Gone girls

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Mick Brown in­ves­ti­gates ‘per­sonal devel­op­ment coach’ Anne Craig, who’s been ac­cused of en­cour­ag­ing false mem­o­ries of abuse and tear­ing fam­i­lies apart

To­wards the end of 2016 I re­ceived a tele­phone call ask­ing whether I would be in­ter­ested in talk­ing to a woman named Anne Craig. De­scribed to me as a ‘per­sonal devel­op­ment coach’, Craig, I was told, was in­volved in an in­ter­est­ing case where she had been ac­cused of at­tempt­ing to sep­a­rate young women who had been her clients from their fam­i­lies by im­plant­ing false mem­o­ries of hav­ing been abused as chil­dren.

A few months be­fore I re­ceived the call, she had ap­peared in court as party to an ac­tion by a fam­ily who were at­tempt­ing to gain ac­cess to doc­u­ments from a Metropoli­tan Po­lice in­ves­ti­ga­tion into Craig’s ac­tiv­i­ties, in or­der to bring a civil case against her.

Over the course of the case, the fam­ily had claimed that their daugh­ter, who was not named, had been one of a num­ber of young women whom Craig had ‘brain­washed’ into be­liev­ing their par­ents were guilty of ‘hor­ren­dous’ be­hav­iour to­wards them, at­tempt­ing to ‘dic­tate’ their ev­ery move, and iso­lat­ing them from fam­ily and friends.

In a state­ment sub­mit­ted to the court, the young woman in ques­tion said that any al­le­ga­tions against her fam­ily had come from her and not from Craig. Their ses­sions to­gether, she said, had en­abled her to ex­press ‘deeply held and pri­vate’ mat­ters about her child­hood, and had ac­tu­ally given her ‘the strength to dis­tance her­self from her fam­ily’.

In an­other state­ment read out to the court, Craig said she was ‘shocked and alarmed’ by the ‘un­true’ al­le­ga­tions made against her, and cat­e­gor­i­cally de­nied that she used psy­cho­log­i­cal tech­niques to en­cour­age the young woman to be­lieve cer­tain things that were un­true.

Craig, her bar­ris­ter said, viewed the case as ‘part of a con­tin­u­ing cam­paign of ha­rass­ment’ con­ducted against her by the fam­ily. The fam­ily failed in their ac­tion against the po­lice af­ter the judge ruled that it did not meet the le­gal tests for forc­ing the po­lice to hand over the doc­u­ments.

In the re­port­ing of the case, much had been made of the al­le­ga­tions against Craig, but less about her al­le­ga­tions of ‘ha­rass­ment’. And she had re­mained con­spic­u­ously quiet on the mat­ter, re­fus­ing to com­ment pub­licly.

I had not paid much at­ten­tion to the case at the time. It was not un­til the tele­phone call ask­ing if I wished to speak to Craig that my cu­rios­ity was aroused. When I called the num­ber I’d been given, Craig was on a bus. Over the next 20 min­utes she gave a con­fus­ing ac­count of events, re­peat­ing her claims that she had been the vic­tim of ha­rass­ment, and ac­cus­ing the po­lice of neg­li­gence in in­ves­ti­gat­ing her com­plaints. At one point she started to cry. Her life, she said, had been ‘ab­so­lute hell’. She wanted to tell her side of the story.

We ar­ranged to meet. What I had not ex­pected was to be­come em­broiled in a story of con­sid­er­able com­plex­ity, call­ing into ques­tion the na­ture of mem­ory, its fal­li­bil­ity, and its propen­sity to be ma­nip­u­lated. It’s the story of a woman who was able to set her­self up as a life coach, with no train­ing, no qual­i­fi­ca­tions and no su­per­vi­sion – with calami­tous con­se­quences; a story of the strug­gle be­tween two moth­ers and the woman they be­lieve has stolen their daugh­ters from them. Above all, it is a story that raises ur­gent ques­tions about the role of ther­apy in treat­ing emo­tional prob­lems, and the need for stricter reg­u­la­tion of those who prac­tise it.

We met in the café of a Lon­don de­part­ment store. Craig is in her mid-60s: a pale-look­ing woman with sharp fea­tures and long, dark hair, her face de­void of make-up, who speaks in a soft Ir­ish ac­cent. She asked for camomile tea, and when none was avail­able or­dered hot wa­ter, and pro­duced her own teabag.

Craig has been var­i­ously called a ther­a­pist, a holis­tic healer and a life coach; but she de­scribed her­self to me as a ‘teacher’, and her field as per­sonal devel­op­ment. Over the course of two hours she gave me a trun­cated ver­sion of her his­tory. She was born in Ire­land, but came to Eng­land as a young woman, work­ing firstly as a stew­ardess, and then a train­ing man­ager for an air­line. She mar­ried Rod­ney Craig, a Royal Navy com­man­der, and gave birth to a daugh­ter, Tara.

In 1999 the fam­ily moved to Lon­don. Rod­ney fre­quently trav­elled, and Tara was away at board­ing school. Craig set up on her own, prac­tis­ing ‘per­sonal devel­op­ment’ us­ing a range of tech­niques, in­clud­ing dream anal­y­sis and ‘un­block­ing en­er­gies’. Over the years, she had gained a cer­tifi­cate in coun­selling skills in the devel­op­ment of learn­ing, and had been a mem­ber of the Char­tered In­sti­tute of Per­son­nel and Devel­op­ment, the pro­fes­sional body for peo­ple work­ing in the field of HR. She said she had ‘ex­ten­sive pro­fes­sional work ex­pe­ri­ence in this field’.

While any­body can set up in busi­ness call­ing them­selves a ‘ther­a­pist’, Craig em­pha­sised that was not how she de­scribed her­self.

In 2008, Tara was vis­it­ing Florence, and it was there that she fell in with a group of young English women study­ing art at the Charles H Ce­cil Stu­dios, a pres­ti­gious train­ing ground for as­pir­ing artists, most from well-off fam­i­lies. When one of the group talked of suf­fer­ing from un­ex­plained faint­ing fits, Tara sug­gested she should meet her mother. The ses­sions ap­par­ently helped and over the course of the next year up to a dozen young women, all of whom either knew, or were re­ferred by, each other, be­came Craig’s clients. All were pri­vately ed­u­cated and mixed in the same so­cial cir­cles. Some were in search of help for emo­tional prob­lems of vary­ing de­grees of sever­ity – ‘stuck in their devel­op­ment’, as Craig would put it; oth­ers came sim­ply be­cause they were in­trigued by her meth­ods of dream anal­y­sis. In Craig’s phrase, all were ‘on a jour­ney’.

