‘We did.’

‘What did you do?’

‘We went to Bournemouth a lot,’ she said. ‘We swam in the sea and went to a show at the Pavilion. Aunt Betsy took us to Ringwood Market one day and, oh, I did quite a lot of painting.’

Uncle Neville chuckled again. ‘Sounds like you’ve had a lot of fun.’ He was pulling the car into the car park in front of West Moors station and not a moment too soon. Mr Watson, high up in the signal box, was already turning the wheel to close the gates across the road, so the arrival of the train must be imminent. Uncle Neville almost fell out of the car with the suitcase, and Milly was bundled onto the platform. A minute or two later, the train thundered in. There was a frantic moment looking for the Ladies Only carriage, and then Milly hopped aboard. Uncle Neville put her case and her paintings onto the luggage rack and stepped back onto the platform. Milly pulled down the window and he stood back to wave. ‘Safe journey, and remember to telephone your aunt when you get home,’ he instructed. ‘She’ll want to know you’ve arrived safely.’

‘I will,’ Milly promised, ‘and thank you.’

Uncle Neville lifted his hat and the train moved off. Milly sat down. There were two women in the carriage, one was reading a book and the other was knitting what looked like a glove on four needles. The knitter looked up and smiled. Milly nodded her head briefly before she made herself comfortable with her book to enjoy the journey to Brockenhurst.

Pearl stared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked fine; no, more than that, pretty darned good. And so she should. She’d worked hard over the past eighteen months. She had slimmed down and blossomed into a beautiful woman. Everybody said so, especially Freddie – and what a catch he’d been. Still gazing at herself, she turned sideways and put her hand on her hip. The dress was fantastic and worth every penny. Figure-hugging, it had silk flowers at the neck, on the right breast, and dotted below the waistline with the last one on her right hip. It was the colour that made it stand out. A brand-new colour; a first in the world of fashion. Shocking pink.

Pearl did another twirl. Elsa Schiaparelli wasn’t as well-known as some of the other designers, but her clothes were still bought by the rich and famous – women like Daisy Fellowes, Marlene Dietrich and Wallis Simpson – and that, she told herself, was all that mattered. Pearl was desperate to be up there with the greats.

Adopting a sultry pose, she pouted a little and did another turn.

‘Can I come in?’

Agatha snatched back the curtain before Pearl could answer, and put her gloved hand to her mouth. ‘Oh Pearl!’

Pearl took her mother’s startled expression as a compliment. ‘Well? What do you think? Do you like it?’

‘It’s a bit . . . pink.’

The assistant glided towards them. ‘Madam looks stunning,’ she whispered, ‘but perhaps the colour . . .’

‘But it’s all the rage now, isn’t it?’ Pearl said defensively.

‘We do have an identical cream silk with pink accessories,’ said the assistant. ‘I’m sure it’s in madam’s size.’

Without waiting for an answer, she hurried away.

Agatha was looking at the price tag.

‘Mother, don’t!’ Pearl hissed. ‘It looks so vulgar. It’s bad enough that we can’t afford to have a complete designer wardrobe, without you reminding me that we have to shop “off the peg”.’

‘Darling, this is Harrods,’ Agatha protested.

‘All the same . . .’

While her mother wandered off to look at another dress rail, Pearl went back behind the curtain to take her dress off. It was hard to believe that she was still not engaged. Freddie was going to ask her, wasn’t he? It wasn’t that she wasn’t accomplished. She’d spent a year in finishing school in Switzerland, where she’d learned French and how to dance. She knew how to curtsey properly, with her left knee locked behind her right so that she could bow low without wobbling, and she was comfortable in places like Ascot, Henley, and Eton’s June the Fourth celebrations. She loved traditions like that. Pearl sighed. She’d been a glittering success and then she’d met Freddie. Delicious, handsome Friedrich von Herren, who was now called Freddie Herren. Pearl was quite smitten by him, especially when she discovered he had a castle in Germany and pots of money in the bank. They kept bumping into each other at luncheons and afternoon teas, even the occasional dinner party, which was why she couldn’t wear the same old stuff, so right now, she was extending her wardrobe.

The assistant came back with another dress, a sleeveless Coco Chanel creation in antique gold lace over a gold-coloured silk shift. The moment she saw it, Pearl had to have it. She tried it on and it was a perfect fit.

‘Shall I call madam’s mother?’ the girl asked.

‘No need,’ Pearl said imperiously. ‘I’ll take it – and the other one. Charge it to my father’s account.’

The book was good, but Milly’s mind kept wandering to memories of time spent with her secret sister. When they were younger, the two girls had played in the woods, picked wild flowers and ridden their bicycles around the countryside. As they grew older, they sometimes helped out with the harvest on the local farm. Just lately they would bike up the hill and have tea in the café under the windmill at the top of High Salvington. Lena never expected anything from Milly, so their friendship had been built on mutual love and respect. Only it wasn’t as honest as it might be. Milly still harboured that guilty secret.

After Angel died, their father sent Lena to the Findon village school until she was fourteen (the school leaving age). For a while, there was talk of sending her to college, but Lena was adamant that she wanted to return to her fairground family.

‘You’ve given me an education, Pa,’ she told their father, ‘for which I am eternally grateful, but half of me still belongs with my mother’s people.’

There were endless discussions about it and, in the end, their father agreed that she could go back to Rainbow George and the travellers.

