Chapter One

My life reads like the romances I became addicted to months after turning eleven. The tales I devoured as an impressionable young girl were published years before my birth. They tended to feature vulnerable, innocent women, sometimes still in their teens, being swept off their feet and often rescued by older, powerful men. The hero inevitably had faults only the heroine could overlook, or even cure. By becoming his wife, after a series of struggles, they lived happily ever after and she enjoyed a lifestyle she would not otherwise have enjoyed.

These tales were light-hearted and easy to read. They were designed for gloomy evenings when there is nothing better to do or for holiday sun loungers where nobody wants to tax their brains.

They were never designed as guides for life.

I was born with a name that I felt suited a spirited heroine who would one day be found by her prince. My full name was Lily Belle Hundreds, Lily to everyone and Lils to my nearest friends. I was born in the North Kent village of Corringford on 23^rd April 1983. I was the only child of Daisy and Sebastian Hundreds and my childhood was idyllic until the month after my eleventh birthday.

My mother was born into a Romany family, the Tharlands, who travelled about Kent, originally picking hops and making baskets, but by the time of her childhood, their main source of income was horse-trading. My mother never attended school nor lived in one place for more than two months until her immediate family settled into a chalet on a permanent site when she was fourteen. Two years later, she met my father and they married just after she turned nineteen.

My father’s background was very different to my mother’s. The Hundreds owned hundreds of acres of Kent for hundreds of years. Consequently, they were very wealthy and considered old money. He attended private schools from the age of five to eighteen, at which point he joined the army and enrolled at Sandhurst. He was very much following in his family’s footsteps. Every generation of Hundreds produced at least half a dozen soldiers.

My father saw action in Northern Ireland and distinguished himself on many occasions. Whilst on leave, three years before I was born, he met my mother at a fair. He was twenty-five, nine years her senior. Although he was from another world, they instantly fell in love and soon won each other’s family over. It was like a fairy tale romance but the happily ever after did not last forever.

However, they were very happy for fourteen years. I was a much-wanted baby, and they only regretted that no little brothers or sisters followed me. Instead, I was the focus of their love, attention as well as their time, and plenty of money was spent on me. No expense, no effort was spared in my upbringing but I do not think I was ever spoiled as such. I was raised to have good manners, to respect myself, to respect other people and to have a firm sense of right and wrong.

I moved between three worlds effortlessly as a little girl.

There was my Romany mother’s family, some who still moved from place to place but most lived near Corringford, either in houses or on a Travellers’ site.

There was my wealthy father’s family, his father actually owned a stately home and his mother mixed with minor royals.

There were my friends and neighbours, a mixture of middle and working class people, most of whom had lived in the area for generations and most of whom were white.

I got on with everyone. From visits to Appleby Horse Fair with my Tharland cousins, to mixing with the other officers’ daughters, to playing let’s pretend with the pair of sisters who lived over the road, I fitted in happily. I was a quick, easy-going child who naturally looked on the bright side of life.

Growing up, my background was more Corringford than Romany or wealthy. My mother became very English in many ways when she married, but she still me taught many Romany ways. My father often played down his moneyed background, and I was never encouraged to show off. I went to the local primary school and attended Stage Club.

Stage Club was a twice weekly after school activity where dozens of children, aged from seven to sixteen, learned the performing arts. We learned to sing, act and dance. Stage Club demanded its members take their craft seriously. A few children were always thrown out each year for bad attitude or persistent lateness. Stage Club had many links to television production companies, theatres, music agents and modelling agencies. It was not uncommon for auditions to be advertised through the club for minor, or even major parts, in children’s dramas or for someone to look for a child to take part in a television advertisement.

I attended the club from the age of seven. I was very good at singing, I danced well and my acting was passable. Everyone praised my voice. It was unusually mature for a child’s and my range of three octaves was rare for someone my age. I appeared in various pantomimes as a village child or a fairy, always alongside several other children. I sang twice on Children in Need. I was in a crowd scene in a soap. These enjoyable experiences made me determined to have a career on stage. Maybe as a singer, maybe as an actress, maybe as a model. Whatever I ended up doing, I wanted to be performing in some way.

It was very unlikely then that I would become a model. I was a strange looking child. I was on the tall side and too thin for my height, my face was long and my eyes were the colour of brandy and almond shaped but too deep set. My ears were slightly pointed and stuck out, almost like an elf’s. My nose did not suit my face and my teeth were not completely straight, although they looked very white against my red lips and golden-brown skin. My hair looked as though my mother was dying it despite my young age. It was thick, straight and glossy but a very bright shade of auburn. My father called me his little ruby redhead.

I never felt plain as a child though. How could I when I was so loved and nobody picked on me? My mother, on the other hand, was beautiful. She was neither tall nor short, her hourglass figure was slim, her lovely pink and white face was flawless and her very black curls and eyes always shone. She was always modestly but smartly dressed and knew how to show herself to her best advantage. She told me I was pretty and could grow up to be anything I wanted to be. I could marry a nice Gypsy boy. I could go to university or I could act. The world was my oyster. She was determined I would complete my education though. Having never really learned to read and write with confidence, she wanted more for me. I admired her for her gentle strength, her immaculate manners and her ability to read people and situations. When I grew up, I wanted to be the same.

My father was equally good looking and similarly encouraging. He stood six foot three in socks, he was broad shouldered and long limbed and muscled thanks to years of army training. He was fair, his hair was dark blond, his eyes were very blue and his Roman nose was freckled. For the first eleven years of my life, he was my hero. He was a charismatic man with a keen sense of humour and popular with men, women, soldiers and civilians. He adored my mother and she worshipped him. As I grew up, I wanted, no I expected, such happiness in my future marriage.

During the first eleven years of my life, my father completed four tours of duty, totalling four years. When he was away, I missed him with all my heart and jumped on the letters he sent home as well as the phone calls he was occasionally able to make. He missed us. He hoped I was a good girl and working hard at school as well as at Stage Club.

I was not an academic child. I do not brag when I say I was not stupid, but it was clear that my talents lay outside of the classroom. I was good at games and practical things like cooking, sewing, drawing and woodwork. I struggled with reading, writing and maths. Because I struggled with the basic building blocks, I struggled with other academic subjects. However, I was a popular child, I had many friends and I enjoyed school. My mother suspected I enjoyed the social side more than the learning she insisted upon and she was right.

Although I enjoyed school, I loved Stage Club passionately. I was generally a well-behaved child, but if I did act up, my parents only had to hint I might not be allowed to attend the next session to keep me on the straight and narrow.

My childhood, full of performing, my parents, my wider family, my friends and cushioned by wealth, was blissful. I was loved, praised, valued and part of something bigger than myself. I always felt so secure that I took everything for granted. On my mother’s side, I was closest to my cousin, Delilah, several years my senior. On my father’s side, I was closest to Letty, another cousin, who was about the same age as Delilah and about to enter Sandhurst.

I had no idea how quickly everything could come crashing down.