She con­ducted her ses­sions at her home in Cam­ber­well, south Lon­don. She would charge £90 – a fee that over the years would rise to £125. Con­ven­tion­ally, ther­apy ses­sions last for 50 min­utes. But Craig’s could run for up to three hours, and some­times longer, sup­ple­mented by phone calls and email ex­changes. ‘Most ther­a­pists,’ she told me, ‘don’t go far enough.’ Deal­ing with her clients, it was nec­es­sary ‘to get to the very root of the prob­lem’. And in all the women’s cases, she said, this was re­la­tion­ships – par­tic­u­larly with their par­ents. ‘A cer­tain group of peo­ple would say, “I can’t take my mother’s anger any more,” and I want to know why. I look at a pat­tern, and then take it back and back un­til you ac­tu­ally get to the root of that. And then you take it out of the root, and that is the only way it is ever go­ing to dis­si­pate.’

What she was de­scrib­ing, I said, sounded far re­moved from the HR skills she had been trained in. She agreed. ‘But if you’re do­ing per­sonal devel­op­ment you’re do­ing emo­tions. I’ve been to coun­sel­lors my­self who’ve never gone deep enough. If some­one has re­ally done the work on them­selves, they can take you wher­ever you need to go be­cause they have that un­der­stand­ing.’

It was not un­til much later that she would go into more de­tail about what this ‘work’ en­tailed.

One by one, the group of young women stopped see­ing Craig. By early 2014 only three re­mained. One was a 24-year-old named Vic­to­ria Cayzer, an­other an artist named Laura Huewil­liams. Both had been see­ing Craig for al­most four years – and both had bro­ken off com­pletely from their fam­i­lies and friends.

Vic­to­ria’s fa­ther is Charles Cayzer, an in­vest­ment banker. Her par­ents are divorced and in 2008 her mother, Amanda, mar­ried Ni­cholas Alexan­der, the 7th Earl of Cale­don. Vic­to­ria had not been one of the Florence group. She was in­tro­duced to Craig by a friend in 2010, to­wards the end of her first year at Leeds Univer­sity, where she stud­ied English. Vic­to­ria had been suf­fer­ing from eat­ing is­sues. She told her mother that Craig was help­ing her by us­ing dream anal­y­sis and reiki – a heal­ing tech­nique based on the idea that an un­seen ‘life-force en­ergy’ flows through us. Craig as­sured Vic­to­ria that she could ‘cure her in three years’. Amanda Cale­don told friends that she was alarmed by such a spe­cific prom­ise, but be­cause Vic­to­ria seemed happy with the ar­range­ment she felt it might be ben­e­fi­cial for a short pe­riod. Af­ter leav­ing univer­sity, Vic­to­ria moved to a flat in Lon­don and worked as a tu­tor. But by 2012 her fam­ily had be­gun to no­tice a marked change in her be­hav­iour. She be­came in­creas­ingly re­mote and un­com­mu­nica­tive. On one oc­ca­sion over din­ner with her fa­ther she talked darkly of ‘abuse’, with­out spec­i­fy­ing ex­actly what she meant. Due to spend Christ­mas with him, she failed to turn up.

A few months later she cleared the last of her be­long­ings from her par­ents’ houses. Within a few weeks she had bro­ken off with her fam­ily and all her friends, in­clud­ing her boyfriend.

Fear­ing for her daugh­ter’s well-be­ing, Lady Cale­don em­ployed a pri­vate in­ves­ti­ga­tor, who in­ter­viewed other young women who had been Craig’s clients. The Cale­dons dis­cov­ered that Laura Hue-wil­liams had also bro­ken with her fam­ily af­ter see­ing Craig, and made con­tact with her par­ents. Laura’s fa­ther, Ti­mothy, is a re­tired stock­bro­ker; her mother, Sarah, is now mar­ried to busi­ness­man Henry Strutt.

In Fe­bru­ary 2014, lawyers act­ing for the Cale­dons wrote to Craig, ac­cus­ing her of ma­nip­u­lat­ing Vic­to­ria, Laura and oth­ers by im­plant­ing false mem­o­ries, lead­ing the young women to be­lieve that their par­ents had been guilty of ‘the most heinous of crimes’, and en­cour­ag­ing them to cut them­selves off from their fam­i­lies and friends. ‘It would ap­pear,’ the let­ter al­leged, ‘that not only are you us­ing this as an op­por­tu­nity to ex­tract money from the tar­gets but you are also seek­ing to use them for your own emo­tional needs.’

The let­ter de­manded that Craig cease com­mu­ni­cat­ing with the ‘tar­gets’ forth­with. Craig replied through her lawyers, ve­he­mently deny­ing the charges. Mat­ters quickly es­ca­lated.

Craig had moved to Bat­tersea, and in June 2014, anony­mous leaflets were posted through the let­ter boxes of Craig, her neigh­bours and her daugh­ter, with the warn­ing: ‘Holis­tic healer Anne Craig has moved into your street! Your daugh­ters are in grave danger!’, claim­ing that Craig would im­plant false mem­o­ries and pres­sure them into be­liev­ing, ‘You, their lov­ing par­ents’ had abused them as chil­dren. It in­cluded Craig’s ad­dress. Printed on the leaflet was a pho­to­graph of Craig’s par­ents’ grave­stone in Ire­land.

See­ing it as a death threat, Craig re­ported it to the po­lice, who in­ves­ti­gated, but were un­able to de­ter­mine who had posted the leaflets. Mat­ters took a fur­ther dra­matic turn in Au­gust. Hav­ing dis­cov­ered where Vic­to­ria was liv­ing, Amanda Cale­don posted a birth­day card through her daugh­ter’s let­ter box and left a tiny bunch of flow­ers on her doorstep. A few weeks later she posted a book on the risk of psy­cho­log­i­cal abuse in ther­apy, along with a let­ter warn­ing her against Craig, through Vic­to­ria’s door.

The next day, act­ing on an al­le­ga­tion of ha­rass­ment from Vic­to­ria, seven po­lice of­fi­cers, in two cars and a van, ar­rived at Lady Cale­don’s home and placed her un­der ar­rest. She was taken to a po­lice sta­tion but im­me­di­ately re­leased when the cus­tody sergeant de­cided it was a case of wrong­ful ar­rest. But the in­ci­dent led the po­lice to look more closely at the back­ground to these events, with the re­sult that their in­ves­ti­ga­tion now took a 180-de­gree turn – and fo­cused on Anne Craig.