Because the travellers only settled wherever there was a fair, it made meeting up more difficult. Lena might be in Wivelsfield for the St John the Baptist fair in June, or Hurstpierpoint for the St Lawrence the Martyr fair in July, then perhaps in West Hoathly for the feast of St Margaret, all of them quite a distance from Milly in Findon. That and the fact that her mother must never know who Lena was, or – worse – that she and Milly were friends, made everything doubly difficult, so the two girls hadn’t laid eyes on each other for almost two years. Milly had really missed seeing Lena, which was why she was so looking forward to September this year. At the end of the month, Milly was supposed to join her mother and sister in London but, before that, the Findon sheep fair would take place. Lena’s relatives would be organising the fairground activities, and their father had said Milly could go along. Having heard so much about Rainbow George and Big Alice, but never actually having met them, she could hardly wait.

Milly was nervous about the change of train at Southampton. It was a much bigger station than Brockenhurst, and she had to change platforms to catch the onward connection, but with the help of a porter, she managed brilliantly, and a couple of hours later she found Dixon waiting outside Worthing station with the car. After a twenty-minute drive, the car pulled off the road to begin the approach towards Muntham Court.

With a contented sigh, Milly sat back and relaxed. The sweeping drive had lost none of its beauty. To the south she passed thick woodland and the metal railings on the opposite side, which divided the arable farmland from the fields where sheep grazed. The kitchen gardens were to the east of the house and separated from the driveway by a wall. In the distance, Milly could see glimpses of the South Downs. An avenue of mature lime trees provided the formal entrance at the front of the house, and of course the magnificent pond with its dolphins and cherubs added to the perfect setting. How she loved this beautiful house. Despite her issues with her mother, it still held many wonderful memories. Milly might have been tired after her long journey, but she was happy.

As Dixon opened the car door for her, Milly became aware for the first time just how grey he had become. It struck her that he’d lived with them as a servant for the whole of her life, and yet she knew nothing about his personal life. Bodkin the gardener had retired a few years ago, and a Mr Greene from the village of Patching had taken over. Mrs Cunningham still worked in the kitchen but, in 1932, Martha had married her sweetheart and moved to Lancing. She had been replaced by a new girl called Elsie.

‘Here we are then, miss,’ Dixon said pleasantly.

‘Thank you, Dixon.’ Milly felt her cheeks heating up as a wave of embarrassment engulfed her. How could she have lived cheek-by-jowl with these people all these years and yet know absolutely nothing about their private lives? She had it in mind to ask him something personal, but the thought was snatched away as the front door flew open and her father hurried down the steps.

‘Milly!’ he cried, sweeping her into his arms. ‘Welcome, welcome home, my dear.’

Chapter 10

September 1937

It had been decided that Milly and her father would walk together to the fairground next to the sheep fair in Findon at noon on Saturday. It wasn’t that far, and with careful timing they could avoid the thousands of sheep coming off the Downs into the village along the Horsham Road.

‘I have a little business to attend to first thing in the morning,’ Charles told her, ‘but I should be finished long before then.’

Milly dressed carefully. Her cherry red dress was plain with a pencil skirt. There were red and white stripes on the cuff of her short sleeves which matched the belt. The dress was high at the neck, with an asymmetrical red and white striped collar in the shape of a deep ‘V’. To complement the outfit, she wore white court shoes and carried a matching clutch bag and gloves.

By twelve-thirty her father still wasn’t back, so Milly decided to go on her own. She knew he wouldn’t like her being unchaperoned, but what could possibly happen in broad daylight? Besides, as soon as she found Lena, she’d be safe enough with her.

It was a perfect autumn day and the sheep fair itself on Nepcote Green was heaving. Since early morning, some 20,000 sheep had been penned in by wattle fences on the ground, while the buyers, some in long white coats and carrying a shepherd’s crook or a walking stick with a hook on the end, wandered around to inspect them before the auctioneer arrived to conduct a sale. The whole area was a sea of bowler hats, homburg hats, flat caps and the odd fedora.

Farmers and shepherds had gathered at this time of year in Findon since the mid-eighteenth century. Back then, the large flocks had been walked across the Downs, but now things were more up-to-date. The sheep were taken to Steyning railway station, and from there transported to Findon by lorry.

The fairground was on an adjacent field, and if Milly thought the sheep fair was crowded, it was as nothing compared to the fairground. That was packed out, and felt both bewildering and exciting. There were plenty of rides and amusements, ranging from a carousel and helter-skelter, to a bumpy gangway and a tumble bug. The sideshows included a coconut shy, the greasy pole and a boxing ring, where members of the public could climb in the ring to challenge the man who had once beaten John Michael Basham before he became the British and European welter- and middleweight champion.

When she saw the crowds, Milly’s heart sank. It was going to take an age to find Lena in this lot. She wandered around for ages but couldn’t see her.

‘You lost something, darlin’?’ A man in a flat cap with terrible teeth leered at her. ‘’Ere, let me ’elp you.’

‘No thank you,’ Milly said primly as she tried to move away.

When she felt his hand on her bottom, she let out a startled squeal and pushed him away. To avoid any further contact, she headed for the other end of the field, but there was still no sign of Lena. It was only when she got there that she remembered something her sister had once told her. We always put our pitch near the gate. That way the punters spend their money with us first.

She’d have to go back. Milly cautiously retraced her steps when suddenly the same man stepped out of the beer tent and stood in front of her again. ‘Fancy a little roll in the field, darlin’?’