‘You want to be a landowner?’ Pa cried.

‘I’ve found a place to the east of Worthing where some nurseries used to be,’ she told him. ‘It’s near the station; well, it’s a little halt really, but it means it has good transport nearby. There’s a bus, some shops, a pub just up the road and, best of all, it’s going quite cheap.’

‘How cheap?’ Pa had asked.

‘The owner wants five pounds an acre.’

Pa had frowned. ‘Oh, Lena,’ he began, ‘at that price, I’m not sure—’

‘I know what you’re going to say Pa,’ Lena interrupted, ‘but it’s all right. I’ve listened to what Rainbow George does when he’s shelling out with big money for something, and I’ve been careful to check up on everything. I’m sure it’s perfectly kosher.’

‘Lena, you’re only fifteen,’ Pa said, shaking his head.

‘Almost sixteen,’ she told him.

‘But you’re an innocent. You don’t know how unscrupulous people can be. At five pounds an acre I find it hard to believe that it’s a good investment. If I was you, I’d be very careful.’

‘I’m not planning to sink all my money into it,’ Lena said stoutly, ‘but ten pounds will buy me two acres. All I want is for you to come with me to the bank. They tell me that even though it’s my own money, I’m not old enough to make such a purchase without my father’s consent.’

Charles Shepherd shook his head in disbelief, but what else could he do? He had never been a heavy-handed father, and wasn’t going to start now. Amazed by her tenacity, and even more astonished by her decision, he agreed to help, providing that she took him to view the land for himself first. To begin with, he had wondered if she’d fallen for some fairy-tale purchase which didn’t really exist, but when they visited the place he found the land was real enough. Back in Victorian times, it had been a nursery growing and selling tomatoes and grapes but, because so many young and fit men had perished during the Great War, the owner had soon gone out of business. He hadn’t been able to find anyone who was interested in glasshouse work, and the bottom had fallen out of the market anyway.

But though real enough, the site was a tip. There was broken glass everywhere, the glasshouses were in need of serious repair, and the ground itself was completely overgrown. It had stayed on the books of the estate agent for a long time.

‘You won’t be able to use this ground for anything,’ Charles said as the water squelched over his shoes. ‘It’s waterlogged. The owner seems desperate to sell even at five pounds an acre, so I can’t help but wonder what else is wrong. It might look like a bargain but I’m afraid he saw you coming.’

‘I know,’ Lena said, ‘but what he doesn’t know is that I have the gift.’

Charles frowned, clearly puzzled. ‘The gift?’

Lena grinned. ‘When Angel was alive, people used to ask her to find water. She used a forked twig and walked up and down a field.’

Her father looked startled. ‘She was a water diviner?’

Lena nodded. ‘I was only a kid, but she taught me what to do and I have the gift as well. I have dowsing skills.’

Charles blinked. ‘You’re incredible,’ he said, ‘his voice choking with emotion.

‘It’s useful when we picks our part of the field for the fairs,’ she grinned. ‘We never gets stuck with the boggy patch.’

Her father grinned proudly. ‘So you can find the source of the water and get it drained? Clever girl.’

‘So will you help me?’

Charles nodded and, by the end of the week, Lena had been the secret but proud owner of two acres of East Worthing scrubland.

Now, as her father and half-sister reached the edge of the fairground, they turned round to wave one more time. Lena smiled. She ought to tell Milly about the field. They shouldn’t have secrets from one another.

‘Come on, girl,’ said Rainbow George, coming up behind her and snapping her out of her daydream with a playful slap on her shoulder. ‘You’m got a hoopla to run.’

Milly came home to find herself in the grip of an absolute nightmare.

Her mother was waiting in the hall, her feet tapping, arms folded, and, as Milly and her father walked through the door, she glanced anxiously at the clock.

‘Where on earth have you been?’ she said angrily.

‘I’m sorry,’ Milly said, ‘but I had no idea that you would be here.’

Her mother hustled Milly towards the stairs, her beautiful silk dress rustling as she moved. ‘I can’t think why you were out today of all days,’ she complained. ‘You never go anywhere.’

Milly caught her breath. Why was her mother always like this? No Hello, darling. It’s lovely to see you. I haven’t set eyes on you since Christmas. How are you?

Agatha pulled at her arm. ‘Hurry up.’

‘Why? What’s happening?

‘I’ve managed to get you a ticket for Lady Verity’s charity drinks party,’ Agatha told her irritably. ‘They’re absolute gold dust, you know.’

‘Can’t Pearl go?’

Her mother sighed impatiently. ‘Don’t be silly, Millicent. Pearl is already going.’

Milly swallowed hard. The thought of going to Lady Verity’s (whoever she was) was scary to say the least. She felt so unprepared. She glanced back at her father for reassurance but he was having another coughing fit.

‘Well, come on then,’ Agatha snapped tetchily. ‘There’s no time to lose.’

Milly was dragged to the bathroom to have a quick wash. When she emerged, a woman who had been summoned from the village hairdressing salon was waiting to set her hair. Madam Irene wore far too much make-up and spoke with a fake French accent laced with the odd bit of Hampshire intonation. She also exuded a slight whiff of perspiration every time she lifted her arms. To be summoned to Muntham Court was clearly a great honour for her, and she positively gushed whenever Milly’s mother appeared.

‘I don’t expect miracles, Madam Irene,’ Agatha said, drawing hard on her cigarette as Milly sat in front of the mirror, ‘but do your best.’

Milly was subjected to Mervin wave clips and a curling iron to get the effect her mother and stylist desired. While she was under the dryer, Madam Irene gave her a manicure and painted her nails.

Agatha, who had barely spoken to her daughter since she’d arrived home, sat with them, drink in hand, telling Madam Irene all about Pearl’s coming out. It was all news to Milly.

‘What was it like being in Buckingham Palace?’ Madam Irene asked breathlessly.

‘Och . . .’ Agatha breathed. ‘I can’t tell you what an honour . . .’

Milly switched off. She’d just caught sight of an evening gown laid out across her mother’s bed, reflected in the mirror. Who did that belong to? It was a dusty lemon (not a very flattering colour) and it seemed to have an inordinate number of frills. A light dawned somewhere in her head and Milly’s heart sank. Surely her mother wasn’t expecting her to wear that, was she? It was hideous. Like something out of the Edwardian age. No, of course not. That must be Pearl’s gown. Milly relaxed. Yes, that was it. The dress was for Pearl. Milly suddenly frowned. Where was Pearl?

‘Can you imagine,’ Agatha was gushing, ‘fifty girls floating across the ballroom floor, all dressed in white.’ She paused for effect. ‘Each of them had three Prince of Wales feathers on her head.’

Madam Irene clasped her hand to her bosom and sighed. ‘Wonderful,’ she agreed. ‘Wonderful.’

Milly rolled her eyes.

‘Of course,’ her mother went on, ‘my other daughter was among the very first debutantes to be presented to King Edward VIII.’

‘Such a handsome man.’