Four other young women came for­ward and gave state­ments, telling how, fol­low­ing lengthy ses­sions with Craig, they had ex­pe­ri­enced grow­ing feel­ings of hope­less­ness, and of neg­a­tiv­ity to­wards their clos­est fam­ily and friends. On the ba­sis of those in­ter­views, on 27 Oc­to­ber 2014, four plain-clothes po­lice of­fi­cers ar­rived at Craig’s home. She was taken to a po­lice sta­tion and booked on three charges: fraud, ad­min­is­ter­ing a nox­ious sub­stance and oc­ca­sion­ing psy­cho­log­i­cal Ac­tual Bod­ily Harm. The nox­ious sub­stance charge arose from two women claim­ing to have felt drowsy af­ter be­ing given a drink by Craig. That charge, and the psy­cho­log­i­cal ABH charge were dropped. But Craig was bailed on the third charge of fraud for six months.

In what ap­peared to be a de­lib­er­ate strat­egy to re­move the women from her in­flu­ence, un­der her bail con­di­tions she was pro­hib­ited from see­ing or com­mu­ni­cat­ing with any of her clients – a stip­u­la­tion that Craig de­scribed to me as be­ing ‘un­der house ar­rest’.

What ex­actly went on in Anne Craig’s ses­sions with her young clients? I spoke to a num­ber of women who had seen Craig be­tween 2009 and 2013. None of them wished to be named. One de­scribed how the ses­sions con­cen­trated mostly on her fam­ily re­la­tion­ships. ‘It was al­ways about my mother; if there was a peach in my dream it would be my mum suck­ing the joy out of my life. It was a way of putting ideas into your head.’ Craig would also give ‘home­work’. One ex­er­cise was for the client to draw a heart, writ­ing in it the names of those clos­est to her. ‘Then she’d say, “I think that’s a lot of peo­ple for you to carry, don’t you think?” As if I should be cut­ting them out of my life, and she would be­come my mother.’

Af­ter four months she told Craig she no longer wanted to see her. ‘I was scared of her.’

An­other woman, who had gone to see Craig for help with feel­ings of de­pres­sion, de­scribed how dur­ing her first ses­sion Craig told her to lie back on the couch, say­ing that she was go­ing to use a form of reiki to ‘read my dreams’. She promptly fell asleep. When she woke up, Craig told her that she had dreamt of be­ing five years old, at a party at her grand­mother’s house, and be­ing in a dark cup­board at the top of the stairs. ‘I said there wasn’t a cup­board at the top of the stairs in that house. I said, maybe the house I grew up in? And she said yes, that was it.

‘And she said, “Some­thing very fright­en­ing hap­pened to you in this cup­board.” None of it made any sense to me. I said I would see if my par­ents could re­mem­ber any­thing. She said, “Don’t speak to your par­ents. They won’t un­der­stand.”’

Un­set­tled by the ex­pe­ri­ence, the young woman never re­turned.

An­other, An­gela*, started see­ing Craig in 2011. She was 23 and deeply con­fused about her sex­u­al­ity, she told me, and fear­ful of telling her fam­ily and friends that she might be gay. Craig sug­gested she would need up to eight ses­sions with her. ‘One of the first things she said was, “I break you down and I put you back to­gether. Then you’ll have fin­ished your jour­ney and you can go on to have the ca­reer, the so­cial re­la­tion­ships and every­thing you’ve ever wanted.”’

An­gela started to see Craig once ev­ery two weeks, then once a week. It would be 18 months be­fore she fi­nally broke with her. As ‘home­work’ Craig would en­cour­age her to write ‘an­gry and neg­a­tive’ things ev­ery day, us­ing her left hand – ‘be­cause that con­nects to the heart, not the head, and every­thing should come from the heart’ – and then burn what she had writ­ten. ‘She re­ally sculpted us to be neg­a­tive, an­gry peo­ple.’

Craig, she said, ‘Tried to tell me, many, many

‘You’ve been talk­ing about your­self for two hours, and that is the mo­ment she asks, “Have you been abused?”’

times I’d been abused, that’s why I had fears around my sex­u­al­ity.’ Ev­ery­body who came to her, Craig told her, had suf­fered abuse at some time in their life.

‘You’ve been talk­ing about your­self for two hours and what a ter­ri­ble vic­tim you’ve been all your life, and that is the mo­ment she asks, “Have you been abused?” Every­thing in the room is beg­ging you to say yes. But I just haven’t. And then she would im­ply that I was not ready to deal with it.’

For An­gela, the break­ing point came when she re­ceived an of­fer of work abroad. Craig, she said, tried to pres­sure her not to go. ‘She said it would be self­ish, be­cause I would be break­ing the in­tense con­nec­tion we had.’ Af­ter leav­ing Craig, she told me, she fi­nally de­cided to come out as gay. ‘It was the hap­pi­est day of my life.’

Craig, she went on, ‘wants to bring you to a place where you need noth­ing, or no­body but her’.

When I asked Craig about An­gela, she told me that she was ‘a very com­pli­cated char­ac­ter’.

Child abuse can be phys­i­cal, sex­ual or emo­tional, or it can be the re­sult of ne­glect. In all forms of abuse, the com­mon fac­tor is psy­cho­log­i­cal trauma and the long-term dam­age it can do to the men­tal health of the vic­tim.

The past can­not be re­vis­ited, only in­vented. Sto­ries be­come ex­ag­ger­ated, facts mis­placed, dis­torted or for­got­ten. Mem­ory is a frag­ile anchor to our ver­sions of our­selves. Our fam­ily his­tory is a part of this. There are mo­ments of rup­ture, up­set, but life goes on. Fences are mended, harsh words for­got­ten. Then into this placid pool of mem­ory a drop of ink falls, and then an­other, and an­other – un­til the pool is dark and murky and we can no longer dis­tin­guish be­tween what is true and what is imag­ined.

