by Jon Hartless
‘Aren’t you staying here tonight?’ demanded Amy, petulantly.
‘I need to sleep,’ replied Poppy, closing the door behind her without looking back, ignoring the tears stinging her eyes.
74 The “boiler” was a standard item in exclusive hotels back then; it was a table with several hot pipes underneath fed by a small, expensive and inefficient steam pump, designed to show the prestige of the establishment as much as to keep the food warm. From this, incidentally, came the generic derogatory term “the boilers” to describe kitchen staff – and eventually all who toil in poorly paid manual work.
75 Whatever happened, Poppy did not record it in her diary. Indeed, the entire Christmas period has only a few incoherent entries scrawled in it.
76 Once again we see the hypocrisy of society in allowing the wealthy to flout the moral code – although Poppy fully intended to take advantage of the same hypocrisy later in the evening with Amy.
77 It is undeniable Bhan and Poppy had a relationship; what is not so certain is when and how long it lasted. Certainly it must have been over when Bhan married his first wife, Isabella Prentis, who detested Poppy and would not suffer even a mention of her name. This was put down to patriotism during the Great War, but her prohibition is on record from before then, so jealousy seems to have been the real motive. It was certainly well-founded; when Bhan died in 1971 and his studio opened for probate, dozens of busts and statues of Poppy were found, some clearly made over a great many years, though the full length nude, Poppy Reclining, must have been posed for, given the level of detail involved.
78 A rare, complete example of The Poppy Orpington Racing Experience was sold in excellent condition at auction in 2012 for £6,525.
79 Society held a woman could only venture into certain public places with a male chaperone; most pubs wouldn’t serve a single woman at the bar, though they would condescend to sell them a bottle through the hatch to take home.
Chapter Twenty Two
Is it over for Poppy Orpington?? Petrol Queen faces being dropped by OWN company as woes continue! A Daily Delivery exclusive by J Wilberforce!
Notorious Petrol Queen’s own company fear she will never win a race again!
On top of her business woes with FAILING company Thunderbolt Motors, I can EXCLUSIVELY reveal her company fears she will never win a race again!
The notorious socialist hasn’t won anything in WEEKS since taking her unreliable petrol car out of the racing season after her LOSS at the Sussex racetrack, Sussex.
Now, bosses believe both she and her car just aren’t relevant anymore! The racing fans will have forgotten her by the time she returns.
A racing insider said: “Orpington has all but disappeared and people have forgotten her. Her car just isn’t relevant on the track anymore.
“The racing world has moved on and has changed since she LOST. Instead, people are looking with excitement at the debut of a BRAND NEW Kineton racing car!
“She will be allowed to return, but she will probably be dropped by her own company if she fails to impress; that’s what I would do. She may have a small group of unreliable fans but they won’t be enough to make her return anything other than a FAILURE.”
Orpington had a series of controversial wins this year before her devastating LOSS at Sussex.
The weather was cool and overcast as Poppy and her team arrived at their pit for the Purley Cup. The crew unloaded and prepared Thunderbus while Simeon and Helena walked to the steward’s enclosure to announce their arrival. Poppy, being reluctant to stay in the paddock in uncomfortable proximity to Amy, decided to stroll out along the track, her race-day top hat at a jaunty angle, to stir up the crowd a little and to look at the new course.
The first difference lay in the positioning of the Telecasting crews. Filming of the previous year’s Purley Cup had been done in rather a ramshackle manner, but now each crew sat on top of tall, broad towers dotted around the track, giving them an unequalled view of the race at the expense of the public who had to lean around the tower legs to see anything.
The second modification was the new course layout, achieved by the simple trick of overlaying barriers and bales of hay in certain areas to funnel the cars through a series of smaller, sharper bends, presumably all done to hamper Poppy’s chances of winning. She grinned, knowing of the surprise awaiting the Hepplewhite team as Thunderbus’ steering no longer had any issues with tight corners. She looked down at her boots as she trod the fresh road; she was no expert, but she could recognise cheap concrete when she saw it and she guessed the new surface would not last very long. Would that also come as a surprise to Lord Hepplewhite?
