Milly watched in the reflection of the wing mirror next to her as the swan headed towards another part of the verge. All at once, a man emerged from the tall grasses. He had fair hair and wore an expensive-looking country suit and a deerstalker hat. There was something familiar about him but, as he kept looking back, she couldn’t see his face clearly.
The swan had sensed a new threat. It raced towards the man, its head outstretched and its wings extended. The man didn’t waste time. He charged up the road and a second or two later, Milly saw him pull a bicycle from the hedgerow. He fumbled a little as he threw something which looked like a camera into the bag behind the saddle. What on earth was he photographing? As he swung his leg over the crossbar, he almost lost his footing, probably through panic, and then he took off at top speed. Just before he turned the corner, he glanced back to see if the swan was still coming. It wasn’t. The bird was now fluffing out its feathers and waggling its tail as it waddled back towards the river.
As soon as she saw the man’s face, Milly took in a sharp breath, but just at that moment, the dog shook himself and everybody’s attention was elsewhere. Cold muddy water rained down inside the cab. She and Lena squealed as their clothes were splattered. Seebold cursed. The dog stopped shaking and everybody looked at each other. Their faces were covered in large brown blobs; together with the splashes on their clothes, it looked as if they’d been painting.
Lena wiped her cheek with her sleeve and, looking down at the bedraggled dog, she said, ‘Is he dirty enough for you, Seebold?’
They couldn’t help laughing at themselves and, as soon as Lena had pushed the dog back down into the footwell, Seebold started the engine.
As they drove off, Milly looked out of the window. She was thinking about that man in the undergrowth. What on earth had he been doing, lying in the grass beside a muddy river? He preferred being smartly dressed and a cut above the rest. It was so out of character and so odd, but as soon as he’d turned around, she’d recognised him.
It had been none other than Freddie Herren, Pearl’s husband.
Chapter 25
An hour later, Seebold was on the telephone. The press were on their way but Milly had to go back to her digs just behind Hubbard’s and get ready for work. Even though the town was still officially a no-go area, she reckoned she might as well get the big window revamped for the new season, ready for when the public hysteria had died down. She had arranged to borrow a fishing boat for her ‘Worthing by the Sea’ display, and it was being delivered this morning.
She said her goodbyes to Lena and Seebold and took a bus back into town. The journey helped her to put a few things into perspective. She absolutely dreaded that this madcap scheme of Seebold’s would backfire. It wasn’t so much that she was scared that she would be in trouble, although that did come into it; it was more a fear that Seebold might end up in prison for lying to the authorities. Milly had made up her mind that – should she be arrested – she would ask Uncle Neville for help, but what hope did Seebold have, especially when there was so much prejudice against him?
Also, she had developed a keen determination to get to the bottom of why her mother was still so hostile towards her, and to visit her soon. Although Milly had glimpsed her, albeit surreptitiously, on Pearl’s wedding day, she hadn’t properly spoken to Agatha for a long time. As for her sister, Milly had guessed that when Pearl came to Hubbard’s to have her wedding dress altered, that must have been because she had lost her baby. How sad for her, but she could well be pregnant again by now. Of course nobody would bother to keep Milly informed. She sighed. She and Pearl never had got on very well. Her sister was too bossy. Looking back, Milly realised she had been a bit of a doormat. She should have stood up to her years ago. And what had Milly done to her mother that had made her so angry with her all the time? She’d spent her whole childhood trying to please her, but it seemed nothing she did was good enough. Agatha always gave Milly the impression that she was a nuisance, and yet she doted on her sister. Why? Lena once asked her whether there had been an identifiable moment when it all started, but there hadn’t. They had never had a close relationship but, even after all this time, there was something in Milly that still wanted to make it right.
Milly looked out of the window as the bus stopped by New Parade which was opposite Farncombe Road. A young mother was holding her daughter’s hand as she climbed aboard. The conductress was upstairs taking fares.
As the bus reached Steyne Gardens and turned towards the sea front, Milly could see the council workmen building underground shelters. Nothing out of the ordinary there. They had been digging a deep trench for several days now, but what made her do a double take was a man lurking behind a tree taking photographs. She recognised him straight away. It was her new brother-in-law, Freddie Herren. There was nothing wrong with taking photographs. This was a seaside town, but he was doing his best not to be seen by the workmen. Why?