Dis­cus­sion of false mem­ory in ther­apy first be­gan to emerge in Amer­ica in the 1980s, at a time when in­creas­ing num­bers of women – it was mostly women – were com­ing for­ward claim­ing that in the course of psy­chother­apy they had ‘re­cov­ered’ re­pressed mem­o­ries of be­ing sex­u­ally abused as chil­dren. The grow­ing num­ber of such cases gave rise to con­cerns within the psy­chi­atric pro­fes­sion that sug­ges­tive ques­tion­ing by ther­a­pists could re­sult in mem­o­ries of trauma that are ob­jec­tively false but in which the per­son comes to be­lieve strongly.

The term false mem­ory syn­drome (FMS) is con­tro­ver­sial. It is not recog­nised as a psy­chi­atric con­di­tion, giv­ing fuel to crit­ics and abuse sur­vivors who main­tain that claims of FMS un­der­mine the plight of gen­uine vic­tims and pro­vide a ‘cover’ for pae­dophiles.

But Pro­fes­sor Chris French, the head of the Ano­ma­l­is­tic Psy­chol­ogy Re­search Unit at Gold­smiths, Univer­sity of Lon­don, and a mem­ber of the sci­en­tific and pro­fes­sional ad­vi­sory board of the Bri­tish False Mem­ory So­ci­ety, says he is in no doubt that the phe­nom­e­non of false mem­ory is gen­uine. ‘Ther­apy,’ he says, ‘is al­most the per­fect en­vi­ron­ment for gen­er­at­ing false mem­o­ries.’

A ther­a­pist who is pre­dis­posed to look for ev­i­dence of sex­ual abuse, for ex­am­ple, might eas­ily

in­flu­ence their sub­ject to ‘re­mem­ber’ it. And once the client has ac­cepted the pos­si­bil­ity of re­pressed mem­o­ries of abuse ly­ing at the heart their prob­lems – and they have de­vel­oped what Prof French calls a ‘shared un­der­stand­ing’ with the ther­a­pist that ‘re­cov­er­ing’ those mem­o­ries is part of the ther­a­pau­tic process – it is very easy for false mem­o­ries to ap­pear.

Pro­fes­sor El­iz­a­beth Lof­tus, an Amer­i­can cog­ni­tive psy­chol­o­gist and one of the world’s lead­ing au­thor­i­ties on the mal­leabil­ity of hu­man mem­ory, has writ­ten of how dream anal­y­sis in ther­apy can be es­pe­cially prob­lem­atic in the hands of a ther­a­pist who dis­cusses sex­ual abuse dur­ing the day, caus­ing sex­ual ma­te­rial to ap­pear in the pa­tient’s dreams at night. The ther­a­pist then uses those dreams as a ‘re­source’ to re­con­struct sup­posed child­hood sex­ual abuse. ‘The danger that these ques­tion­able ac­tiv­i­ties might lead a pa­tient to a false be­lief and mem­ory that sex­ual abuse ac­tu­ally oc­curred is more than a pass­ing risk.’

The hu­man cost of false mem­ory, Prof French adds, can be enor­mous. ‘The per­son who be­lieves they have been abused is deeply trau­ma­tised: they are 100 per cent cer­tain it has hap­pened. Fam­i­lies are torn apart, be­cause the per­son who thinks they’ve been abused will cut off, or com­pletely os­tracise, any­one who doesn’t ac­cept that it has ac­tu­ally hap­pened. The ther­a­pist be­comes like a guru.’

In April 2015, the Crown Pros­e­cu­tion Ser­vice de­cided not to pros­e­cute Anne Craig, and the charge of fraud was dropped. Freed from her bail con­di­tions, she started to see both Vic­to­ria and Laura again, with­out charg­ing for her ser­vices.

No longer their ‘per­sonal devel­op­ment coach’, she had now be­come their ‘friend’. Both Vic­to­ria and Laura told me that Craig was the per­son they trusted most in the world.

It was Craig who put me in touch with them. The pho­to­graphs I had seen of Vic­to­ria at so­ci­ety par­ties and gallery open­ings showed a wil­lowy and gilded young woman in a party frock. The per­son I met in a café in Kens­ing­ton looked tired and drawn; she was wear­ing an anorak, jeans and work boots. She had a whip­pet with the words ‘ser­vice dog’ printed on its lead. It made her feel safer, she said. If you had to choose one word to de­scribe her it would be ‘frag­ile’.

Speak­ing hes­i­tantly, she de­scribed an un­happy child­hood: fam­ily ar­gu­ments, her par­ents’ di­vorce when she was 16. As a teenager she had de­vel­oped an eat­ing dis­or­der, which had wors­ened dur­ing her A-level years. ‘I just couldn’t deal with life at all.’ She had seen a num­ber of ther­a­pists and coun­sel­lors, but ‘none of it was work­ing. I guess things were very re­pressed and I needed to go deeper.’ When she met Craig in 2010, she said, ‘I knew that was right.’

At first she would see Craig once a month, but grad­u­ally the meet­ings be­came more fre­quent; once a week, then twice a week, with daily ex­changes of emails and phone calls. For seven years. ‘Things don’t get bet­ter quickly,’ she said, ‘but I started to open up this thing that was un­der­neath that I couldn’t get to. I would feel these re­ally vi­o­lent emo­tions that I knew were linked to my par­ents, but it wasn’t quite clear how.’

Cer­tain things would come up in these ses­sions, ‘a mem­ory or some kind of is­sue. And then I would write about it, talk about it, draw it, tak­ing it back to the root.’ I had heard that phrase be­fore.

At the end of a ses­sion, Craig would put her hands on the top of Vic­to­ria’s head ‘to con­nect with your en­ergy and feel what’s blocked. And if the emo­tions are blocked she can open them up so things come out,’ Vic­to­ria told me. Each day she would email Craig de­tails of her dreams for anal­y­sis. It was through these pro­cesses, she said, that she would get ‘a flash of see­ing things and re­mem­ber­ing’.

It had been sug­gested, I said, that these ses­sions had led her to ‘re­mem­ber’ things that had not ac­tu­ally hap­pened at all.

That wasn’t true, she said. ‘How can some­one tell you you’re re­mem­ber­ing some­thing? They just can’t. When I re­lax and let the mem­o­ries come out it’s so pow­er­ful and so fright­en­ing. But it’s such a re­lief at the same time.

‘I had got to a point where I didn’t trust what was in my mind, my emo­tions, so I didn’t want to let any­thing come up to the sur­face. But Anne helped me re­lax and trust my­self.’