Her walk took her along the rival pits, where she intended to have a peek at the competition and to wish her friends good luck. Anthony was fussing over a two year old Dexter-Speedster, so presumably his usual car was out of the running. She was happy yet disconcerted to see Lorenzo and his beautiful Albizzi had arrived, while further along Lord Derek Scott was standing over his De Luxe Massingham Grand Tourer, surprising Poppy as she thought he had planned to trade it in for something newer.
Sir Grenville Hutch had kept his faith in his Wyndham sports car, but Sir Robin Dalton had upgraded to a Massingham of his own, albeit the smaller Rapide model. Poppy was intrigued to see a new Parkhurst Sprinter in one pit but she recognised the driver, Carl Hughes, and carried on; she and Hughes did not get along.
Further along she found more friends – Jake, Drew, Westy, Chakrii and Bhan – and a few hostile drivers who pointedly ignored her, until finally her walk brought her to the end paddock and she saw Hepplewhite’s brand new Kineton, the 4407. The bonnet was longer, which hinted at a larger turbine, and the wheels a little larger, but overall the 4407 seemed little different to its immediate predecessor.
As briskly as Poppy walked, she could not outrun the uncertainty she felt about Amy, Lorenzo’s Albizzi, Hepplewhite’s new car or the nerves she felt for her nascent company. It was only when she returned to her own pit and saw the low, menacing shape of the new Thunderbus that her anxieties began to lessen; her true happiness over the past year had come when on the track, beholden to no-one, with only herself to blame or praise depending on the result. The outer shell may have changed but the car was still the same underneath, and Thunderbus himself was still content under her control.
A high scream, rather like a soul in eternal torment, told the crowd the track’s cheap loudspeaker system had been turned on. After a few seconds of silence, Lord Hepplewhite’s voice echoed out from the tall commentary tower. ‘Good day to everyone, and a warm welcome to the new and improved Purley race track.’
‘He’s not doing the commentary, is he?’ asked Poppy in alarm. The race commentator the previous year had been appalled at seeing a woman on the track and had taken every opportunity to belittle Poppy, even as she won the event.
‘No, no, this is just his welcome speech,’ soothed Simeon. ‘In fact, he’s hired Bartholomew and Fairfax to do the commentating.’80
‘Really?’ asked Helena, in surprise. ‘I did not know that. For all his faults, Geoffrey is capable of putting on a good show.’
‘Competitors to their positions, competitors to their positions for the practice lap,’ announced Hepplewhite over the speaker system, having finished his introduction. ‘And all spectators, if you would like to turn your faces upward, you will see the latest in media innovation!’ The crowd looked up at the series of huge screens which covered the track. Most had been showing static adverts which rolled by on a permanent loop until the screens crackled and changed to a live feed. The crowd gasped in appreciation; the images were in colour, another first for a racetrack.
‘Am I getting a percentage for that?’ asked Poppy as she looked at the screens. The last advert had been one of her endorsements; Only Gregson’s coal tar soap gets me clean and fresh after a day at the track! ‘I don’t recall seeing an agreement in the contract for being on moving images.’
‘Can’t say I recall anyt
hing about moving images either,’ replied Simeon.81 ‘We’ll look into it tomorrow. Right, you’re ready to go; hop in and best of luck, Poppy.’
‘Yes, good luck my dear,’ said Helena as she handed over Poppy’s leather driving helmet. ‘I’m sure the crowd will get a thrill from seeing the new Thunderbus.’
Poppy buckled the helmet on, followed by her gloves and goggles, conscious Amy was deliberately ignoring her. Poppy took a deep breath, blotting all personal issues from her mind so she could concentrate purely on the race ahead. This was not just a way of avoiding heartache; racing was unforgiving, and anything less than total concentration could result in serious injury or death.
Poppy turned the key, checked the gauges on the dashboard, and pressed the starter button. The engine noise silenced the crowd around the pit before fresh whoops and cheers erupted. Poppy gave a salute to the pit crew and backed out of the covered paddock, exposing Thunderbus’ new shape before slowly driving a full lap of the track, milking the public reaction while also trying to absorb the new route and any potential dangers.
