‘You must keep us informed,’ Christoph told him, ‘so you will have to find a place of secrecy when using the radio.’

‘I have the perfect place,’ Freddie assured him, as he thought of the ice house he’d stumbled across in the grounds. He hadn’t been there since he’d first discovered it way back when he’d first married Pearl, and he was pretty sure that his wife knew nothing about it. Hidden far from the house but still on the private estate, and overgrown with ivy and brambles, it would be the perfect hiding place.

Just before Christmas in 1938, Eustace took Milly to the Grand Hotel on Brighton’s seafront for afternoon tea. As he pulled up, the concierge opened the car door and a young man took the car keys. Milly guessed that he would be taking the car to the hotel car park. The hotel, perhaps the best known in Brighton, had six floors of rooms, plus two more floors above – most likely where the live-in staff were accommodated. The rooms faced the sea and every single one had its own balcony. Milly took in her breath when she walked into the foyer where a huge Christmas tree dominated the space. Tall enough to reach the third-floor staircase, it gave off a wonderful aroma of fresh pine. It was heavily decorated with large baubles, and Milly guessed that they must have been put in place using long poles. There was no other way anyone could have reached across the lengthy branches. A glittering star graced the top, while silver tinsel and fairy lights added to the sparkle. The staff had put an array of Christmas presents around the huge tub holding the tree in place. A small notice in front told hotel patrons that any gifts left on display would be taken to the local children’s hospital for the patients who had to spend their Christmas apart from their families. Even as she walked through the door, the pile of presents was growing.

Eustace told the person on the desk that he had booked a table, and a maître d’ showed them to their places next to the window. Milly had been slightly surprised that he was so confident. At Lady Verity’s, although he’d been gallant enough to offer her his jacket, he hadn’t come across as quite so sophisticated. Milly loved the snowy-white tablecloths and the beautiful silver cutlery. Even though it was not yet four o’clock, dusk was gathering as the waiter pulled out her chair, so she could watch the streetlights going on and the people hurrying to catch the bus at Pool Valley. Others came from the opposite direction, perhaps heading home after leaving the entertainments on the pier. Tapping a cigarette on his silver case, Eustace offered Milly one as well but she shook her head. He leaned back as he lit his, inhaling deeply and puffing the smoke out over his head. A black-waistcoated waiter came to the table with a tea tray and sandwiches, and Eustace indicated that Milly should pour.

‘I see you are still drawing the crowds with your windows,’ he remarked as he inhaled once more.

Milly looked down. She never really knew what to say when someone complimented her like that. If she agreed with them, it might sound arrogant; if she disagreed it might look like false modesty. ‘I enjoy what I do.’

As he extinguished his cigarette and they turned their attention to the sandwiches, he said, ‘What have you been doing since I last saw you?’

‘Nothing very exciting, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘What about you?’

He smiled. ‘Much the same, although I have found it awfully hard to get you out of my mind.’

Milly felt herself blushing. No one had ever said anything like that to her before. She was flattered, but there was still a part of her that couldn’t help wishing he was another person. But no, she had to get Seebold out of her head. He was in love with someone else.

She was about to pour them both another cup of tea, but it looked a bit stewed. Eustace waved the waiter back and asked for a fresh pot. After he’d put it onto the table, he said, ‘Would you care to look at the cakes, madam?’ A moment later the maître d’ was wheeling a dark brown trolley towards them. Milly’s mouth watered. It positively groaned with chocolate éclairs, pastries, strawberry gâteaux, frangipane tarts and the inevitable Christmas cake. Milly chose a tart and an éclair. Eustace had a piece of Christmas cake and a pastry. Using some silver tongs, the waiter put them onto their personal cake stand.

‘Last time we met,’ Eustace began, ‘you said you had studied art. I have some friends in London who are artists, and I wondered if you would like to meet them.’

Milly dropped the cake fork onto her plate with a clatter. ‘Really? Oh yes please,’ she cried. ‘It’s always good to meet fellow artists. Thank you for the suggestion.’

‘You’re welcome. They are surrealists,’ said Eustace, ‘which is probably why I can’t understand their paintings.’ He grinned. ‘They have a studio in London and they are people at the cutting edge of modern-day art.’

Milly’s eyes grew wide. ‘I know very little about surrealism,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve heard the name but . . .’

‘Apparently it’s a way of letting the unconscious mind express itself,’ he said, ‘which is why their paintings can be unnerving – or perhaps illogical.’

‘I see,’ she said.

Eustace laid his hand over hers. ‘It’ll be fun, darling.’

Milly looked out of the window. Darling, he’d called her darling . . . A trip to London to meet some real artists sounded wonderful, but was she right to encourage him? She was really enjoying his company, but she still wasn’t completely sure about him. But then she turned and his soft expression made her smile. She needed to give him a proper chance.

‘I quite understand if you’re not keen,’ he said.

‘No, no,’ she said. ‘It’s fine and I’d love to meet them, and I really do appreciate the offer. By the way,’ she added, ‘did your parents get back safely from Austria?’

‘They did,’ he said, although he sounded a little surprised that she should remember.