Vic­to­ria talked about how it had been nec­es­sary to cut her­self off from fam­ily and friends. ‘Be­cause once you step back and start look­ing at your re­la­tion­ships you re­alise how un­healthy they are; they were all in­formed by my re­la­tion­ship with my par­ents and they were very de­struc­tive. I didn’t re­ally want to ac­cept it – but when you’re con­fronted with the truth you can’t re­ally deny it any more…’ Her voice trailed into si­lence.

Un­der the terms of a fam­ily trust, Vic­to­ria was due to in­herit a large sum of money, but in 2014 she had in­sisted on with­draw­ing from the in­her­i­tance. ‘How could I ac­cept money from a fam­ily I didn’t want to be part of ?’

With Craig’s en­cour­age­ment, she had twice given state­ments to the po­lice al­leg­ing his­toric crimes. ‘But noth­ing has been done,’ she said. ‘I think that’s re­ally sin­is­ter.’

The café was clos­ing for the day, and we walked in a nearby park where she could let her dog off the leash. For the past few months she had been liv­ing in a squat­ters’ camp near Heathrow air­port. I got the sense she was un­happy and felt un­safe there. Laura Hue-wil­liams was liv­ing in the same squat. They had not known each other be­fore be­com­ing in­volved with Craig, but had got in con­tact fol­low­ing her ar­rest.

Vic­to­ria had now been see­ing Craig for al­most seven years, but it seemed there was no end in sight. ‘It’s not go­ing to be in­stant. All the time I’m con­fronted with trau­matic things. Ev­ery day there’s some­thing that comes up.’

So, no, she could not fore­see a time when she would not need Anne Craig.

In her Lon­don flat, Sarah Strutt spread out an as­sort­ment of fam­ily pho­to­graphs, let­ters and Mother’s Day cards – all drawn by her daugh­ter Laura, the mes­sages in bold, ex­u­ber­ant hand­writ­ing. ‘Best Mum Ever!!!’ and ‘Thank you so much for al­ways be­ing there for me and giv­ing me every­thing I ask for, even if it is not the eas­i­est thing to do! Even if you think I do not re­alise – I do, and I love you very much.’

Strutt and her daugh­ter, she said, were ‘like soul­mates’, but she had nei­ther seen nor heard from Laura in the four years since her last let­ter, say­ing that she was break­ing from the fam­ily for good, to ‘grow and heal my spirit from the dam­age done’. Strutt told me she still had no idea of what that ‘dam­age’ could be.

Born in Eng­land, Laura spent her early child­hood in Monaco, mov­ing with her fam­ily back to Eng­land when she was nine. In 2006 she be­gan a three-year course at the Charles H Ce­cil Stu­dios, en­joy­ing it so much that at the end of the course she stayed on for an ex­tra term. In 2009, her par­ents divorced. Laura re­turned to Eng­land, in­tent on mak­ing her liv­ing as an artist. Shortly af­ter­wards she started see­ing Craig. She told her mother that Craig was ‘teach­ing her about chakras’ – the an­cient In­dian the­ory of en­ergy points in the body. Strutt thought it sounded like do­ing a yoga class.

It was in the spring of 2011, when Laura was 25, Strutt told me, that her daugh­ter’s be­hav­iour be­came more wor­ry­ing. Laura wrote a let­ter to her boyfriend of four years break­ing up with him, and an­other let­ter to her mother, say­ing she needed time to her­self to work on her art and mu­sic.

‘I trusted Laura; she’s in­cred­i­bly sen­si­ble and if she wanted a bit of time apart it didn’t worry me. She’d said it was noth­ing per­sonal,’ Strutt said.

But Laura was re­treat­ing deeper into her­self. She cut off all her old friends and closed her Face­book ac­count. She told her mother she wanted to be left alone; that she was ‘heal­ing my head’.

Then, for a while, Laura dis­ap­peared al­to­gether. Even­tu­ally, Strutt dis­cov­ered that she had taken a job teach­ing at an art school in west Lon­don. Strutt and her hus­band, Henry, waited out­side one af­ter­noon. It was al­most a year since she had last set eyes on her daugh­ter. Laura looked ‘star­tled’ to see them.

‘Henry said, “Laura when I first knew you, you adored your mother.” And she said, “Yes, I adored my mother.” He said, “Has she done any­thing to up­set you since that time?” And she said no. So he said, “You adored her be­fore and she’s done noth­ing to up­set you since; shall we just go home to­gether?”’

Laura, Strutt said, ‘started sway­ing, her head went down, as if she didn’t know what to say. And then sud­denly her whole body changed; she put her head in the air and said, “It’s not for me to tell my mother what she’s done; it’s for my mother to find out.” And then she walked off.’

And did Strutt know what her daugh­ter meant by that?

She shook her head. ‘I don’t think she knows what she meant by it. There is no rea­son.’

Through­out all this, Strutt told me, her daugh­ter had kept the same email ad­dress and phone num­ber. ‘I used to reg­u­larly text and email her. She never an­swered, but I thought, if she didn’t want to get these mes­sages she would surely have cut me off.’

But in Jan­uary 2014, Laura wrote to her mother to tell her she was ‘dis­in­her­it­ing’ her fam­ily and cut­ting all ties to her past. She changed her num­ber, and moved to the same en­crypted email server as Craig. (Vic­to­ria would also move to the same server.)

In 2015, Strutt gath­ered all her fam­ily, ex­cept Laura, in France for her 60th birth­day. ‘Every­thing was per­fect,’ she told me. ‘But I just woke up on my birth­day and burst into tears. You put every­thing into this box with a lid on, and then it just bursts open. What makes it such agony, apart from the agony of miss­ing her, is that there is no rea­son for any of it. It’s not as if there was a row. It was just Laura walk­ing away from a very lov­ing fam­ily.’

I met Laura in a café in an unlovely sub­urb at the end of the North­ern line. She was ex­hibit­ing a piece of work in a pop-up show, staged by an arts col­lec­tive. Tonight was the open­ing.

She talked about grow­ing up in Monaco and Eng­land and, with re­mark­able can­dour, about deeply per­sonal is­sues to do with her body that she said had trou­bled her through­out her child­hood and ado­les­cence. It was a pic­ture that bore ab­so­lutely no re­la­tion to the de­scrip­tion of the ex­u­ber­ant, happy young woman de­scribed by her fam­ily and her friends.

She talked of how these is­sues had in­stilled a sense of dis­gust in her, to the point that by the time she was a teenager she ‘went com­pletely off the rails’ with al­co­hol and drugs.

