Moments later, they all went their separate ways. Madam Irene went back to the village with her fee plus a handsome tip. Agatha Shepherd headed for the ball, contented that she now had two daughters doing the circuit at the same time, along with Milly, who felt like a short-sighted lamb being led to the slaughter. As the car drove off, Charles Shepherd reached back into his drawer and took out the envelope again. Putting a line through the words ‘Last Will and Testament’, he wrote the name of his solicitors, May, May and Prior, in the top left-hand corner.
Chapter 13
Lady Verity’s house wasn’t far away. Deep in the beautiful countryside near Washington, West Sussex, and close to the Highden Estate, the house itself had been built in the early 1700s in the Queen Anne style. As Dixon drove them along a narrow lane, they suddenly burst into a wide-open space and the house dominated the scene. Without her glasses, Milly had to squint to see it in detail, but even she could tell it was magnificent. A red-brick building with long casement windows, eight on the ground floor, nine on the first floor and nine smaller windows at the top of the house, it was the perfect setting for such an occasion. The lawns were bedecked with tables and chairs and already people were milling about. There was a string quartet on the terrace, and black-suited waiters walked around carrying trays of hors d’oeuvres. The car park in front of the house was already quite full but luckily Dixon managed to find a space.
As Agatha stepped out of the car, they heard someone cry out, ‘Yoo-hoo, Mother. Over here.’
‘It’s Pearl,’ said Agatha, ‘and look, she’s with Friedrich, that nice German man.’
Agatha hurried off to meet them, and Milly, feeling horribly self-conscious, followed.
‘Darling,’ Agatha said as she and Pearl air-kissed each other’s cheeks, ‘you look fantastic.’
And she did. Her dress was a luscious gold silk with the most exquisite lace shift over the top. She wore her hair in an attractive bob and the pearl and diamanté slides in her hair glistened in the moonlight.
Milly and Pearl exchanged a perfunctory nod.
‘Mother, you’ve met Freddie, haven’t you,’ said Pearl, but it was obvious from the way her mother gushed over him that she already knew him and really liked him. Milly thought he was more striking than handsome; with white-blond hair and perfect teeth, he appeared to be the sort of man who exercised regularly. He kissed Agatha’s hand and gave them both a brusque nod of the head before clicking his heels together. When he grasped Milly’s hand, she shook it vigorously before he could lean in to kiss her and she was surprised by his limp and sweaty fingers.
‘Please excuse me,’ he said in the most perfect English, ‘I have to catch that fellow up there. We had a small wager and he lost, so now he owes me money.’ He was pointing to the terrace but it was crowded, so Milly couldn’t work out which man he meant. With a nod towards her mother, he bounded up the steps, two at a time. ‘I say, Eustace,’ he called out to no response. ‘Eustace, old man.’
Milly suppressed a smile.
‘What time did you get here?’ said Agatha, noting the glass in her daughter’s hand.
‘About half an hour ago,’ said Pearl and, pointing to a smart-looking sports car, she added, ‘We came in Freddie’s car. It’s a bit draughty up on the terrace and, stupidly, I left my shawl on the front seat.’
‘Why are you calling him Freddie?’ her mother queried.
‘In view of the growing anti-German feeling,’ said Pearl, leaning towards her mother in a confidential manner, ‘he wants to go by the name of Freddie now, and it sounds so much better anyway, don’t you agree?’
Agatha patted her daughter’s forearm. ‘Absolutely.’
Freddie was back and looking very pleased with himself. He patted his inside top pocket and drew out his cigarette case.
‘Millicent is nervous,’ her mother whispered. ‘Look after her, won’t you, darling. I don’t want her messing this up and embarrassing us all.’
‘Of course I will, Mummy. We will make sure Milly has the best time, won’t we, Freddie?’
Freddie was busy lighting a cigarette. ‘Absolutely,’ he agreed as he pulled a shred of tobacco from his bottom lip. He smiled languidly. ‘In fact, I shall go and get her a drink.’
As he headed for the drinks table, Milly leaned forward. ‘So, tell me more about him.’
‘He’s a German baron,’ said Pearl, her eyes shining. ‘Fabulously rich. He has a schloss in Bavaria.’
‘What’s a schloss?’ Milly wanted to know.
‘A castle,’ said Pearl in a superior tone. She turned to her mother. ‘Mother, you go off and enjoy yourself with the olds. Don’t worry about Milly. She’ll be fine.’ She paused, then added, ‘I’m pretty sure I saw Bunny Warren up there.’
Agatha hurried across the lawn to where the other chaperones and parents had gathered in comfortable-looking chairs. Pearl pulled her cashmere shawl up over her shoulders and linked arms with her sister.
‘Isn’t he divine?’ Pearl said as they watched Freddie mount the steps ahead of them two at a time. ‘He’s from one of the oldest families in Germany. He knows all the best people . . . he’s even met the German chancellor, Adolf Hitler. I keep asking Freddie about him, but he doesn’t say much.’
Milly was impressed and, although she was feeling a tad nervous, for the first time, she was glad to be here. Shame that Freddie didn’t like talking about the German chancellor. It might have been interesting to hear about Adolf Hitler. Was he really as terrible as the newspapers were saying? Probably not – after all, King Edward VIII, before he abdicated, had been really impressed by him. She began to relax.
‘I hardly recognised you at first,’ Pearl said close to Milly’s ear. ‘My dear, who did your hair? It looks frightful.’ She stifled a giggle. ‘You look like one of those stuffy Edwardian mistresses. And as for that dress . . . Did you think it was a fancy dress party or something?’
‘You’re an intelligent man. I don’t understand why you didn’t come to me before.’
As the doctor glanced back at the X-ray, Charles began to cough violently again. When he’d finished, he wiped his lips with his already stained handkerchief as the nurse took the sputum bowl away.
He’d had a fraught evening. Almost as soon as Agatha and Milly had set off for the party, he had been wracked by a series of coughing fits which resulted in Mrs Cunningham, despite his protestations, ringing his GP. Dr Jennings was unequivocal in his diagnosis.
‘I’m sorry, Charles,’ he said, ‘but there’s no avoiding it this time. I’m phoning for an ambulance. You have to go to Worthing Hospital immediately.’
Charles tried to protest but Dr Jennings overrode his objections. ‘Pack a bag,’ he told Mrs Cunningham. ‘Mr Shepherd may be gone for some time.’
‘I want to stay here,’ Charles said breathlessly. ‘If I’m going to die, I want to be in my own home.’
Mrs Cunningham clamped her handkerchief over her mouth to suppress a cry as she hurried from the room.
‘Listen to me, old man,’ said Dr Jennings, leaning over him. ‘Let the surgeon take a look at you before we decide on something like that. This is going to come as a tremendous shock to Agatha, not least because she has no idea how ill you are. I wish you’d let me tell her about your condition six months ago. You never should have hidden it for so long.’
Weak and breathless, Charles leaned back in his chair. ‘I want you to do something for me,’ he said, his breath coming in heavy gasps. ‘It’s important.’
‘Anything, old man.’
‘In my desk drawer,’ said Charles. ‘My will.’