‘I would gladly die for you, duchess.’ His voice was croaky, as if his throat was dry. He turned his head towards the locker by his bed where there was a jug of water and a glass.
‘Do you want a drink?’ she asked.
He nodded and heaved himself up on one elbow. As she gave him the drink, his hand covered hers on the glass. Her heart was racing, and a feeling she had never experienced before almost overwhelmed her.
‘Thank you,’ he said, sinking back onto the pillows. ‘I think they’ve given me something. I feel very sleepy.’
She forced a smile. ‘I’ll leave you to rest.’
She had begun to rise but then he opened his eyes and said, ‘No, please don’t go. I like having you here.’
She lowered herself back into the chair and he took her hand in his. They looked at each other but neither of them spoke.
Eventually he murmured, ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Neither do I.’
‘I love you, duchess,’ he whispered. ‘But I have nothing to offer you.’
‘Do you really think I care about that?’ she said, her head close to his.
‘I want you to have good things,’ he said sleepily. ‘I want to give . . .’
She put her finger over his lips. ‘Shh,’ she whispered. ‘You’ve already given me something wonderful. Something I haven’t had, or at least, not for a long, long time.’
He seemed puzzled.
‘You’ve just told me you love me,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know. I’ve been so blind. It never occurred to me that you felt the same way I do.’
He tried to pull himself up on his elbow again but failed miserably. ‘You mean . . .?’
‘Yes, yes, my darling, she whispered. ‘I love you too.’
The moment was magical, but soon Milly heard the sound of Seebold’s snores as he had drifted back to sleep.
Chapter 42
October 1939
Milly went over and over the letter when it arrived from the Civil Defence Camouflage Establishment. She had made it through the selection and had been offered a face-to-face interview on Friday 13 October, but now that it was something concrete, part of her held back. It was obvious that if she acted upon this, her life would be changed for ever. It would mean a move far away from Worthing and her sister. Now that she and Seebold were together, she couldn’t bear the thought of being away from him either. And yet, even as she pondered the problem, she knew in her heart of hearts that – because of the present situation – they couldn’t be together in the conventional sense of the word. The country was at war. Any moment now Hitler might send his mighty army across the Channel to smash all that was near and dear to them. Now that Poland had fallen, it seemed there was no stopping him. Of course France and the Netherlands would be the first in line, but if these fell then he would set his sights on the British Isles. Everyone in the country was holding their breath. What future now for a young couple hopelessly in love?
She and Seebold had talked for hours. ‘I reckon it’ll be all over by Christmas,’ he’d said.
‘Then perhaps joining the unit is not worth the bother.’
‘It’s up to you, darling, and I’ll totally support whatever you decide, but I think we all need to show Hitler we mean business. He’s less likely to go that one step further if we’re all ready to meet his threat.’
It was for that very same reason Seebold had joined the army, and right now he was in Durham, doing his basic training. It had been agony saying their goodbyes, and even now Milly felt teary as she remembered the moment his train pulled out of the station. She knew at the time that they wouldn’t be together for at least six weeks, but seven and a half weeks had passed already and he still wasn’t back. She’d written every day, but he’d only managed to scribble the odd note to say that he still loved her. He was so busy he barely had time to think, the army demanded so much from him. His all too short letters had been censored, but from the bits that had escaped the black pen, she gathered that his days were taken up with learning to use a rifle, lots of marching and not having a lot to eat. She’d smiled at that last bit. Poor Seebold. He always enjoyed a healthy appetite.
Milly’s letter was an invitation to go to Leamington Spa for an interview. Her geography was woefully lacking, but it didn’t take long to discover that she had to go to Warwickshire. She set off from Worthing Central. The journey took four hours and involved lots of changes: Worthing to Barnham, Barnham to Southampton, Southampton to Leamington Spa. The trains were packed, mostly with service people or young men who were joining up. She was lucky enough to get a seat with each change, but some poor souls only had their kitbag to sit on in the corridor. Left to her own thoughts, she relived some of the wonderful times she’d had with Seebold before he went for his basic training. Long walks up Cissbury Ring and the Gallops; early evenings sitting on the beach before they started putting up barbed-wire sea defences; bumping along in the passenger seat of his lorry while he took the last of his fairground equipment to a prospective buyer. She closed her eyes as she recalled the warmth of his kisses and the times when her heart raced if he touched her hand or interlaced his fingers with hers. Oh Seebold. I miss you so. She dozed for a while but, as the day wore on, she had to fight her sleepiness. All the station signs had been taken down in case of enemy invasion, and so she needed to be alert or she’d miss her stop. At around midday they pulled into a station, and to her relief she heard one of the station staff shouting, ‘Leamington Spa, this is Leamington Spa.’
The station itself was beautiful. Completely refurbished only a couple of years before, it was a refreshing change from the old Victorian stations she was used to. Built in an Art Deco style with clean lines and geometric shapes, the waiting room had parquet flooring and a simple marble fireplace under a GWR mirror. Before she set off for her appointment, she sat in the ladies’ waiting room and ate her sandwiches. There had been little opportunity to eat on the journey. How could she, when there were seven of them wedged on the carriage seat made for five. She could hardly move her arms. Having taken a minute or two to freshen up, Milly went on her way with the map she had been given to find the HQ of the Camouflage Unit in the Regent Hotel on the Parade.
She was surprised to find it was only a stone’s throw away from the station. From there she was taken by taxi to another location, which was in a two-storey building with a flat roof. All the windows were boarded up and to any passers-by it looked as if it was ready for demolition. When she knocked on the door, Milly was totally taken aback when it flew open, and she was facing none other than Stanley Richardson.
‘Oh!’
‘Miss Shepherd,’ he said kindly. ‘I’m so pleased you could come.’
As Milly shook his hand, she was more than a little taken aback by the warmth of his welcome, especially when she considered how unpleasant he had been when Eustace had taken her to his studio in London.
He must have noticed her trepidation. ‘Firstly, I feel I owe you an apology,’ he began. ‘The last time we met, I was annoyed that Eustace had brought you to the London studio. Constant visitors disturb the artists’ concentration and, quite frankly, I had had enough of it. That said, I was rude to you, and for that I am truly sorry.’
Milly gave him a courteous nod.
He continued. ‘I had no idea of your talent, but when Principal Salt sent your portfolio, I must say I was very impressed.’
Milly felt her face colouring as she thanked him.
‘So . . .’ he said, letting out a satisfied sigh, ‘without further ado, let me show you around.’
He took her along a corridor and into a larger room which, though dimly lit, was a hub of activity. The people inside, mostly men but she spotted two women, were huddled over their desks, either model-making or apparently experimenting with colours on large canvases.
‘We’re still relatively new to this game,’ Stanley continued, ‘but our designers and technicians work on all aspects of civilian camouflage. The sole aim of this unit is to find ways of disguising key bombing targets should the worst come to the worst. When I first met you, you had mentioned your understanding of camouflage in the natural world, and since seeing your work on this, I am sure you would be a great asset to the team.’
As they walked around the building, Milly saw people working on things like giant nets which would be draped over buildings, and model-makers who were working out the best colours to use when painting fake road markings onto rooftops. They were obviously hoping to fool enemy planes into believing they were flying over the countryside rather than an area littered with factories. Though the gravity of the work was a bit scary, it was also exciting and inspiring, and everybody seemed friendly and helpful.
‘If I come here to work, Mr Richardson,’ Milly eventually asked, ‘will I be asked to sign the Official Secrets Act?’
