‘No, no,’ she said with a shaky smile. ‘Just me being daft, that’s all.’

Agatha stood by the ha-ha and strained her eyes to see if anyone was about. Should she cross over and take a look at the cottage? She was fairly sure the girl would be out at this time of day. Her new live-in housekeeper (employed since her son-in-law had given her some money to get the house in a fit state for socialising) had told her that Lena helped out at the stables nearby during the day, so it was a reasonably safe bet that the cottage was empty.

Spring had been extremely cold, and although it was a rare occurrence this side of the Downs, there had been a significant snowfall. Everything was late this year. Agatha pulled her collar up and trudged on.

She’d forgotten how attractive the cottage looked. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been here, but it must have been when the girls were small. Hadn’t she had some renovations and improvements done before she’d allowed them to play here? It suited her to have her children out of the way, but she wasn’t a neglectful mother. She had made sure the cottage was safe for Pearl’s sake. Millicent was easy to please. She always enjoyed dressing up, but Pearl liked to . . . Agatha stopped in her tracks. What did Pearl like to do? She hadn’t a clue, but the two of them had spent hours down here, their only other company the cat. Good Lord, she hadn’t thought of that wretched cat for years. It had scratched Pearl’s arm, hadn’t it, and she’d had it put down. Quite right too; poor little Pearl. Yes, she’d been a good mother.

Wandering around the outside of the fence, Agatha was disturbed to see rabbits in hutches and chickens running around behind a fenced-off area. And wasn’t that a pigeon loft? She pursed her lips angrily. Really! That wretched girl had turned the place into nothing more than a squalid farmyard. Agatha could only imagine the vermin those creatures would attract: mice, foxes, even rats. She shuddered at the thought. Not only that, but it lowered the tone of a grand country house. She only hoped that Freddie had never seen it. What would he think? And what of her illustrious visitors when they came? What would they think? How would she explain it? She would never have thought of coming here had it not been for Sarah Whitmore telling her she’d seen Millicent walking with a dog in the drive on the night of the party. Her daughter hadn’t turned up at the house, so Agatha reasoned that she must be in the cottage with her husband’s bastard child. And now just look at the state of it! Oh really, it was too bad! After all the work she had done to make Muntham Court the place to be, they’d turned this into a squalid camp!

She clenched her gloved hand into a fist in a wave of fury. Agatha was sorely tempted to open the chicken run and shoo them all out. Ha! That would be a prize and a half for the fox’s lair. But as she came closer, she heard the deep throaty bark of a dog and then a man’s voice called out, ‘Quiet, Nipper.’

Agatha froze and her eyes nearly popped out of her head. A man! The little tart had a man living in there. Agatha let out a disgusted snort as she felt her face go pink. Well, she was her mother’s daughter all right. She couldn’t begin to imagine what was going on in there. Well, she could, but that was not the point. How dare the creature turn the cottage, Pearl’s cottage, into a place of ill-repute. It was tawdry and revolting and it had to be stopped.

‘Can I help you?’ a man’s voice called out.

She looked up and saw him standing by the door with the dog beside him. She recognised him at once. He was that dreadful man from the court case who Freddie had removed from the kitchen when Millicent came to collect her things! Speechless and appalled, Agatha spun on her heel and headed for home.

As she strode back to the big house, Agatha came to a conclusion. It didn’t matter if Charles had bequeathed the cottage to her, the girl must be persuaded to leave. After the failed court appeal, clearly she couldn’t be evicted by fair means, so it would have to be done by foul. Well, if needs must . . . All that remained was to dream up some plan that would achieve the desired effect . . . and it had to be something permanent, very permanent.

Chapter 35

As Milly was throwing out an old newspaper, an article caught her attention.

The Ministry of Home Security’s Camouflage Directorate are looking for artists, designers, architects and craftsmen for a special project. Government-funded and of national importance, applicants are invited to submit their work with references to this address . . .

Milly felt a flutter of excitement. Here at last was something she could relate to and, should there be a war, it would feel wonderful to do her bit to help her country. She’d been angry and humiliated by Eustace, but that trip to London had done one thing she hadn’t counted on. It had rekindled her desire to paint. And the thought of being in a studio with many other like-minded artists appealed to her. When she re-read the advertisement, Milly knew she desperately wanted to apply for this, but there wasn’t enough time to do something from scratch. Then it occurred to her. Principal Salt had some of her work in the college. She would go to see him as soon as possible, today if she could, and ask him if he would send it for her and give her a reference.

* * *

Milly’s sister had been very supportive when she’d finally got round to telling her about Eustace.

