‘You can still do that, Mummy,’ Pearl said. ‘We won’t listen to what you’re saying,’ but her mother was adamant that the discussion was private and not for young ears. Pearl made a fuss, reminding her mother that – at fourteen next birthday – she was almost an adult, but it was to no avail.

The girls were itching to know what was being said downstairs, and before long they could hear raised and angry voices. They crept along the landing and stood near the top of the stairs.

‘I don’t want to make a fight of it,’ they heard their father say, ‘but you can’t always be right, my dear.’

‘And you are, I suppose,’ Agatha retorted.

‘I didn’t say that either.’ Charles’s voice was measured, calm.

‘Look here, Charles, if we’re going to continue to move up in society, we need to do it properly,’ said Agatha. ‘We have to be one step ahead of the rest, so that by the time the girls have their coming-out parties, we shall be well established. They deserve nothing but the best.’

‘And the allowance I’ve given you will more than suffice. I don’t think it wise to go overboard with expenses. We have to be sensible.’

Their mother scoffed. ‘And this coming from the man who is investing all his money in factories making armaments.’

‘That has nothing to do with it.’

‘I still can’t believe what you’re doing,’ Agatha complained. ‘Have you really no idea how many pacifist movements there are in Worthing? There’s the Worthing Women’s Peace Crusade, the Worthing Labour Party, the youth groups . . . I myself have been asked to be on the committee of the Peace Council.’

‘I happen to agree with Winston,’ said Charles, ‘and Lord Winterton is of the same persuasion. The whole country is walking blindfolded over a cliff.’

‘We all want peace,’ said Agatha, her voice rising again. ‘Hitler wants peace. The whole bloody world wants peace. Everybody except you and Churchill!’

‘Hitler doesn’t want peace. He has a totally different agenda.’

There was an angry pause in their conversation. Pearl and Milly turned to tiptoe back to their bedroom when their father said, ‘And you’d better get used to the idea. I’m bringing her here.’

There followed a loud clatter, as if someone had thrown their cutlery onto an empty plate. ‘If she comes here, I’m leaving.’

‘That’s up to you my dear,’ said Charles, ‘but I can tell you now, I shall not change my mind.’

The girls eyed each other anxiously as they heard their mother shout, ‘Go to hell!’ The door flew open, and they only just had time to get back into the nursery before they heard her running up the stairs. A moment later, doors were being slammed and drawers were crashed shut in the master bedroom as Agatha screeched for Dixon.

Milly’s heart was thumping. This was bad. Really bad.

‘I hate Daddy,’ Pearl declared solemnly. ‘I’m never going to get married.’ By the time the maid came to collect their dirty dishes, she had draped herself over the settee complaining of the throbbing in her arm.

‘Tell my mother I need the doctor,’ she said plaintively, her eyes tearing up again.

But when Martha reappeared about ten minutes later, all she had was a couple of aspirins and a glass of water.

‘Where’s Mummy?’ Pearl asked.

‘She said to give you these,’ said Martha.

Pearl couldn’t hide her disappointment. ‘Didn’t you tell her I’m ill? I’m in a lot of pain.’

‘I told her,’ Martha insisted, ‘and she said you were to take these.’

Pearl scowled. ‘You stupid girl! Go and get her at once.’

Martha hovered, unsure of what to do.

‘Hurry up or I’ll box your ears.’

‘Pearl!’ Milly exclaimed.

Martha hurried from the room as Pearl shouted after her, ‘If you don’t bring her, I’ll make sure she gives you the sack.’

The two girls waited, but a few minutes later they heard the front door slam. Milly ran to the window and as she looked out she caught her breath. ‘Mummy’s going.’

Pearl sighed in a bored way. ‘Of course she’s not going.’

‘Dixon is putting her suitcase into her car,’ Milly gasped.

Pearl sat up, a look of horror on her face. ‘But I want her here.’

Seconds later they heard the engine start, followed by the sound of wheels spinning on the gravel. Pearl hurled herself at the window, but by then all they could see was the car’s taillights heading towards the open road.

* * *

The rest of the week was very confusing for Milly. Her sister spent most of her time either sulking in the conservatory or generally making herself thoroughly obnoxious with the servants. Her eyes were sometimes wild or, at other times, dark. She talked to herself all the time.

‘We’ve got to do something . . . She’s a she-devil . . . Daddy doesn’t know what he’s doing. Mummy says he’s bewitched.’

Milly struggled to understand – Pearl’s mumblings didn’t make a lot of sense and they were scary.

Their father spent a lot of time on the telephone, then various builders turned up and were all sent to the cottage. Although their mother had left instructions with Mrs Cunningham that she and Pearl were not to go down there, a couple of times Milly sneaked over the ha-ha and hid under the eaves to see what was going on.

It soon became obvious that the builders were making some structural alterations inside. It looked as if a proper fireplace was being installed and the chimney sweep turned up. Each day a succession of vans and commercial vehicles arrived to offload everything from new bedding and furnishings to a small dining table and a vacuum cleaner. Their father was making the tiny cottage into a palace, and not only that, but a stream of would-be servants had arrived and now he was ensconced in the morning room doing interviews. There was still no sign of Mother.

On Thursday a beautiful grey enamel free-standing electric cooker arrived in a Paine Manwaring & Lephard van, and some men in brown overalls installed it. Bodkin, who was tidying the little cottage garden, came to fill the space under the eaves with logs. Milly felt a little embarrassed to be found out, but the gardener was kind enough to pretend it was perfectly normal for the child of the house to be hiding there, so she stayed to help him stack the logs.

After they had finished, Milly hurried to the house for her lunch. As she washed her hands in the downstairs cloakroom, she heard the servants talking in the kitchen.

‘An electric cooker?’ Mrs Cunningham exclaimed. ‘Well, I’ll go to the foot of our stairs. How come she can have an electric cooker while I’ve got to make do with this old heap?’

‘Probably because the master is buying it and not the mistress,’ said Dixon.

‘Who is she anyway, this woman?’

Milly peered into the kitchen through the crack in the door. Dixon hadn’t verbally replied but he was raising his eyebrows.

‘Oh, I see,’ said Mrs Cunningham.

‘What do you see?’ Martha asked.

‘Never you mind,’ said Mrs Cunningham.