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room had begun to eddy around her. She felt sick with fear. Surely Ryan wouldn’t abandon her when he knew she really needed him? She’d never felt more alone and had no idea how she would cope.
    When she got home, Ryan’s mother was waiting there for her. She was distraught. ‘Have you seen our Ryan? He went to work yesterday and he hasn’t been home since.’
    Millie burst into tears. Mum was grey-faced and anxious and hardly able to pull herself up the bed. This would be another major worry for her. It took Millie a long time to get the facts out but there was no avoiding it now. Mrs McCarthy was furious and said a lot of hurtful things. Millie sat on the bed and her mother wept with her.
    When at last they were alone, she said, ‘Millie, you’ve made the same . . . stupid mistake . . . that I made . . . I wanted you to have a better life . . . than I’ve had.’ There was agony on her face and she couldn’t get her breath. ‘But now look at the mess you’re in.’
    It had never occurred to Millie that her mother wasn’t married. She called herself Mrs Hathaway and had always worn a wedding ring. Millie’s eyes went to the photograph in the silver frame beside the bed. ‘I believed you when you said my father died in the trenches,’ she choked.
    ‘He did. He was posted to France . . . That was the trouble.’
    Millie mopped at her eyes and blew her nose. ‘At least you knew that if he could, he would have come back to marry you.’ She understood only too well that to have no husband and be with child was the worst sin any girl could commit. Society looked down on women who did that.
    Ryan had no reason to leave, except that he didn’t love her enough to stay and help her. It was cold, heartless rejection and if he’d slashed her with a knife it couldn’t have been more hurtful. Millie was too upset to cook supper, she felt sick, and neither of them wanted to eat. She went to her bed in the alcove off her mother’s room but hardly slept all night.
    When her alarm went the next morning Millie got up as usual and made breakfast for her mum though she felt terrible. Her mother was listless and red-eyed, she hadn’t slept much either.
    In the cloakroom, before she reached the perfume department, Millie heard the rumours that were flying round. Ryan had disappeared and his account books had been examined; the sales he said he’d made did not add up. Somebody told her they’d heard he’d signed on as crew on a ship going deep sea. He wouldn’t return to England for two years.
    Millie climbed the stairs to the perfume laboratory in a state of despair, put on her white coat and tried to follow her usual morning routine. Within five minutes, she’d dropped and broken one of the glass flasks she was cleaning.
    ‘What’s the matter, Millie?’ Mr Knowles asked. She didn’t want to tell him. She was too ashamed, it was all too raw and painful and she was afraid she’d be thrown out of her job. She couldn’t risk that. She needed to go on working for as long as she possibly could.
    When she didn’t answer he went on in his slow, gentle drawl, ‘You’ve been crying and you don’t look well. In fact you look positively ill.’
    She couldn’t explain. She couldn’t even raise her eyes to look at him.
    ‘Something’s happened to upset you, but not here. All is well here, so it must be at home. How is your mother?’
    Some time ago she’d told him Mum was ill, but he didn’t know how much worse she was now. The memory of the anguish she’d caused her mother brought tears coursing down Millie’s cheeks again and she broke down and began to tell him. Once started, it all came flooding out, even the name of her baby’s father.
    ‘Ryan McCarthy?’ He was shaking his head. ‘Well, that explains one thing that was puzzling us. You’re better off without him, lass, I doubt he’d be much good to you. It seems your Mr McCarthy has been stealing and selling the company’s soap for