‘I imagine your sister was glad to have them back home.’

The sound of laughter distracted them. Two small children had just discovered the Christmas tree in the foyer and were dancing and clapping with delight at all the presents. The maître d’ went over to them and crouched down to their level. Milly guessed that he was telling them that the toys were for children who were very sick. As he stood up, he handed them a lollipop each and they skipped away happily.

‘My mother adores Christmas,’ said Eustace.

Milly smiled.

Eustace reached for his cigarette case again before continuing. ‘She spends months getting ready for it, so we are guaranteed a wonderful time.’

Milly felt a pang of envy. Her mother always spent a lot of time preparing for Christmas, but Milly was never really included. In fact, she was hard pushed to remember a Christmas she had spent with her mother.

When they had finished their afternoon tea, Eustace drove her back to Worthing and parked the car close to her digs.

‘I’ve really enjoyed today,’ he told her. ‘Next time we’ll go to London and meet my friends.’

Milly smiled back at him. He leaned towards her and kissed her lips. His kisses were gentle and – to her great surprise – left her wanting more. When Milly walked through her door later, she felt as if she was floating on air.

Chapter 32

January 1939

After talking things over with her sister, Milly decided to give up her digs in the centre of Worthing and move into the cottage with Lena. Seebold was still at the Wonderland, where he had been using the winter months to repair and revitalise the amusements. The animals were all gone – some given away as presents to local schools and others to the relatives of the people working for him. He knew they couldn’t be properly looked after if they stayed, and this was the best way to ensure that none of them suffered. The only animal left on the property was Nipper, a mongrel, who acted as a rather soppy guard dog. Now that he was free from animal husbandry, Seebold was working all hours, principally on a model village of Worthing itself, but he still found time to help the girls. Milly was pleased to see him again but she couldn’t help noticing that he seemed rather unwell.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked after she saw him shivering.

‘Got a bit of a headache, that’s all.’

Milly and Lena got on well together, and it didn’t take long to settle into a routine. There was a good bus service which passed the end of the drive twice every hour, so there was no problem for Milly getting to work. It also meant that she was on hand to help Lena with the animals when needed and, although they couldn’t see the house from the cottage, Milly was strangely comforted to be nearer to home. Yes, she had some bitter-sweet memories and her mother’s attitude towards her was still not resolved yet somehow being in the cottage made her father seem closer,

Milly had expected to go to London with Eustace when they met again but, as soon as she got into the car, he was apologetic. ‘I’m so sorry, darling,’ he said. ‘I have to be back in Hove this evening and there’s just not enough time to take you. We’ll do it next time, I promise.’

Milly smiled bravely but she was hugely disappointed. He drove her instead to a place called Rottingdean, a picture-postcard village that had become part of the borough of Brighton and Hove in 1928. Famed for its association with the Quaker movement in one century, and for the smuggling of tea, spirits and tobacco in the next, when farming collapsed after the Great War it had become popular with celebrities. The village also boasted some really good home-grown talent. The Copper family had been singing traditional Sussex folk songs in the Black Horse public house since Victorian times. Mostly farm labourers and shepherds, they usually sang in the evenings, but today they were singing in the afternoon.

It was a charming setting, and it wasn’t long before Milly got over her disappointment about the London trip and was joining in with some of the refrains.

’Twas of a brisk young ploughboy, come listen to this refrain

And join with me in chorus and sing the ploughboy’s praise . . .

‘You’ve given me such an education,’ she quipped as they left.

‘All part of the service,’ he said, bending to kiss her lips.

‘Tell me about him,’ Lena said when she got back home. ‘What does he do for a living? Where does he live?’

‘Not much to tell.’ Milly changed the subject. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to tell her sister. She’d enjoyed being with him, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being disloyal. Silly really. It was Seebold who was in love with somebody else, so she owed him nothing. And another thing, she still genuinely didn’t know much about Eustace. He preferred to ask questions rather than answer them – and he did it so cleverly that it wasn’t until she got home that she realised he still hadn’t told her anything about himself, and the little he had told her about his family didn’t add up. His mother was dead – but she was in Austria. His father was an MP – but he was in the Foreign Office. His sister wore callipers – but she still didn’t know the girl’s name.

It was February, and at long last Milly was on her way to London with Eustace. At first she hadn’t been sure if she should go, but in the end she reasoned that it would make a welcome break from her normal routine. She enjoyed the ride in his MG TA Midget sports car, stopping off at Box Hill to use the toilets. It was enormously satisfying to see heads turning as they pulled into the public car park; he certainly kept the car looking in tip-top condition with its polished red leather seats and black wet-weather soft top. ‘Enjoying yourself?’ he asked as they climbed back in.

Milly nodded happily.

‘Next time I take you for a drive we’ll go in the warmer weather,’ he said. ‘It’s even better with the top down.’

The engine was quite noisy so they didn’t talk very much during the drive. His friends’ art studio was in Bedford Square, Bloomsbury, and it turned out to be inside a beautiful Georgian terrace. They parked opposite the square itself, where the trees waved their branches gently in the breeze. Milly loved it. An oasis of green calm in the middle of the bustling city.