‘And I now have great pleasure in handing the microphone over to those eminent men of sport, Messrs Bartholomew and Fairfax,’ croaked Hepplewhite, having stared in breathless horror at the new, streamlined Thunderbus for several moments. He scurried from the control tower to get a closer look at the new bodywork before returning to the Kineton pit, his face working convulsively as he stared at his company’s new car.
‘Hello, good afternoon, and welcome everyone,’ boomed a voice from the commentary tower. ‘My name is Edward Fairfax and this is my esteemed colleague, Robert Bartholomew.’
‘Greetings to you all, race fans and race drivers alike,’ said Bartholomew. ‘It is an honour to be here on this wonderful day for the full relaunch of the Purley track.’
‘Just ready for the end of the racing season,’ observed Fairfax, eliciting a burst of laughter from the crowd. He and his colleague peered through their copper-rimmed electrostatic binoculars at the track below, slowly turning the gears on each side to get a clearer look. ‘Ah, there is the famous number six, Thunderbus, driven by Poppy Orpington. The car has been completely refitted for this, the final race of the season, so it will be interesting to see how it does against the brand new Kineton 4407, driven by Lord Oswald Hepplewhite.’
‘But let us not forget we also have car number twenty five,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Count Sellini’s Albizzi Model 12, a triumph of Italian speed and beauty, and the only car to beat Miss Orpington’s petrol-fuelled vehicle without the benefit of a handicap.’
‘Though that was before Thunderbus’ upgrade, so this really is promising to be an interesting race,’ agreed Fairfax. ‘Since the petrol car took the racing world by the scruff of the neck over a year ago, a great many steam manufacturers have experimented with new types of turbine and superchargers to squeeze every last drop of speed from their vehicles and hence prove steam reigns supreme.’
‘But Miss Orpington has set up her own petrol car company in direct opposition to that belief,’ continued Bartholomew, ‘so this, ladies and gentlemen, is no longer just a race; this is quite possibly the entire future of the motor car industry up for grabs!’
‘Oh, marvellous, no pressure, then,’ muttered Poppy as she drove, though she had to admit the announcers were very good at their job – and at least they were being fair to everyone on the track. Unlike the idiot who had done the commentary last year.
‘So, are we looking at steam or petrol for the future, Bartholomew? Although the Albizzi won its debut race at the Sussex, it did shear an axle immediately afterward, while the petrol vehicle was still running at a fair pace.’
‘Yes indeed; it does suggest that while the Albizzi has the better handling, the petrol car can run for hour after hour. And that sturdiness would appeal to a great many motorists, I should think.’
‘It certainly would,’ responded Fairfax in an aggrieved tone. ‘I drove from one side of London to the other last year and broke down three times! On one trip!’
‘Terrible. Wherever did you get such an unreliable car?’
‘You sold it to me.’
‘Oh, yes, I remember now. Worst car I ever had. I was glad to get rid of that bag of bolts.’
The cars finished the preview lap and lined up at the starting grid with Poppy at the back, Thunderbus growling impatiently as they waited for the new light signal system to start the race. The lights themselves were huge, ugly affairs, fixed onto the electronic information boards which stretched the width of the track. The bright red glare bathed the black shape of Thunderbus, making it seem as though the car was feasting on the flames of hell, a demon waiting to devour the innocent and helpless.
The amber light flicked on, held for several seconds and finally the green lamps lit up. Thunderbus bellowed as it shot forward, flame erupting from the side exhaust ports and licking over the cheap concrete. The Kineton, Albizzi, and Thunderbus were easily the fastest off the mark, with very little to choose between them, but Poppy and Lorenzo both had the rest of the field to overtake while Hepplewhite junior was already away at the front.
‘An excellent start by all the competitors,’ exclaimed Fairfax, ‘with just one vehicle, Sir Robin Dalton’s Massingham Rapide still on the starting grid. Steam is billowing up from the car. I think his engine has gone. Probably tried to accelerate too hard, causing the turbine to overload, a known problem with the Rapide range.’
