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you started out as.’
    ‘There’s nothing wrong with it,’ she agreed.
    But the next time she was in the cabin alone, she took out Mollie’s passport and studied it, then studied her own face in the mirror. If she half closed her eyes and turned down her mouth, it could have been her in the photo. In fact, it could have been almost any girl in the world. She was two years older than Mollie, but if she went without make-up she could pass for sixteen. Trouble was her hair, once the same brown as Mollie’s, had been bleached almost to destruction: if she bleached it much more it was likely to fall out. Once she reached New York and became Rosalind Raines, she’d let the bleach grow out. But that was then and this was now: how could she acquire different-coloured hair in the middle of the Atlantic?
    A hat! There were two in the suitcase. She’d wear the pink one, one of Mollie’s frocks, and carry her fur cape inside-out - the lining was in much better condition than the fur. She’d look the bee’s knees.
    Then all she had to do was find someone else to take her place in steerage and become Olive Raines. To most people, it would have seemed an impossible task, but she already had someone in mind.
    Since Olive had boarded the ship, she’d been itching like mad and had a strong suspicion she’d caught something horrible - probably off one of the darkies she’d been with on the Dock Road. Once ashore, she’d buy some mercury tablets: they’d cured it the time she’d had it before. When they reached New York, immigrants were subjected to a medical examination and she didn’t want anyone finding out she had a case of the clap. Then, she really would be sent home.
     
    America, land of hope, haven of democracy, refuge of the oppressed, the country where every man had the opportunity of becoming a millionaire, was a mere two days away. The immigrants on the Queen Maia gathered on their deck on the chance they’d be the first to spy the Statue of Liberty holding her torch aloft, welcoming them to the place where their fortunes would be made, their children would eat three good meals a day, and there was land to spare, acres and acres of it, as much as they could farm. Or they might work in factories making cars, earning colossal wages, enough to buy a car of their own in no time. They imagined gold coins tumbling through their fingers, pockets jammed with dollars, houses full of fine furniture, tables heaped with fine food.
    America! They could hardly wait to get there and sample the riches it had to offer.
     
    Gertrude Strauss had grown very fond of Annemarie and would miss her badly when the time came for them to part. She was unable to read the letters in the suitcase, but had deduced that Miss Margaret Connelly, whose name was on the back of the envelopes, would almost certainly be waiting to meet the girls. One of the ship’s officers had come round and offered to see Annemarie off the ship, but Gertrude had assured him she would ensure the girl was delivered safely into Miss Connelly’s hands and explain why Mollie hadn’t come with her. She’d inform her that she, Gertrude, was a nurse who had looked after Annemarie throughout the voyage. Miss Connelly might not know about the drops for her heart and be unaware that the girl was in a state of deep shock.
    ‘Mollie say normally she is happy person, but something bad happen,’ she’d say. It would make Gertrude feel extremely important. Miss Connelly would thank her, perhaps even ask if she would like to come and see Annemarie when she was better. Gertrude might even make a friend in New York, and her sister, Bertha, with whom she was going to live, would be very impressed.
    Since the Great War ended, Germany was no longer a good place to live. Money had become worthless and strange, unsavoury people were acquiring power; something called the Nazi Party had been formed. Bertha, who had emigrated to the United States long before the turn of the century with