In 2010 she was in­tro­duced to Craig. She wanted to re­solve her body is­sues, and to de­velop as an artist and a mu­si­cian, and thought that Craig could help her. She also, she said, had a ‘gut feel­ing that things had hap­pened that I couldn’t re­mem­ber. I just knew it in my heart that if any­one could help me un­puz­zle my path a bit more it was her.’

She be­gan to de­scribe vague mem­o­ries from her child­hood that she said had left her deeply trau­ma­tised, and which she had re­pressed. Among the mem­o­ries that had come to the sur­face, she said, was one of hav­ing been badly mis­treated by a rel­a­tive who had died when she was three years old. ‘I have flash­backs of him. It was just all the time.’ (I later dis­cov­ered that Laura was ac­tu­ally just 18 months old when the rel­a­tive died.)

‘I know my par­ents are try­ing to say it’s false mem­ory syn­drome but it’s not.’ She paused. ‘It’s so hard, un­less you’re in­side my body to feel it. When I work some­thing out, every­thing sort of slots to­gether. It’s not even like a men­tal mem­ory, it’s a phys­i­cal mem­ory.’

On one oc­ca­sion she had ex­pe­ri­enced what she de­scribed as a ‘mas­sive break­down. For three days I was vom­it­ing and had di­ar­rhoea and I felt like there was a knife in my stom­ach. Af­ter that, more of my mem­o­ries opened up. Like, it had to hap­pen phys­i­cally. I talked to Anne about it and you try to piece it all to­gether.’

Was she not con­cerned that Craig had no train­ing or qual­i­fi­ca­tions to deal with the sort of is­sues we’d been dis­cussing?

Laura had never seen a trained ther­a­pist. ‘But I don’t know how much they could have taught me to open my­self up, which is what Anne has taught me. She has this tal­ent to help peo­ple un­der­stand their trau­mas.’

Craig, she said, was ‘a friend I dearly cher­ish’, some­one ‘who’s very wise and can help me’.

We fin­ished our drinks, and walked to the empty shop space where the art show was tak­ing place. I had seen pho­to­graphs of Laura’s paint­ings, but the work she had in the show was a con­cep­tual piece. It was a rub­ber glove, sus­pended up­side down in a

‘What makes it such agony, apart from the agony of miss­ing Vic­to­ria, is that there is no rea­son for any of it’

metal frame, with wa­ter trick­ling from a pipe into the hand of the glove, and then dropping through pin­pricks in the fin­gers into a bucket on the floor. We stood and watched it. Drip, drip, drip. It was about her mother, Laura said. But it oc­curred to me that it was ac­tu­ally about Craig.

When I met Craig for the sec­ond time it was in the lounge of a Lon­don ho­tel. I or­dered a cof­fee. She asked for a glass of wa­ter. She wanted to talk more about her back­ground, she said, to help me bet­ter un­der­stand her work.

She was brought up in a house­hold of eight women – seven girls and her mother. She was the fifth daugh­ter. Her mother’s fam­ily had been com­fort­ably off; her un­cle owned a large farm, where Craig’s fa­ther worked as a labourer. He was an al­co­holic, she said, ‘very con­trol­ling’, but her mother had al­ways had dreams – she started her own cater­ing com­pany – and Craig painted a pic­ture of her­self as a dreamer, too.

She worked in nurs­ing, but it didn’t suit her, she said. And af­ter go­ing into the air­line in­dus­try, she moved into the field of per­sonal devel­op­ment. It was at that point, she said, that she un­der­went coun­selling her­self – ‘for my own devel­op­ment’ – and the is­sue of child­hood trauma ‘started com­ing up’.

‘I knew there was some­thing that had hap­pened to me as a child, be­cause I had no re­la­tion­ship with my fa­ther at all. You have a feel­ing in­side, but you don’t know where it’s com­ing from. But it wasn’t un­til I was on the coun­selling course, go­ing into ther­apy, self-ex­plor­ing, that I thought, well ob­vi­ously I need to open up some­thing here, and as you open it up it makes sense.’

The coun­sel­lor ad­vised her to go to Ire­land to con­front her par­ents. They cut off all con­nec­tion with her from that mo­ment on.

But the shape of her life was cast. ‘Every­thing I’ve done,’ she told me, ‘I’ve known is for a big­ger pur­pose.’

And what, I asked, is that pur­pose?

‘The rea­son is very much to open up the vi­o­lent abuse of women.’ She took a sip of wa­ter. ‘That,’ she said, ‘is re­ally what my jour­ney is all about.’

It was 1991. She re­turned to Eng­land and worked coun­selling the un­em­ployed. It was then she had what she de­scribed as an emo­tional break­down. ‘I didn’t re­alise that all the stress had ac­cu­mu­lated and how it was af­fect­ing me.’ Her doc­tor re­ferred her to a man named Rus­sell Jenk­ins, a ‘healer’ who prac­tised home­opa­thy and reiki. ‘And that re­ally was the start of some­thing in­cred­i­ble open­ing up on a dif­fer­ent level al­to­gether.’

He would be­come her men­tor, her guide, for 15 years. Through her as­so­ci­a­tion with him, it be­came her be­lief that ‘any emo­tional trauma we have in our mind has to man­i­fest it­self in our body. And if we can look at that and not be scared of any or­gans we’re hold­ing it in, it will re­veal it­self, whether it’s through dreams or so many dif­fer­ent things.’ If you ‘bring light’ into some­thing, she said, ‘it will heal’. She her­self had not been to a doc­tor in 20 years. ‘With every­thing that has hap­pened in my body I use my own heal­ing in­ner re­sources and find out what it is.’

In 1999, she moved from Hamp­shire to Lon­don, but she and Jenk­ins would con­tinue to talk reg­u­larly on the phone.

‘I was still get­ting panic at­tacks, but I would call him and he would al­ways be there to help me, and calm me down.’ She spoke of him with a re­spect bor­der­ing on rev­er­ence.

Jenk­ins died in 2007, at the age of 52, af­ter in­jur­ing his foot tread­ing on an elec­tric plug in his home. The wound turned sep­tic, and Jenk­ins, a di­a­betic, sought ad­vice from a home­opath who sug­gested he treat it with Manuka honey. He died from gan­grene caused by the bac­te­rial in­fec­tion. An in­quest was told he had re­fused to have con­ven­tional med­i­cal treat­ment af­ter his ‘in­ner be­ing’ had told him not to.

