would you send a tray of food for two up to Miriam's room, please? I will be sitting with her until she recovers."

"Helen will stay with her for now. You really should employ a governess. Why don't I set the table for you so you can have a nice civilized lunch?"

He sighed as he walked past her up the stairs. He didn't have time to argue with his housekeeper.

"Send it up, Mrs. Liebermann."

She pursed her lips. "Yes, Mr. Baker."

Reaching the top floor, Alfie paused in front of Rose's bedroom. Helen was sat on the bed next to her, wiping her face with a cold washcloth. Rose was wearing a white, long-sleeved, simple nightgown and was lying on a couple of pillows, the covers over her, her arms lying on top by her sides. Her face was clean and her hair was damp. She was sleeping and her expression was surprisingly calm. Alfie suspected she was sleeping deeply after such a tumultuous night.

Helen turned and stood up as he entered the room.

"She's sleeping, Mr. Baker."

"Thank you, Helen. I am grateful for your care for her. How has she been?"

"Restless, Sir, disturbed really, I would say. Poor girl."

"Did she say anything whilst she was restless?"

"Nothing I could really understand, Sir. Lots of crying and mumbling. She mentioned some names."

"Hmm? Which ones"

"Oh, a Tommy and a … Polly, I think."

Alfie nodded knowingly. "Yes, yes, they were her cats. She did love them. They, er … unfortunately, they perished in the same house fire which killed poor Mrs. Baker."

Helen looked appalled and Alfie hoped his face showed grief and not the slight disgust he felt at himself for making up such a story. He hoped Rose couldn't hear him.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Baker."

He turned and walked over to the window, looking out at the view he hoped Rose, in time, would come to love.

"That will be all, Helen, thank you."

"Yes, Sir."

Helen left the room and Alfie continued to look at the beach below him, listening to Rose's soft, rhythmic, slightly raspy breathing. The sun was at its highest now and the sky was surprisingly blue for a February day. The people strolling on the beach were wrapped up warmly despite the sun and he knew that it was cold outside, a cool breeze blowing in from the North. He really should take Cyril out there soon. The large dog had taken a place for himself by the fire in the front room with the balcony and was sleeping. He would be hungry soon and Alfie felt a slight dread at having to ask Mrs. Liebermann for some dog food.

He turned and looked at Rose. He wondered what was happening in Small Heath. Had Luca met with Tommy yet? Had he gone to Alfie's distillery yet? Was he alive? Was Tommy alive? He could find out with a couple of phone calls but, as he looked at the sleeping girl, he wanted to enjoy his little illusion for as long as he could. This new life with a new daughter in a new place. Maybe, just maybe, it might work.

Rose stirred a little in her sleep and Alfie moved over to sit on a chair beside her bed. She frowned and groaned a little as she turned over. Alfie took her hand and stroked it with his thumb. She settled quickly, falling back into a deep sleep.

Alfie leaned back in the chair and propped up his head with his hand, his elbow resting on the arm of the chair. His eyes closed slowly, Rose's regular breathing lulling him to sleep. He was also exhausted. When Helen entered the room with a large tray of food, she looked at father and daughter – as she saw them – fast asleep and smiled. She felt pity for them having lost someone so close. Putting the tray quietly on a small round table in the corner of the room, she thought about what a doting father Mr. Baker was. Miriam was lucky to have him. She left the room quietly, closing the door behind her.

The sun was on its way down and the shadows were lengthening in the bedroom when Rose woke up. For a few moments before she opened her eyes, she thought she was in her bedroom in Arrow House. The bed was large and soft and the bedding was fresh. But she knew she couldn't be. She was in her old room at Watery Lane. She opened her eyes expecting to see the familiar sight of Ada's bed and the wardrobe at the end of the room. Instead, she saw a sleeping Alfie and a room she'd never been in before. Then she remembered. And the bottom dropped out of her world once again.

She pulled her knees up to her chest and put her arms tightly round them. She felt like she might be sick again. Squeezing her eyes shut, she concentrated on trying to quell the nausea. Alfie woke at the noise of Rose's movements and immediately moved forward to sit on her bed as he saw Rose was awake but in distress. He put a hand on her arm.

"It's ok, Sweetheart, I'm here. It's ok. Look at me, Petal, look at me. Open your eyes, yeah?"

Rose felt his hand on her arm and heard his voice through her struggle. Opening her eyes, she looked into his face. His eyes were staring intently at her, worried as he held her gaze. He smiled and spoke gently.

"There you are, my Petal. There are those blue eyes. Can you sit up for me, hmm? Let me help you."

Alfie helped Rose to sit up against her pillows. Brushing her hair back from her face, he could feel that her temperature had gone down and was glad for it. But the loss and pain in her eyes were hard for him to see.

"That's it. How are you feeling, eh?"

Rose had no words to describe how she felt. Beneath all the pain and the grief and the horror, she felt like she'd been cast adrift, like she was unanchored and didn't belong anywhere or to anyone. She felt lost. Something suddenly occurred to her. She sat up and grabbed Alfie's hand, looking at him desperately.

"The kids, Alfie. What happened to them?"

Alfie hesitated. He didn't want to tell her they were still alive because he knew nothing would stop her going back for them; she would never settle in Margate. But he couldn't bring himself to tell her they'd died too. It would finish her. He took her hand.

"I don't know, Petal. My man in Birmingham hadn't heard anything. He'll find out and let me know. Try not to worry, yeah? No news is good news, right?"