Poppy smoothly changed through her gears, easing ahead of the vehicles next to her, and as she reached the first curve she was only half a car length behind Lorenzo. ‘Steady, Orpington, steady,’ she muttered. ‘Speed alone is not the answer; consistency and cornering are as important.’
‘Hat’s off to Thunderbus; it has stormed into the middle of the pack already,’ said Bartholomew in excitement. ‘It looks like the lighter body work and new chassis has given Miss Orpington a distinct edge where flat-out speed is concerned, but of course races are won on tactics and corners, not just speed.’
‘Indeed,’ whooped Fairfax in a genteel sort of manner, ‘and we are about to see how the new Kineton, the Italian Albizzi and the petrol car handle as they approach the first set of tight bends on the new remodelled Purley track!’
Poppy thundered toward the first bend, just behind Bhan, Hughes, and Lord Scott. Bhan and Scott veered to one side, aligning themselves with the inside lane, while Hughes incompetently clung to the outside line, hoping to overtake. Poppy accelerated between them, drawing ahead before turning skilfully into the bend, shifting down to third,82 spinning the wheel through the chicane and then dropping to second. The car handled perfectly. She accelerated out, leaving Bhan, Scott and Hughes behind.
Poppy relaxed into her driving, mindful of the previous evening’s advice against unnecessary risks; she could only do her best against such an unfair start and the public would hopefully be aware of it. She focussed on the next rapidly approaching curve, calculating the best line to take, knowing beyond was a straight run where power could take her up the field. She turned skilfully into the curve, Thunderbus practically gliding along in his new body, before accelerating hard into the straight and taking fourth place, the petrol engine proving its superiority to the mediocre steam vehicles on the track.
Poppy was now directly behind Lorenzo and Jake Davenport, who were battling for second place. She clung to the back of Lorenzo’s tyres, giving him two targets to worry about as he had to pass the car in front while also being aware of the threat from behind. As Jake changed down and hugged the inside line, Lorenzo went wide, hoping the superior speed and handling of the Albizzi would enable him to pass.
Without conscious thought, Poppy twitched the wheel, confident in her driving powers and superior speed. With a snarl of pleasure and a burst of flame, Thunderbus hurtled forward on the outside line of the track, a ballad of blood and battle unleashed against the cars ahead, drawing level with Lorenzo and Jake. Poppy had the greater distance to cover as she was on the
outside line but her larger engine, the racing gearbox and the new bodywork meshed together perfectly as Poppy buried the accelerator into the floor, going full throttle.
‘Incredible!’ bellowed Fairfax from his commentary tower as the crowd yelled in delight. ‘Car number six, Thunderbus, driven by Poppy Orpington, has simply blasted by on the outside and has taken second spot! She is being harried by both Jake Davenport in his Emmerson Special and Count Sellini’s Albizzi, but she is still increasing the distance between them as they approach the Widow Maker.’
‘And surely she will only increase her lead here,’ exclaimed Bartholomew. ‘The Widow Maker is a generous mistress in giving back speed and distance, at least if you have the bravery to tackle it full on!’
The Widow Maker was a long, high, banking curve – the most dangerous part of the track. It had been pivotal for Poppy’s win the previous year as she had been able to use the long stretch and Thunderbus’ power to overtake many of her rivals; now she hoped to use it to put some distance between herself and cars behind, as well as catching up with Hepplewhite, whose lead was still not significantly better than it had been.
Thunderbus was growling perfectly as Poppy steered into the banking section. Behind her, Lorenzo was unable to match her ferocious speed but he was able to skilfully use Poppy’s slipstream to keep just behind her, waiting for his chance to overtake. Behind him, Jake’s Emmerson Special was unable to match the pace of the leaders, though it was keeping ahead of everyone else.
It became clear as the race leaders approached the new hairpin that the Kineton was incapable of keeping its lead; although fast off the line, its top cruising speed was woefully inadequate against Thunderbus and the Albizzi – as was the handling. The car wobbled as it entered the hairpin, the steering unable to cope with the demands upon it for speed and control, causing Hepplewhite to overshoot his intended line through the bend and hence leaving space enough for Poppy to swing around him, the roar of Thunderbus shaking the Kineton with contempt.
