‘But what about the rides?’ said Milly. ‘Have you got money for them?’

‘Just a while ago, I heard that Mick Jackson is jacking it in,’ said Seebold. ‘He’s let me have a few of his rides at a knockdown price.’

‘Mick Jackson? Are you sure about the quality?’ Lena cautioned.

‘Maybe, maybe not,’ said Seebold, ‘but you know me. I’m a dab hand with a spanner.’

Lena couldn’t sleep. She lay in the darkness listening to Milly’s soft breathing but she was wide awake. She kept wondering what Pa had said to her in his letter. At three in the morning, she could bear it no longer, so she stole out of bed and went into the kitchen. Having lit a candle, she made herself comfortable in a chair and slid a knife along the crease of the envelope.

My darling Lena

I am writing this knowing that when you read these words I shall no longer be here. I consider myself a privileged man both to have loved your mother and to have had you as my child. I have so many happy memories of our times together. I wish things could have been different; that you could have grown up in the same home as your sister Milly, but it was not to be. I made some promises to her mother and if I had broken them, I would have lost her for good. You must never think you meant any less to me.

I am so proud of you, Lena. You are forward thinking and you have already surprised me with your business acumen. I am sure that you will go far. You are your own woman; a woman of the twentieth century, and I feel that you will one day be a trailblazer. Don’t let anyone, even Rainbow George, make you do something you don’t want to do.

It makes me so sad to think that at such a young age you have lost both your mother and your father but I am delighted that you and Milly seem to be genuinely close. I am comforted to know that when I am gone you have each other.

I wish I could have lived to walk you down the aisle, but something tells me that might not happen for a long while, or maybe not at all. Whatever you do in life, I shall be proud of you, my darling. Never forget that you were greatly loved by both Angel and me.

God bless you, my darling.

Pa

There was a stain at the bottom of the page. Lena couldn’t see what it was but it had warped the paper and bleached the colour. She touched it lightly with her thumb, and in her mind’s eye, she could see her father brushing his tear off the page. She hugged the letter to her chest and rocked herself gently until she felt the need for sleep.

Chapter 18

Milly found it hard to suppress a smile. Hiding behind the dustsheets hanging at the front of the shop window, she could see a huddle of people on the street outside. Mr Johnson, the store manager, standing beside her, gave her a nod of approval, and Milly let out a grateful sigh. Her little scheme had worked.

Ever since her father died, Milly had endured some really difficult weeks. She couldn’t stop wondering what he would have thought if he had known that she and Pearl had heaped curses on poor Angel and Lena. Milly was mature enough to realise that they’d been childish and stupid, but still the guilt of what they’d done that night never went away. Four o’clock in the morning was the worst. She would stir in her sleep or wake to go to the toilet, and then her brain would play and re-play their actions over and over again.

Milly had been trying to find a job for ages but it wasn’t easy. She had little savings and, until the will was ratified, no income. She had plenty of interviews but, as soon as she opened her mouth, she was told the job was ‘already filled’.

‘I don’t understand it,’ she complained to her sister. ‘What is it about me?’

‘You sound too posh,’ Lena said.

With the new term under way, Milly had gone back to art school to explain to Mr Salt, the principal, what had happened. He was both sympathetic and understanding, but he told her that his hands were tied. ‘This is tremendously disappointing, Millicent. You have a fine talent and it seems an almost criminal waste if you give up your studies now, but this school is not a charity.’

When Milly mentioned that she was hoping Aunt Betsy might help, he added, ‘I’ll hold your place open until Christmas, but if you cannot come up with the fees by January, I’m afraid we shall have to withdraw your name from the register.’

Milly suffered another bitter blow when Aunt Betsy replied to her letter. I don’t want to put a dampener on your plans, my darling, she wrote, but it is neither healthy nor decent for a young girl like you to be living on her own. Rather than risk sullying your reputation, we think it best if you come to live with your uncle and me in West Moors.

Milly was deeply disappointed. She liked West Moors but her life was here, in Worthing. To be uprooted and transplanted somewhere else was too much to ask.

Her lucky break came when she’d gone into Hubbard’s with an armful of magazines. With a reputation as Worthing’s most prestigious department store, it had in some areas failed to move with the times, and window-dressing was one of them. The windows were so cluttered it was hard to find what you wanted. It seemed that the window-dresser put something from every department into the display. The row upon row of handkerchiefs, gloves, pillowcases, tablecloths, children’s toys and men’s slippers was completely overwhelming.

Milly asked to see the manager.

‘I was so sorry to hear of your father’s passing,’ he began as she walked into the room. ‘Mr Shepherd was a good customer of Hubbard’s and a man I deeply respected.’

‘Thank you, Mr Johnson,’ Milly said, sitting in the chair he’d indicated. ‘I appreciate that.’

Mr Johnson resumed his seat behind the desk. At first he treated her as an aggrieved customer, thinking she was here to complain that since Charles’s death, her dress allowance had been withdrawn, but Milly explained that she was here on a completely different matter. ‘I wonder if you wouldn’t mind looking at these pictures of the best London stores,’ she said in a voice loaded with a confidence she barely felt. ‘Window-dressing has evolved, Mr Johnson, but sadly Hubbard’s has not. I should like to offer you a week’s trial.’