Af­ter com­ing to Lon­don, Craig told me, she had spent seven years ‘tak­ing my­self apart – emo­tion­ally, phys­i­cally, men­tally’. She saw very few peo­ple. She was do­ing ‘a tremen­dous amount of work’ on her­self, ‘open­ing up my dreams more and look­ing into the past’.

She be­gan to ad­ver­tise her ser­vices, of­fer­ing ‘a holis­tic ap­proach us­ing heal­ing en­er­gies’ in ‘a safe, se­cure and pri­vate en­vi­ron­ment’, tak­ing on mostly fe­male clients. When the group of young women, start­ing with those from the Charles H Ce­cil Stu­dios, first started com­ing to her, she went on, it was ‘as if it was the next stage of my jour­ney I was ready for’.

She quickly be­gan to recog­nise ‘a thread’, she said. What kept com­ing up, she went on, was the ex­tent of ab­nor­mal re­la­tions be­tween sib­lings. ‘With ev­ery sin­gle one.’

Ev­ery sin­gle one? It struck me, I said, as in­con­ceiv­able that in a ran­dom sam­pling of six or seven young women all would make ex­actly the same claim. ‘No, it’s not. What it re­ally is, is the group they’re in. It’s noth­ing to do with peo­ple ran­domly.’

So was she sug­gest­ing this was be­cause the girls were all from com­fort­able, mid­dle-class back­grounds? ‘Yes.’

It had taken time and pa­tience, she sug­gested, for this in­for­ma­tion to emerge. But the ‘bulk of the work’ she had been do­ing up un­til her ar­rest had been con­cerned with this sin­gle ques­tion, she said, ‘Where is the root? There’s some­thing go­ing on here that I’m not quite get­ting.’

When, in April 2015, Craig re­sumed see­ing

Vic­to­ria and Laura, un­paid, the re­la­tion­ships had long since ceased to be pro­fes­sional. ‘It’s about friend­ship,’ Craig told me, and com­plet­ing ‘the job I set out to do’.

But hadn’t she sim­ply cre­ated a de­pen­dency in the girls? It was clear from talk­ing with Vic­to­ria, I said, that she was highly de­pen­dent on Craig.

‘In a sense at the mo­ment she is, but grad­u­ally she won’t be, and she will be­come more re­liant on her­self.’

Craig re­turned to her al­le­ga­tions against the the girls’ fam­i­lies. The rea­son they had pur­sued her, she said, was to si­lence the girls, and to si­lence her, ‘be­cause of what I know’. Her tone be­came more ur­gent, more con­spir­a­to­rial.

‘Tori would say one thing to me, and a cou­ple of days later Huey [Laura] would say some­thing else, and I was think­ing, why are they both talk­ing about very sim­i­lar things, and about mem­o­ries, and about this? So I had to have two peo­ple, who weren’t linked, and who would kind of di­vulge the same in­for­ma­tion to me at dif­fer­ent times to get me to start be­liev­ing this re­ally hap­pened. Other­wise I wouldn’t have be­lieved it.’

Given the fact that it was her ‘jour­ney’ to root out abuse wher­ever she could find it, did she not think she was con­sciously look­ing for it in the young women who came to her?

‘Ab­so­lutely not. But these young girls were telling me things, and I would come out of the room reel­ing.’ There were, she went on, ‘much deeper things go­ing on’. El­e­ments within the po­lice were work­ing with the per­pe­tra­tors of these crimes to pre­vent the truth from com­ing out. ‘Ev­ery time some­body tries to open it up, it gets closed down. I’m do­ing it in a dif­fer­ent way. If you like, you can say I’m guided. I know what I’m do­ing.’

I was re­minded of some­thing she had said at our first meet­ing, when I asked why girls who had come to her for help had ended up cut­ting them­selves off from their fam­i­lies. ‘But what’s so wrong with that?’ she said. ‘There are loads of peo­ple in life who de­cide they’re not go­ing to see their fam­ily any more.’ The real ques­tion was about the ‘mas­sive se­crets’ their par­ents were

‘I had got to a point where I didn’t trust what was in my mind… But Anne helped me re­lax and trust my­self,’ Vic­to­ria told me

try­ing to con­ceal. ‘She would never have spo­ken out had she not re­ceived that let­ter from the Cale­dons’ lawyer all those years ago. ‘And the ha­rass­ment…’ She sighed. ‘It goes on and on and on.’

She started to cry. ‘If you asked me to de­scribe my­self in two words,’ she said, ‘I would say I’m kind and I’m brave.’

In July 2015, Craig filed a se­ries of com­plaints against the Metropoli­tan Po­lice, claim­ing un­law­ful ar­rest, ne­glect and a fail­ure in duty to in­ves­ti­gate the leaflet that had been posted through her and her neigh­bours’ let­ter boxes. The po­lice, she claimed, had not un­der­taken ‘an im­par­tial in­ves­ti­ga­tion’; in­stead show­ing def­er­ence to ‘high­pro­file’ fam­ily mem­bers of the al­leged vic­tims and im­pos­ing bail con­di­tions that had pre­vented her, Craig, from con­duct­ing her work. In Fe­bru­ary 2016, she was in­formed that in each par­tic­u­lar there was ‘no case to an­swer’, and that her claim had there­fore not been up­held.

The rul­ing, she told me, was fur­ther proof of ‘the con­spir­acy’.

Charles Cayzer, Amanda Cale­don, Ti­mothy Hue-wil­liams and Sarah Strutt have all de­scribed any al­le­ga­tions of abuse of any kind made by their daugh­ters as ‘ab­surd’, ‘un­think­able’. All be­lieve that Craig is re­spon­si­ble for turn­ing their daugh­ters against them. All say they will not rest un­til their daugh­ters have come home.

What most frus­trates Strutt, she told me, is that the law of­fers no pro­tec­tion or rem­edy in a case such as this.

‘There is noth­ing to pre­vent this hap­pen­ing to other fam­i­lies in the fu­ture, or for fam­i­lies such as us to take any kind of le­gal ac­tion. You are watch­ing your child who one mo­ment is the most lov­ing, ador­ing child who says there is noth­ing more im­por­tant than fam­ily, pulling away to the ex­tent that they be­come a stranger. And you’re help­less to do any­thing about it.’