Rose's face crumpled and she began to cry. There was hardly anything left to give her hope. There was a tiny thread of possibility that that children had been spared but she knew how precarious that hope was. Alfie shifted forward and pulled her to him. She was grateful for his presence, holding her and giving her strength when she had none of her own. Putting her arms around him, she allowed herself to grieve. Not the wailing and keening of sheer pain like the day before, this was a more sustained quiet, sobbing of loss and emptiness.

Alfie held her and comforted her, eventually climbing on the bed next to her, on top of the covers, and letting her lean against him, her arm across him. After a while, the crying stopped and she just lay in his arms, not speaking, not moving, not knowing how to cope. Alfie knew there wasn't an awful lot he could say, but he was glad to be there for her to lean on, to soothe, to protect. Surely this was what his life would be dedicated to now – he could be the one to save her. This was his role now, and despite the manipulation that had happened to get them here, he convinced himself that this was ultimately the right thing for Rose. She needed him, she had always needed him and her future was bright now that she had him.

An hour later, Helen entered the room with a pot of fresh tea and some cake. She paused at the door as the room wasn't lit and it was quite gloomy in there. Alfie carefully moved his arms from around Rose and stood up to take the tray, turning on the bedside light as he did so.

"A most welcome sight, Helen. I'm afraid we didn't eat the lovely lunch you brought earlier, but this cake looks delicious."

Helen took the lunch tray and left the room, giving Rose a smile as she left. Rose didn't respond, merely watched her leave. Alfie put the tray on the table and poured the tea, adding a good amount of sugar to each cup. He placed Rose's beside her on the bedside table and then brought a plate of cake over too.

Sitting on the chair facing her, he took a sip of his tea and a bite of cake. He was starving.

"Mmm, that is good cake, my Petal. Try some."

Rose turned her head to look out of the window at the darkening sky. Alfie spoke a little firmer.

"You haven't eaten since the car journey, Sweetheart, and then you emptied your stomach last night. You have to eat or you'll get very ill. Drink your tea and eat some cake."

Looking back at him, Rose could see he was serious. Although she had no appetite whatsoever, she pushed herself up in the bed and picked up the cup of tea. Taking a sip, she found herself enjoying the sweet liquid as it went down. It didn't take long for her to drain her cup. Alfie nodded approvingly.

"Now, the cake."

She shook her head. "I can't. I'd just be sick again."

"You need to eat, little one, you know that. Your aunt would want you to, wouldn't she, eh? Polly? She would want you to be well and healthy, you know she would."

As he watched her eyes fill with tears, Alfie found that he didn't feel quite as bad this time for evoking the memory of her family. He knew it would hurt her, but it would lead to good eventually. He was all the more convinced of this when he watched her pick up the plate of cake and nibble at it. With his encouragement, she ate most of it. Looking at the last bit of the cake, she was reminded of Michael. He'd always given her his last bit of cake. She felt anger again at his betrayal and wondered if he'd been in the hall that night. She hadn't seen him all day. With a rush of panic, she wondered if he'd somehow been involved with letting the Italians in the hall. Alfie saw her deep frown.

"What's wrong, Sweetheart?"

"How did the Italians get in the hall? There would have been a lot of security. Tommy would have known they might try something." Her voice broke a little as she said her brother's name.

Alfie shifted in his seat. "I don't know how they got in. You're right that security was tight."

"Alfie, someone must have let them in. Someone on the inside."

Now it was Alfie's turn to feel a little nauseous. "Well, maybe, but who? Tommy would have known everyone in there. Who would betray him?"

"I know someone."

There was a ringing in Alfie's ears as he looked into her eyes which were filled with anger.

"Who?"

"Michael"

It took all of Alfie's composure not to breathe an audible sigh of relief.

"Your cousin?"

She nodded, but didn't elaborate. She felt it was a betrayal of the family to tell Alfie about what Michael had done.

"I'll find him. As soon as I'm better, I'll find him and I'll kill him."

Alfie sighed and ran a hand down his beard. He could take her away from the Shelbys but would he ever be able to take the Shelby away from her?

"Sweetheart, you don't know that it was him."

"Well, who else then?"

"Listen, why don't we put all this terrible business behind us, hmm? All the killing and warfare and betrayal and all that. We can leave it all behind us and start again. Think about it, a whole new way of living – full of hope and happiness and light. I'm tired of the old life, aren't you?"

Rose was looking at him as if he'd grown a second head.

"What are you talking about, Alfie? We can't just let the Italians take over Tommy's business, over his city. And … the deaths of my family have to be paid for. And I'm the only one left to do it."

"Is that what Tommy would want?"

She frowned and answered definitively. "Yes!"

"Really? He would want you running round the country with a gun or a knife, your head filled with thoughts of vengeance and murder."

She hesitated. "That's what he would do if it were me."

"Ah yes, of course he would. But he didn't want you to be like him, did he? Hmm? You told me that. He wanted you to be better, to get out of the life, to have a different future."

She scowled at him. She knew he was right, but her head was filled with vengeance and murder. Alfie's description of a happy and bright future made no impression on her at all.

She turned over in bed, her back to him and pulled the covers up over her shoulders.

"I'm tired, Alfie. Would you close the door when you leave, please?"

Alfie raised his eyebrows at her blunt dismissal but stood up to leave. He looked down at her.

"Someone has to break the cycle, Petal. Tommy always wanted it to be you."

He left the room and closed the door quietly behind him. As he walked down the stairs, he frowned. This was going to take longer than he thought and the one thing he didn't have was time.