‘A week’s trial,’ Mr Johnson spluttered. Until that moment he’d also been under the impression that he was in the driving seat.

‘I will increase your shop’s footfall if you allow me to bring your displays up to date.’ She knew she was taking a huge risk but, Milly told herself, nothing ventured, nothing gained. If she was too posh for the shop floor, she would have to aim higher. Whatever happened, she had to be able to support herself and, if possible, find enough money to continue her studies.

Mr Johnson regarded her carefully as he made a tower with his fingertips pressed together. ‘Have you been trained as a window-dresser, Miss Shepherd?’

‘No,’ Milly admitted, ‘but I am an artist.’ She hoped she sounded confident when in fact her heart was beating so wildly she feared it would leave her chest. Would he give her this chance? He had to. He must. Taking a deep breath and willing her voice not to wobble, she began again. ‘In fact, I have been told more than once that I am a gifted artist.’ She pulled her sketchbook from her bag and laid it on the desk in front of him. ‘All I ask is one week,’ she reiterated. ‘If my ideas are not to your liking, you’ve lost nothing.’

Mr Johnson began turning the pages of her sketchbook.

Milly held her breath.

Mr Johnson looked up with an empty expression. Sensing defeat, Milly gathered her things but, as she turned to go, she heard a sigh. ‘Very well, Miss Shepherd. One week starting from Monday.’

She stared at him for a second then gave him a big smile. ‘Thank you, Mr Johnson. You won’t regret it, I promise.’

‘I hope you are right, Miss Shepherd,’ he said, rising to his feet and offering her his hand. ‘I hope you are right.’

Milly had a very busy weekend making plans for the displays, but on Monday she was ready. The windows were large, so she divided them into four separate compartments. The main window had three dummies dressed in elegant party clothes in front of a painting of a great ballroom. When she’d gone back to the school and explained her plan, Mr Salt had allowed her the use of one of the studios after hours, where she had sketched then painted the ballroom scene.

Milly used the next window to display household items such as saucepans, roasting dishes and tea towels. She took great pains not to ‘stuff’ everything in there. The customer had to be able to make a choice before going into the store. A mannequin dressed in an apron and holding a box of Christmas crackers presided over the display.

The third window had a huge box which had once been tied with a red ribbon. Scattered around the box were bottles of perfume, men’s handkerchiefs and ties, ladies’ underwear and stockings. On the side of the box she had created a label saying ‘With love from Father Christmas’ and an invitation for the children of Worthing to come and visit him in the store. The final window, the one next to the entrance, was full of toys; everything from toy trains to dollies. She had created little scenes such as a dolls’ tea party, spinning tops coming down a ladder, a teddy and a giraffe playing board games and an animal zoo.

The glass front of the windows overlooking the road had been covered with a dust sheet until Milly had finished her display. She had pasted notices on the outside, ‘Grand Opening at Noon’, and ‘Don’t Miss It’.

When Mr Johnson himself unveiled her creation, the small crowd gathered outside clapped enthusiastically. That drew a bigger crowd and, once the children saw the toys, everything gathered momentum. People started to come through the doors in their droves. Milly breathed a sigh of relief as Mr Johnson told her the job was hers. Once a week she was to change the window displays until further notice.

‘I believe you live in Findon, Miss Shepherd,’ he said as they walked back to his office. ‘Were you aware that Hubbard’s has its own staff accommodation?’

Milly had no idea about the staff accommodation, but she expressed an interest anyway. Mrs Everett – Hubbard’s chief of staff – was sent for, and eventually she was shown a bright and sunny room at the back of the store in the next road, Marine Place.

‘If you take the room,’ Mrs Everett, a plump, matronly woman who had worked in the store for more than thirty years, said, ‘the rent, which is nominal, will be deducted from your wages.’

Milly also discovered that the food in the staff canteen was subsidised so she could eat quite cheaply. Although her wage packet at the end of the week would be smaller than someone ‘living out’, it was a win-win situation. With no external bills, every penny would be hers to do with as she wanted. She had a day off on Sunday and a half-day off on Wednesday.

When she told Lena about the room later that evening, Milly went on to explain that on Wednesday she would go back to the art school. If Mr Salt was amenable, she could pay her fees each week, with an agreement that when she’d finished at the school, she could carry on until the debt was paid. ‘I shall miss being here with you,’ Milly went on, ‘but it would cut out so much travelling if I live in town.’

Lena told her she quite understood, and it was a bitter-sweet moment when her sister helped her to pack up her things and, because Seebold was ‘up country’, Nan’s husband, Cyril, arranged for a mate of his from the pub to take everything over to Milly’s new accommodation that evening.

‘Have you decided what you’re going to do?’ Milly asked Lena when they were alone.

‘My plans are put on hold at the moment,’ Lena said with a sigh. ‘I may ask Nan to put me up until I can be sure the cottage is mine.