In 2014 Geraint Davies, the Labour Co-op­er­a­tive MP for Swansea West, tabled a pri­vate mem­bers’ bill to bring psy­chother­a­pists and coun­sel­lors un­der the same reg­u­la­tion as clin­i­cal pro­fes­sion­als such as doc­tors and psy­chi­a­trists. That bill failed to get a read­ing, but Davies is in the throes of pre­par­ing a re­vised ver­sion to present to Par­lia­ment, which, he says, would also cover all man­ner of spu­ri­ous ‘ther­a­peu­tic’ treat­ments that could be proved to cause harm.

‘If some­body had gone along in good faith for guid­ance and had been given il­le­git­i­mate treat­ment that sub­se­quently es­tranged them from their par­ents, then clearly there would be a case for them [the prac­ti­tioner] to be struck off.’

While such a bill would not nec­es­sar­ily pre­vent some­one set­ting them­selves up as a ‘per­sonal devel­op­ment coach’ as Craig did, Davies be­lieves it would en­cour­age peo­ple to en­sure they were see­ing a reg­is­tered psy­chother­a­pist ‘and fewer peo­ple would then get into the hands of peo­ple who abuse them’.

Nor, at present, is there any le­gal rem­edy to guard against the sort of in­flu­ence or psy­cho­log­i­cal co­er­cion that Craig has been ac­cused of. The Se­ri­ous Crime Act leg­is­lates against con­trol­ling or co­er­cive be­hav­iour in an in­ti­mate or fam­ily re­la­tion­ship, so would be ex­tremely hard to ap­ply in cases such as this, es­pe­cially when the ‘vic­tims’ would be un­likely to tes­tify against the ac­cused.

In 2014, Sir Ed­ward Garnier, the for­mer Tory MP and So­lic­i­tor Gen­eral, at­tempted to draft a more strin­gent bill on co­er­cion and ex­ploita­tion, mod­elled on French law, which would crim­i­nalise be­hav­iour char­ac­terised by per­sis­tent or re­peated pres­sure on a per­son. France’s so-called About-pi­card law makes it an of­fence to fraud­u­lently abuse the ig­no­rance or state of weak­ness of a mi­nor or vul­ner­a­ble per­son, or to abuse a per­son in a state of phys­i­cal or psy­cho­log­i­cal de­pen­dency re­sult­ing from se­ri­ous or re­peated pres­sure or from tech­niques used to af­fect their judge­ment, in or­der to in­duce that per­son to act, or ab­stain from act­ing, in any way se­ri­ously harm­ful to him or her. It is pun­ish­able by three years in prison. At the time, Garnier’s pro­posal, he says, ‘ran out of sand’ in a par­tic­u­larly tur­bu­lent po­lit­i­cal pe­riod. But he be­lieves it could form the ba­sis for fu­ture leg­is­la­tion, ‘if Par­lia­ment was so minded, and there was suf­fi­cient pub­lic pres­sure’.

In March 2016, Sarah Strutt wrote to Craig – ‘mother to mother’ – plead­ing with her to tell Laura that she had done in­cred­i­bly well and ‘fin­ished her jour­ney’, and it was time to come home to her fam­ily. ‘Please imag­ine,’ Strutt wrote, ‘how sad you would be with­out Tara in your life.’

‘I thought it would help Anne save face,’ Strutt told me. Craig did not re­ply.

When I asked her why not, she re­peated the al­le­ga­tions that Laura had made against her mother.

Did she not feel, I asked, that it would be ben­e­fi­cial for the young women to try to re­build some sort of re­la­tion­ship with their fam­i­lies?

‘They have to make that de­ci­sion them­selves,’ she said. ‘I can­not make that de­ci­sion.’

But it was she that the fam­i­lies held re­spon­si­ble for their daugh­ters cut­ting them­selves off.

Craig was silent for a mo­ment. ‘I had a dream, Mick, a while ago,’ she said at last. ‘And in the dream it said you were tak­ing their side.’

I replied that I wasn’t tak­ing sides; I just wanted to get to the truth.

When I met Craig for a third time, she had left Lon­don and moved to the coun­try. It was now seven years since she had first started see­ing Vic­to­ria and Laura for ‘per­sonal devel­op­ment’. She was still see­ing them, ‘prob­a­bly once ev­ery three or four weeks’, she told me, but talk­ing ‘on a daily ba­sis’. They were still liv­ing in the squat­ters’ camp near Heathrow. ‘For the mo­ment…’

Things in her own life were chang­ing, she said. She had de­cided that it was time to fol­low a new path. She would not be tak­ing on any more clients. ‘There was a pur­pose in all of it and it was to open some­thing up. And I have achieved that. If I look at how my dreams are de­vel­op­ing, I will know what the fu­ture is. I want to be that voice that comes to peo­ple and says, “You can heal.”’ This, she said, was ‘my jour­ney’.

It was shortly af­ter this that I learnt from Craig that Vic­to­ria had left the squat­ters’ camp, and – so Craig told me – gone abroad. Laura too was be­lieved to have left the coun­try. I emailed them both. They replied that they had no wish to be in con­tact with me. Craig too had cut off con­tact with me. No one knows where either of the girls are, not a sin­gle mem­ber of their fam­i­lies nor any of their old friends.

My mind went back to what had been vir­tu­ally Craig’s last words in our fi­nal con­ver­sa­tion. Her work, she said, was done.

Postscript: Fur­ther to the al­le­ga­tions made by Vic­to­ria against her fam­ily, po­lice forces in Arg yll and Bute and Thames Val­ley sub­se­quently dis­con­tin­ued their in­ves­ti­ga­tions, say­ing no ac­tion would be taken in re­gard to the al­le­ga­tions.

In a re­sponse to fur­ther ques­tions from the Tele­graph, Anne Craig em­pha­sised that all her clients had been over the age of 21 at the time she was con­sult­ing with them. She de­nied she had ever sug­gested or en­cour­aged her clients to re­duce, or cease, com­mu­ni­ca­tions with their fam­i­lies or friends, and stated that the ‘per­sonal devel­op­ment’ she taught ‘com­prised a num­ber of well-recog­nised method­olo­gies’.

Vic­to­ria’s mother Amanda, Countess of Cale­don, with her hus­band Ni­cholas, Earl of Cale­don

Laura Hue-wil­liams’ mother Sarah Strutt, with her other daugh­ter So­phie and her baby grand­daugh­ter, Ava; Laura has never seen her niece

Laura Hue-wil­liams in June 2012

The last known photo of Vic­to­ria Cayzer

Vic­to­ria Cayzer in 2011, be­fore she be­came es­tranged from her fam­ily

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