As the bus trundled on, Freddie turned and their eyes met as he dashed away. She frowned to herself. How odd.
The conductress came towards the mother and her child who were sitting nearby and Milly heard her say, ‘Give the conductress the money, Hazel.’
The child handed over some coins and the conductress issued a ticket. ‘There you are, lovey.’
‘Say thank you, darling,’ the child’s mother instructed, and the little girl did just that. ‘Well done,’ the mother whispered as the smiling conductress moved further up the bus. ‘You are a clever girl. Now you can tell Daddy you paid the fare all by yourself.’
Such a simple yet intimate moment, and one which brought tears to Milly’s eyes. She couldn’t remember one time when she and her mother had shared such an occasion. Now she was struggling to keep her tears silent. She pulled out her handkerchief and dabbed her eyes.
The woman behind her tapped her on the shoulder. ‘You all right, love?’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Milly, turning slightly towards her. ‘I’m fine. Just being silly.’
The woman nodded.
They had reached the pier and the woman stood up to leave. ‘You take care, love,’ she said. ‘Life’s a bugger at times, but there’s always a better day coming.’
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Milly gave her a grateful smile.
The press had turned up at Worthing Wonderland in force. Seebold, still in his mud-splattered clothes, posed with the dog, and the press photographers from the Worthing Herald, Worthing Gazette and the Fleet Street newspapers snapped away. While he told the story of how they’d caught the beast, Lena was persuaded to change into a pretty dress for her photographs. Half an hour later she was posing next to the dog’s cage, looking ‘as lovely as a film star’ as one man told her. ‘You look like Madeleine Carroll,’ said another. Lena was flattered. She’d loved Madeleine Carroll in Alfred Hitchcock’s The 39 Steps.
The evening papers were full of the story. Beautiful belle finds ferocious dog was one headline. Beast back behind bars thanks to beauty was another. Not quite what Seebold was hoping for, but publicity all the same.
Twelve miles away in Slindon, Crump was drowning his sorrows in the Spur public house. His editor hadn’t been that impressed with his latest story about a three-legged tortoise, but he had been really keen on the missing wolf story. That had brought a bevy of Fleet Street reporters down to sleepy Sussex, and they had hired local farmers to scour the countryside looking for the animal. Crump and his photographer had offered the Worthing Gazette the exclusive when the wolf had been found, but he didn’t want to publish.
‘That wolf looks more like a bloody dog!’ he’d exclaimed. ‘You’re taking the Michael, aren’t you?’ And as a result, Crump’s story was reduced to a few lines and put at the bottom of page eleven.
He sighed and swirled the last of the liquid in his glass. To think he’d been reduced to this: coverage of a bring-and-buy sale in the Coronation Hall. The only vaguely interesting thing about that was that the hall itself had been put up to commemorate the coronation of King George VI the year before.
The door burst open and a roughly dressed man stumbled into the bar.
What’ll it be, Doyle?’ the landlord called out. ‘You look as if you’ve lost five bob and found a tanner.’
‘Pint of best bitter,’ his customer said moodily. ‘I just found one of my best ewes stone dead.’
Nobody seemed that interested but, over in the corner, Archibald Crump pricked up his ears.
Now that Seebold was in the clear, people were coming to the Worthing Wonderland in droves. In fact, one coach company had even laid on a day trip. Things were looking up again, and Seebold was more than happy with his takings.
Later that afternoon, a car drew up outside his office and three men got out. Seebold recognised Archibald Crump and his photographer, but the third man was a stranger to him. Short and dressed in tatty clothes, he wore a flat cap.
After they’d exchanged pleasantries, Crump leaned forward in a confidential manner.
‘This is Mr Doyle,’ he said. ‘He’s a farmer over Slindon way.’
Seebold and Doyle shook hands cordially.
‘It would appear that your wolf has attacked and killed one of his best sheep,’ said Crump.
Seebold frowned. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said.
‘Really upset, so I was,’ said Doyle, snatching off his cap and wringing it in his hands.