‘You mean you had no idea he was married?’ Lena gasped.

‘Not until I saw all her things,’ said Milly. ‘Can you believe the brass neck of the man! He was so bloomin’ sure I’d simply melt in his arms.’

‘I guessed things hadn’t gone well when you didn’t mention anything, but I didn’t want to pry,’ said Lena. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘I was so angry,’ Milly went on, ‘that I pulled his wife’s things out of the drawers and piled them on the bed and then I climbed out of the window.’

‘What, all of them?’ Lena gasped again.

‘Too right,’ said Milly. ‘Underwear, blouses, jumpers, shoes, coats, handbags . . .’

‘You didn’t.’

‘I flippin’ well did,’ said Milly.

The two of them looked at each other and then they fell about laughing. ‘I wish I could have seen his face when he found them,’ said Lena, wiping her eyes.

‘Even if he spent all night putting them back, she would have known they’d been disturbed,’ said Milly. ‘Men never can put things back properly.’

The two girls couldn’t contain themselves. They laughed and laughed.

Milly fell against her sister’s shoulder. ‘Why can’t all men be as nice as Seebold?’

Lena pulled a face. ‘You can’t be serious.’

‘Why not?’ said Milly. ‘Oh, I know he does daft things and nothing ever seems to go right for him, but he’s kind and he’s funny and he’s . . .’

She stopped because Lena had laid a hand on her arm. ‘Milly, you silly goose,’ she said with a chuckle, ‘Seebold makes a muck of things and he gets all flustered because he’s in love with you. He’s always trying to impress you.’

Milly’s jaw dropped.

‘Surely you knew?’ said Lena. ‘In fact, I remember telling you once. That time when you were asking me if I would marry him.’

‘But that was when you said he was in love with someone else,’ Milly accused.

‘Yes, you, you ninny!’

Milly sat down with a bump. ‘Why didn’t he say something?’

Lena gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘Because he thinks you’re too good for him.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Milly.

‘Think about it,’ said Lena. ‘Your father was a rich man and you grew up in a big house. You’ve been educated in the best schools and you’ve carved out a career for yourself. What’s Seebold got to offer? An amusement centre which takes a lot of hard work to keep going; something which the government will most likely close down anyway if we go to war.’

Milly was struck dumb. Seebold loved her?

All at once, Lena glanced up at the clock. ‘Time to shut up the chickens.’

Having spent most of the spring receiving invitations to other people’s parties, on the day of Agatha’s fiftieth birthday party, a small army of workers, caterers and suppliers had arrived at Muntham Court. Most of the food came in a Fortnum & Mason’s van.

‘Don’t tell me that’s Fortnum & Mason of London?’ Freddie gasped when he looked out of his bedroom window as he heard it pull up outside. ‘Does your mother realise that will cost her an arm and a leg?’

‘You said you wanted the best, darling,’ Pearl cooed. ‘My mother never does anything by halves.’

‘I’m beginning to see that,’ Freddie muttered. He frowned darkly. At this rate, she’d use up all his money in no time.

For the whole day, the house became a hive of activity. People seemed to be everywhere, all doing their best to get everything ready before seven, the time the guests were to arrive. It seemed that everywhere he looked there were snowy-white tablecloths, the family silver was polished to a mirror shine, chairs were dusted and brushed, and just about every vase in the house had been filled with flowers and brought into the dining room. Before long, the heady scent of fuchsias and roses filled the air, and Freddie was left wondering where on earth they could have come from so early in the season. More expense!

Agatha supervised it all magnificently, until five-thirty when she disappeared upstairs to get ready. Pearl had already been up there for hours with a local hairdresser. Freddie changed in his dressing room and, as soon as he was ready, he came back downstairs and poured himself a stiff drink. He was a bag of nerves. He’d better not fail this one. Christoph depended upon him, and there had been murmurings because he was giving them the same names over and over again.

As the guests arrived, waiters and waitresses mingled around them with trays of canapés and wine. A quartet tucked into the alcove played classical music as the great and the good wandered through the downstairs rooms.

When she finally came downstairs, Agatha wasted no time in introducing him to their illustrious guests.

‘Darling, you haven’t met my son-in-law, have you,’ Agatha would say. ‘This is Freddie. Freddie, this is Colonel Peregrine Fosset (or His Worship the Mayor of Worthing, or Dr Frasier, the Medical Officer of Health for Sussex),’ and Freddie would shake hands before offering the colonel, or His Worship, or the doctor a drink. By the time the dinner gong sounded, Freddie had been invited for a game of golf, to look around the council chambers of the New Town Hall and to visit the local hospital. It was wonderful.